Page 27 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

LORENA

C ool night air sneaks in through the small gap of the opening door. Tino takes a step closer, adhering one hand to my hips while the other drifts to the door with a flat, impatient palm. He leans into me, his height towering over me, as he pushes the door open faster than I was.

Tino’s mouth moves, but it’s not to respond to me. His words are low, directed to himself as he mutters under his breath, as if he’s caught in a battle of will and conscience. Of desire and acceptance. Acknowledging we are about to cross the line that has tempted us for far too long .

All I’ve ever wanted is the attention of Santino Amato, but now that I have it, I’m not sure what to do with it.

I should be furious at him right now.

I should be scolding him for allowing his emotions – and jealousy – to cloud his common sense and for making such a damn scene.

I’m used to Tino disapproving of anyone I’m with, but tonight, it was different. It was territorial, primal almost. Not to mention a long time coming.

I’ve spent so long torturing myself, wondering how I could’ve misinterpreted the signs he was subtly throwing my way. However, tonight confirmed my suspicions, which both relieves and scares me.

Though hearing how he spoke to Owen before with such confidence, defending me while bragging about the things he’d like to do to me — that I want him to do to me — has me wanton with need so intense that I need to break the silence lingering between us before I collapse beneath the pressure of it.

“Why did you lie?” You haven’t done any of those things to me.” The disappointment I feel that he hasn’t done any of those things is quickly overshadowed by the collective adrenaline rush culminating between the two of us.

“I didn’t lie,” Tino says, and the deep, naturally raspy tone of his voice sifts through my eardrums, filtering its way to my core, lighting my body on fire. “Yet. I haven’t done those things yet .” The nonchalant way he immediately responds sends me into a frenzy.

We move as one deeper into the alleyway. Our bodies pressed against each other, with our chests heaving with desire fueling our every move.

Hold no longer on my hips, Tino brings his hand to one of my wrists then the other, capturing them both together. The size of his palm swallows my wrists, cuffing them in place with a firm yet comforting grip.

Before I know it, he raises them above my head — restraining them — as my back is pressed against the rough brick exterior of the building. Pinning me in place. Pinning me to him.

Peering up at Tino, I become lost in the allure of his hazel eyes.

Tino’s free hand falls to my chin, cupping it, as his thumb swipes at my lips.

A groan rumbles through his chest, practically vibrating through me. Our eye contact breaks when my lipstick, the same shade he complimented the night before, transfers onto his thumb.

“I like this shade on you.” There’s a possessiveness to his voice.

“I remember.”

“Did you wear this for me or for him?” His voice cracks a bit, though his jaw clamps tighter as he barely moves his mouth to ask his question.

I don’t know how to answer.

I wasn’t planning on seeing Tino tonight. I had no idea that Owen was going to take me here. But Tino instantly came to mind as I swiped the color onto my lips. As did a host of sordid things I want to do to him with it on. Leaving a trail all over his body. Marking my territory.

I want to surrender to this — to him . I want nothing more than for him to guide my chin up and have our lips crash into a kiss. But that’s the problem. What I’m feeling right now is desperation. I’m not used to feeling this way. It feels unsettling and vulnerable, yet good, all at once.

However, after how he denied me in Miami, I don’t want to make it that easy for him. He should be the one caressing my cheeks before tipping my chin up to his ready lips, making him go ninety and I go ten. And just like that, the longing I have becomes overshadowed by my stubborn will.

“You did lie,” I say, reminding him through a panted whisper.

Tino’s eyes light up, detecting the hidden challenge in my words.

I can tell he wants to accept it, but he’s doing what he always does when it’s just him and I alone.

He becomes stuck in his head, clinging onto whatever moral code his friendship with my brother contains.

Tortured. That’s the only way to put it.

And his tormented state is contagious. The pain of being in the balance is making me throb with painful need.

Still, I won’t make a move. I refuse. No matter how badly I want to.

“Tino.” His name pours past my lips, betraying the walls I have so weakly built against him since it doesn’t come out of my mouth with the edge that I had hoped it would. He knows it as well as I do.

Wasting no time, he takes the subtle desire in my tone, and latches onto it, seizing the opportunity to work his charm on me, with the hope that it will soften my defenses more.

“I know I made a scene in there. I’m sorry I fucked up and disappointed you again. But I meant every word I said.”

“Every word?”

“Every. Fucking. Word.”

He said so much for my mind and body to cling onto. I feel a flutter between my legs emerge as I process every syllable he spoke in memory.

Tino swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs down the thick column of his neck, drawing my eyes to it.

“So, if he isn’t your boyfriend, what is he to you?”

No one.

Another question I don’t know how to answer.

I don’t really feel like getting into my commitment issues right now.

I also don’t think Tino would love to hear that whoever I’m with it’s purely physical.

Somehow, I think he’d be more jealous of learning that detail than if Owen was my boyfriend, and there was actually substance there.

“Lorena, answer me,” he demands with a wince as he shakes his head, looking away from me for a second, and down at the ground. “What makes him so special that you would allow him to degrade you in public? Or at all? My staff heard what he called you. Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?”

“I was trying not to make a scene.” I scoff, choosing to gloss over how sweet he sounds when he tries to defend me like that.

Where lashing out and acting on impulse is Tino’s default, mine often is undermining how I feel. Purposely compartmentalizing my feelings to avoid becoming attached. Attachment leads to vulnerability, which often leads to heartbreak. None of which I want or need.

Tino’s thumb breaks the barrier of my mouth, forcing me into silence.

I whimper as my mouth complies with his movement.

My mind already playing tricks on me, confusing the proximity of his finger between my lips with something else of his.

Something located much lower that I’ve been dying to have inside of me.

“Is whatever that was with him over?”

I nod yes, but he shakes his head.

“I need to hear you say it’s over. I want you to use your words and tell me that I never have to see you with him again.”

Is he high?

I inhale and judging by the earthy undertone mixed with the cedarwood notes of his cologne, the answer to that is yes, he’s likely a little high.

I go to answer but apparently my mouth, that treacherous slut, decides to do the heavy lifting for me, not verbalizing but rather demonstrating how over me and Owen are, as I hollow my cheeks around Tino’s thumb, securing his place in my mouth, as I suck him in.

He must like this form of a response since he replaces his thumb with his index and middle fingers, plunging them deep into my mouth, testing my gag reflex as the tip flirts with my tonsils.

It’s as he’s pumping his fingers between my lips that I become aware of the cool silicone in his hand, sandwiched between where he holds my chin.

Knowing that he has the remote to the vibrator I’m wearing only adds to the thrill.

“Promise me,” he groans.

Unable to speak, and not willing to give up the suction I have on his digit, I nod my head, just as he withdraws his fingers from my mouth at a painstakingly slow pace.

I inhale, already missing him, and barely able to contain myself or focus on anything other than the ricochet of my pulse throughout my body, I manage to respond. “Yes.”

“Good. I hate him.”

“Hate’s a strong word.”

“Not strong enough.”

An awkwardness falls between us, neither of us sure where to go from here.

Thinking back to what Owen said about Tino punching him, I figure now is as good a time as any to delve into that topic. “I didn’t know Owen grew up in Co-op City too.”

“Yep,” Tino growls, letting go of my wrists as he brings his hands to the apron tied around his waist.

“Did you really punch him?”

“Mhm.” Another quick, dry response.

“Because of me?”

“Yes, I did, and the fucker is lucky that I didn’t do it again.”

I don’t know what to think. I truly had no idea who Owen was before I stumbled across his invite from the app we met on. Part of me feels foolish for not making the connection, and the other part of me feels even more foolish for being a pawn in his clear revenge plot against Tino.

“You can’t keep doing that.” I know he hears me, but his attention is on the apron he’s taking off with such one-handed precision that it’s unexpectedly doing something to me in the process.

“Doing what?” he asks, once again in a casual tone, as he brings his gaze back to mine. His apron in one hand, and the remote to the vibrator still secured in the other, his thumb rubs along the control button… teasing me.

Distracted, I try to recenter myself. “Blowing up like that. I’m going to have a field day trying to convince the food critic who dined here tonight not to allow that to affect their review.”

I’m met with his stare on me once again as an arrogant smirk captures his face.

“Trust me, my food speaks for itself.” I can tell by the way his voice drifts off, he has more to say.

And sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed seconds later as the space is eliminated between us once again, and his hand is back to cupping my chin.

“Right now, I’m not worried about the critic, and I couldn’t give a fuck about work, which is saying something because.

..” He pauses to point his finger at the restaurant.

“That is my passion. But right now, I can’t focus on any of it.

Not when I have a chance to do what I should’ve done a long time ago.

” He looks at me with pure hunger in his eyes.

“I also never want to have to see that again. I can’t tolerate it. It makes me sick.”

Testing my luck, I lean into the conversation more. “See what?”

“You. With. Anyone.”

“Anyone who…”

“Isn’t me.” His words like music to my ears.

“Noted. I mean, we can’t have you acting up like that again, causing a scene.” His lips skim mine, close enough that our breaths become entangled but still too far away for us to kiss. “I need you to behave.”

“I can’t.”

I don’t want you to.

“Not when we’re this close again.”

Keep going.

Before I can say anything, the apron that was draped in his hand comes back into view, and if I thought seeing him take it off one handed was a treat, seeing him bring my hands back up over my head, and tying it around my wrists like handcuffs is something else.

“I’ve behaved myself for long enough. I can’t do it anymore. Not when you’re around me. Especially not when we’re finally alone.”

“Is that why you have me tied up like this?”

“Yes. I need to make sure you stick around long enough…”

My hips buck forward in excitement. “For what?”

“To show you how sorry I am.” His lips fall to my neck, planting a kiss onto my skin. “To prove to you that you’re worth more than what him or anyone else could give you. Just promise me one more time that it’s over, and I promise to fulfill any need you have.”

I click my tongue, exasperated by the tension that forever lingers between us. Yet, for some reason, my lips part to ask a question that’s been burning on my mind ever since I saw the candle on the table.

“Is the custom scent you ordered for the restaurant inspired by…”

“You.” He finishes my sentence for me. Answering my question, unapologetically.

"Why?" I pant. My heart racing a mile a minute.

“Because, that way I could have two of my greatest joys in life together in one place. One that’s my reality, and one that’s my fantasy.”

“I’m your fantasy?”

He takes a deep breath in. “You started as a dream and wedged your way into my fantasies. Owning every single one of them. But now I’m begging you to be my reality. Same way I’m begging you to forgive me. Make my fantasies come to life. Make me yours,” he begs.

Words escape me. “Tino,” I breathe.

“Lorena.” My name falls out of his mouth as a plea but said with the most seductive pronunciation.

“Please,” he begs… again. “Promise me.”

For no reason other than wanting more of this sight, of him begging for me, I toy with him.

“I promise to…”

His lips skim mine, silencing me, but he doesn’t kiss me, instead, he nibbles on my lip, tugging it, applying enough pressure on it that I’m surprised he hasn’t drawn blood.

“Stop.” He groans into my mouth. Possessive and full of need.

Just how I’ve wanted him.

How I’ve craved.

“Just tell me what I need to hear. Use those words of yours and tell me you’re not his, not anyone’s, but mine. You’re torturing me, mama. What do I have to do, huh? Get on my fucking knees to prove to you how sorry I am and how fucking badly I need this and how much I need you?”

Hearing him speak like this to me, is enough to make me come right here and now. “I promise,” I finally say. Giving in . “But you need to stop telling me who I can and can’t fuck. You sound like my brother.” I roll my eyes playfully, but the look I receive in return is anything but playful.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Looks like the chef is tired of playing with his food. He’s hungry, and it looks like I’m the only thing on the menu that he wants to devour.

A genuine and deep chuckle escapes his mouth, bursting into mine. “Trust me. I have no interest in being your brother. And I sure as hell don’t want you talking about him, not right now.”

“Why?

“Because he’d kill me if he knew what I’m about to do to you.”