Page 30 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

RAFAEL

“Stalking me again?” she demands when I remain quiet. But I only watch her as she slowly walks towards me, Roberto’s words from our meeting earlier tonight echoing in my mind.

“Last I checked, this is my private property and you are trespassing.” How can she be so goddamn reckless by coming here all by herself, especially after poking so deeply into mafia business?

Does she have no idea what danger she’s putting herself in?

I try to breathe through my sudden, violent anger at her for putting us through this.

She comes to a stop in front of me, tilting her head up to meet my eyes. Those beautiful honey-gold irises blink at me, and it feels like she’s looking straight into my soul. The vulnerability there is a seduction more potent than any deliberate attempt could ever be.

“Why have you been nice to me? So… gentle? I betrayed you. I know that hurt you. But you never retaliated. That must have gone against every instinct you have.” She speaks quietly, her eyes searching mine.

There’s something new about her. A softness.

It’s in her voice, her posture, her gaze.

I was only half-joking when I asked if she now realizes how wrong she’s been, but maybe I wasn’t far from the truth.

And that—that small crack in her armor—compels me to be honest with her.

No—it drags the words out of my throat. Because I want more of this version of her. This softness.

“Because it’s you, Emilia.” Because you’re my heart. And you don’t cut out your heart just because it does something you don’t like.

Impossibly, her eyes go even softer, melting into liquid honey as she steps into my space. My heart constricts painfully, the room spinning in a slow, surreal whirl. She tilts her head up even more, nodding at something above.

Frowning, I follow her gaze—and see it. A mistletoe.

Dangling right above my head. My pulse kicks into overdrive as different possibilities speed through my brain.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, piccola ?” My voice is thick as smoke, and it seems to affect her because her lashes flutter.

Then she closes the final distance between us, and for several charged moments, we just stare at each other.

I force my breathing to remain steady despite my thundering heart, unwilling to reveal just how much she affects me.

But when she lifts her right hand and places it flat against my chest, heat explodes from that point of contact and shoots straight down to my groin.

I ball my hands into fists to keep from touching her. This is the first time in ten years she’s ever initiated contact with me. I need to see how far she’s willing to go.

Emilia rises onto her tiptoes, and I find myself hunching slightly to meet her halfway.

Her soft lips graze the edge of my jaw, just above the mask, trailing upward along my cheekbone.

Every brush sends lightning through my veins, my nails digging crescents into my palms from the effort of restraint.

She hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of the mask. I don’t stop her.

Slowly, she tugs it down .

The cool air kisses my lips just before hers do. She leans in again, pressing soft kisses along the curve of my now-exposed cheek, my ear, the bridge of my nose. The delicate touches are both heaven and hell—too much and nowhere near enough.

I can’t take it anymore. I twist my neck, and our lips collide. She freezes for a heartbeat, and in that suspended moment, I wonder what she’ll do. But then— Christ —she deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue into my mouth.

My cock stiffens immediately, hardening to painful granite as blood rushes south with dizzying speed. Fuck . My hands fly to the back of her head, and it takes every fragment of self-control I possess to pull back instead of devouring her whole.

Her eyes have darkened to midnight pools, swirling with desire, need… and affection. The latter nearly breaks my resolve. “I’m not going to fucking stop this time.” My voice is guttural, barely recognizable even to my own ears.

She blinks up at me once, then glances around the empty supermarket, the faint hum of the refrigerators the only thing breaking through the charged silence. Then, she looks back at me. “Good.”

Fucking hell.

I wrap strands of her silky hair around my fist, anchoring her to me as I lean down and fucking consume her.

There’s no other word for it. I’m a starving man finally given sustenance after a decade of famine.

Using my grip, I tilt her head back, plunging into the kiss, flicking my tongue into the hot crevice of her mouth.

Emilia responds with a sweet moan that vibrates against my lips and shoots straight to my cock. I feel myself throb against my pants—no doubt she feels it too.

My free hand slides down to grip her hip as I walk her backwards until her spine connects with one of the shelves. Cans crash to the floor with a cacophonous clatter on the other side, but I couldn’t care less .

She moans again, the sound more desperate now, and I greedily swallow it down. Then her hand drifts from my chest to rest suggestively on my belt buckle, and something inside me—some last barrier of restraint—shatters into a million irretrievable pieces.

The kiss turns messy, becoming rough. I bite down on her bottom lip, hard enough to sting, tugging the sweet flesh, and she inhales sharply, her hands hooking into my belt as if she needs it to remain upright.

The world falls away until there’s nothing left but this moment with her.

The heat of her mouth, her rich taste, and the way her body fits against mine so perfectly—because she was fucking made for me.

I’ve wanted her for too fucking long. I’m done holding back. I want more of her. I want everything I’m owed.

When I break the kiss, an audible smack fills the air.

I drag my lips down her jaw in a trail of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses, working my way to the delicate column of her throat.

A deep, animal groan tears from my chest as the slightly tangy salt of her skin explodes on my tongue, and I lap it up, sucking hungrily at the frantic pulse point fluttering in her neck.

I want to eat her alive.

Surrendering to raw instinct, I sink my teeth into her tender flesh. She arches against me in response, crying out to the ceiling, pressing her soft tits into my chest.

Yess .

The way she responds to me, the way she’s always responded to me—breathless, needy, clingy, and just as consumed as I am—sends fire through me and has precum leaking out of my tip, wetting my underwear.

Fuck .

I thrust my hips against her, seeking friction, seeking relief. And as if suddenly remembering where her hands are, she tugs frantically at my belt. I pause, shifting back slightly to give her better access, but she fumbles with the clasp, her fingers—her entire body—quivering with need.

My hand gentles in her hair, and I press a tender kiss to her temple, “Shhh.” The soft sound seems to calm her, and her shaking subsides enough that she finally manages to undo the clasp.

She yanks the belt from its loops with such violence that I can’t help but smirk.

“That desperate for– ughh !” The groan rips from deep in my chest as she unzips my pants and slips her hand inside, rolling her thumb over my sensitive head.

“It’s damp.” She licks her lips at the observation, and the sight nearly drives me to madness.

“Because you drive me fucking crazy.”

“Good,” she says with satisfaction. “You do the same to me.”

She pushes my pants and boxers down, and my cock springs free, bobbing up and slapping against her belly. She gasps, her lips parting, the tip of her tongue pressed to her upper lip as she stares at my erection with undisguised hunger.

I drag her top down, exposing the creamy expanse of her tits, then lean in and bury my face in the soft flesh. She wraps a tentative hand around my cock, and I respond by nipping at the top of her tit.

She moans, tightening her grip on my shaft. “I want to taste you. Please let me taste you, Rafael. I never got the chance back then, and you have no idea how much I’ve thought about it and regretted it over the years.”

“Fuck, Emilia.” My head snaps up, and I claim her mouth again, consuming her confession.

She responds eagerly, her lips parting beneath mine, our tongues battling for dominance.

All the while, her grip on my cock keeps tightening and tightening until I can’t breathe and my balls curl up, cum climbing dangerously close to the edge.

I break the kiss, panting heavily, and I drop my hand to cover hers. She groans, clearly thinking I want to stop her, but I only caress the back of her fingers with my thumb until her grip relaxes slightly.

“Get on your knees.” The words are barely out of my mouth before she slides down the shelf to kneel before me. Fuck. Me. The sight of her, on her knees, lips swollen from my kisses, my cock jutting proudly in front of her face—it’s straight out of every fantasy I’ve had for the past decade.

More precum beads at the tip, and she leans in without hesitation. A flash of pink tongue is the only warning I get before she licks it off.

Fuckkk . My hand slams the shelf behind her so hard that more items clatter to the floor on the other side. I barely have the presence of mind to shrug off my jacket, bundle it up, and toss it to the floor at her.

“Kneel on that.” It won’t do much to protect her from the hard tiles, but it’s better than nothing.

She does as I say, then wraps her hand around my cock and leans forward, licking me from base to tip like a lollipop. White-hot tension slices through my spine, and my whole body shudders around her.

Sensing my reaction, she does it again. Once. Twice. Three times. I lose count. My hands sink into her hair, tightening, grasping, until I tug her head up so she’s looking at me. Her eyes are wild.