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Damn. I can already feel my cock knocking against the zipper of my pants as my mind replays how I latched greedily onto her soft, pink nipple.
My breathing thickens, and a groan of pleasurable agony rips my throat. I shut my eyes, and it’s like she’s here, wrapping her warm hands against my girth. Releasing a long, slow breath I adjust in my seat and allow the claws of desire to send shivers down my spine.
I can’t believe how that short encounter has had such a lingering effect on me. Normally, I don’t dwell on women; I just let them warm my bed and then send them on their way, that’s it. But her… there’s something about her.
She’d been so wet when I dug my fingers into her. If only she allowed me to slide my dick in, perhaps this unholy curiosity would have been satisfied.
But then she said,“I don’t think we should, I’ve never done this—”
Fuck, she’s a virgin! For me, that’s treading uncharted territory. All the girls I’ve fucked were older, experienced women. Not young, I-don’t-know-the-first-thing-about-sex ladies.
I’ve never popped anyone’s cherry, and I never thought I would. But now I realize that that innocence of hers−that purity−only makes me want to take her more. The thought of me being the first man to explore her delicious, untouched terrain does things to my sanity!
She’s too young and too inexperienced. You shouldn’t be drooling about her like this,I remind myself, opening my eyes and unfurling my fist before taking a long drag of my cigarette. In one slow puff, I exhale, hoping it will calm my rattled nerves.
Obviously to no avail, because my thoughts keep going. Who the hell does she think she is waltzing into my life, taking hold of my senses, then ordering me not to fuck her? Giving me blue balls.
The audacity.
Chapter three
Aria
When I get my hands on the bastard who did this to Dad, I will make sure justice is served. I swear.
Placing a hand solemnly on the bandage wrapped across his chest, I turn the back of my palm over on his forehead to see if he has a high temperature. He doesn’t, but there’s an undertone of warmth in his skin, like a temperature is warming up.
I release a deep breath. The pungent smell of antiseptic is upsetting my nostrils, and the soft beeps from the machinery he is connected to bring back the nostalgic feeling of being with my mom in the hospital during her last days.
My heart wrenches when I retract my hand and trail the burns on Dad’s body. It’s almost everywhere — one side of his face, his arms, hands, and chest. My eyes start to water. But at least helooks better than he did six days ago when I first received the news.
It would probably have been worse than it is now if Dad hadn’t found his way out of the car. I flick away, sweat trickling down my brow, as I shove away the thought that it could have escalated into third-degree burns and not the minor, second-degree burns he escaped with. Although that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have bruises and broken ribs from the impact of the explosion.
I don’t stop tears as they cascade silently down my cheeks. With Mom and my brother gone, Dad is all I’ve got, and I can’t afford to lose him, too.
“Hey, Aria,” his voice is hoarse, and the hand he lifts to caress my face is trembling as he tries to rise from the bed, but I’m relieved that he is not fatally hurt.
“Dad!” I lower him back onto the pillows, adjusting his pillows for the umpteenth time to make sure he is as comfortable as possible.
“Hey, hey, easy, okay?” his eyes crease at the corners, narrowing with concern. I can’t hold it in any longer. The tears come pouring from my eyes in torrents, and all I can do is grip my chest, trying to contain the dull ache that’s threatening to run me insane.
“Oh, dear…” he struggles against the head of the bed, reaching out to wipe the tears off my face with his thumb. “Aria, I’m okay. I hate to see you cry, you know that. Right?”
I bob my head up and down, snatching up a sheet of tissue paper and blowing catarrh furiously into it. The loud, irritating sound is probably not what Dad needs to deal with, but I don’t see beyond my feelings, at least not for now.
“Which of those fucking mafia families did this?”
“Language, young lady. Besides, we spoke about this when you first came here,” his face is squeezed into a scowl, yet his voice holds a hint of levity.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but that was the day of the accident, and you were in absolutely no shape to give me a definite answer. I know it was Giovanni, right? I mean, your car didn’t just get faulty and cause the leak in the fuel tank on its own. Someone definitely orchestrated that explosion and did it such that when you turned on the ignition, it would explode. Who else would do that but those miscreants who work for Giovanni?”
“Aria!” he sputters into a coughing episode, interrupting my rambling. I dash to the water dispenser, grab a paper cup, and fetch some of the warm water into it.
“Here, here,” I place the cup on his lips and when he has had a generous sip, I help him back to his previous position.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I didn’t mean to rile him up like that, but if we don’t identify the exact hitman and they know Dad’s still alive, there might be a comeback before we can nab them.
“I know you’re worried about me, but I’m the Deputy Chief, Kid. I’ve been through worse.”