Page 9

NERISSA

The pop of gunfire echoes through the concrete space under my family's building. Well, technically Salvatore owns the multistory apartment building, but my parents have an apartment for when they want to stay in the City and my apartment is on the floor below theirs.

An apartment I now share with Nesto, not that anyone in my family knows that little tidbit of truth.

The target ranges is part of the gym complex Salvatore installed after taking ownership of the building.

My Glock kicks, steady and controlled, as I unload the last round into the center mass of the target.

Nesto, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, watches me with the infuriating calm of a man who already knows how this is going to go.

"Nice grouping," he says, pushing off the wall. "Little high on that last one. You compensating for something?"

I smirk and eject the clip with a sharp click. "You’d know if I were."

He walks toward me slowly, like a predator approaching his mate, not prey. "I do know. Which is why I’m wondering why you’re showing off."

"Maybe I wanted to remind you I can shoot just as well as you."

" Better than me, maybe, cara mia ?" His eyebrow lifts, mocking.

"I didn’t say that." I turn, slide a fresh clip in, and chamber a round with one hand. "But if the holster fits…"

He steps into my space, eyes locked on mine. "Careful. That confidence is gonna get you pinned."

"Promises, promises."

Before I can blink, he’s spun me around, pressing me back against the padded mat wall, his thigh between mine, hands braced beside my head.

"Still cocky?" he growls, voice a gravel-paved threat against my ear.

"Always." I tilt my chin up and grin. "But you like that about me."

"I like a lot of things about you." He grinds his hips against me just enough to make his point.

I hook my leg behind his and flip us with a move I perfected sparring with my brother, who I so do not want think about right now.

Now Nesto's the one against the wall, breath catching as I press my body to his.

"I like winning." I brush my lips over his.

He grabs my hips and flips us again.

Now I’m back against the wall, laughing and breathless as he kisses me like he means to own the next decade of my life. Maybe longer.

And when he finally pulls back, he murmurs against my lips, "Call it a draw?"

I wrap my arms around his neck. "Only if we settle it upstairs."

His grin is pure sin. "Race you."

We're both vibrating in the elevator on the way up to our floor.

I barely get the door closed before he has me against it, hands greedy, mouth demanding. He tastes like sweat, competition, and the kind of lust that doesn’t fade with time—it builds.

"You flipped me," he growls, kissing down my jaw. "You really flipped me."

"Didn’t see that coming?" I breathe, arching against him as he palms my breast through my tank top.

"Oh, I saw it," he mutters, voice gravel, hands under my shirt now. "I let it happen."

"Liar."

His laugh rumbles in his chest, low and wicked. "Doesn’t matter. You want the win?"

I nod, breath hitching.

"Then get on the bed and keep your hands to yourself."

My thighs clench. My mouth dries.

"Yes, sir."

He stills.

His eyes burn into mine.

"Say that again."

I walk slowly, deliberately toward the bed, pull off my shirt, then turn and meet his gaze with a wicked grin. "Yes, sir."

"Fuck." The word’s a promise as he stalks toward me.

He peels off his shirt with one hand, throws it to the floor. Pants follow. The sight of him dark-eyed, built, and feral as hell is enough to make me forget how to breathe.

He pushes me back onto the mattress, kneeling between my legs like he’s about to pray. Or sin.

"Hands on the headboard," he commands. "You move, it’s over."

"You wouldn’t."

"Try me."

I do as he says.

He kisses a path up my inner thigh, hands anchoring my hips while his mouth takes me apart—lick by wicked lick—until I’m gasping his name and begging for more. And I never beg.

He rises over me, sliding inside with a punishing thrust that knocks the breath out of me.

My hands strain against the headboard.

"Good girl," he rasps, moving deep and slow, grinding against the spot that makes me see stars. "So fucking good for me."

"Yes," I choke out, hips rocking instinctively. "Harder."

"No. You wait for it." He bites my shoulder—not to hurt. To let me know who's in control. "I’m in control now."

And I love it.

Love giving it to him.

Love the way he handles me like I’m both his treasure and his challenge.

Love that when I do fall apart, it’s because he made me. Controlled my pleasure every second of the journey. Loved me in a way that’s every bit as ruthless as the world we live in and utterly perfect for me.

I come screaming his name, feeling his sex swell inside me and flood me with his heat as I do.

Afterward, he’s flat on his back, chest rising and falling, one arm draped behind his head like he didn’t just rearrange my entire soul.

I’m curled beside him, leg tossed over his hips, cheek on his shoulder.

He hasn’t said a word since we came down. Just that smug Sicilian smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Typical.

"You good?" he finally murmurs, voice rough from effort and maybe…pride.

"More than." I stretch like a cat, thoroughly satisfied. "You’re not bad at that. Should’ve been a full-time profession."

"Smartass."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it." He turns his head just enough to kiss my hair. "Barely."

I grin. And then, in my sweetest, most innocent voice: "Yes, sir."

He tenses.

Oh, that got him.

His hand slides from my hip to my ass, a slow squeeze that’s equal parts warning and promise. "You keep calling me that, cara mia , and you’ll be tied to this bed before sunset."

I hum. I see no downside to that. "Kinky."

"Nerissa."

I lift my head to look at him, all wide eyes and fake innocence. "Yes, sir ?"

His eyes darken. "One more time. I dare you."

I trail a finger down his chest, circling his abs with deliberate slowness. "Yessir."

He grabs my wrist and flips me beneath him in one fluid movement, pressing his full weight into me, his cock already stirring again against my thigh.

"You really don’t know how to stop when you’re ahead, do you?"

I grin up at him, smug. "But where’s the fun in that?"

He groans, lips finding mine. "Round two it is."

And if I lose again?

Well, this is the one and only place I'll enjoy the hell of not being the victor, because in losing my control to him I always win.