Page 42 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

THE WATER BETWEEN US

S he’s beside me. Her legs are bare, her skin golden, and her lips are parted around a slice of mango that she bites like it owes her something.

And I swear—If I had one less ounce of self-control, I’d be on my knees between her thighs already.

The high-cut swimsuit features an open back, and the fabric appears painted on.

The blue doesn’t help mitigate the fact that it makes her eyes stand out, and every man on the deck is glued to her. If I could end them all, I would. She’s mine. Mine to take, mine to fuck and mine to ruin.

She glances over me like I’m wearing yesterday’s fashion. And her attitude? Untouchable. Unapologetic.

She knows she’s beautiful and can bring any man to his knees. I assume her goal today is to get me on mine. She doesn’t know I’ve been on them, praying I break her.

I lean back in the lounger with my sunglasses on, pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to me. She lowers herself onto the one beside me.

She knows. God, she knows.

I sip champagne, I don’t even taste. I take her in, willing my cock to stand down and relieved that my sunglasses are too dark for her to see my eyes.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says finally. Her voice is lazy and calm. She stretched out her shapely legs and showed just enough cleavage to taunt me.

“Watching you work,” I answer. “I admire your strategy.” She smiles slowly, wickedly. “Is it working?”

I look over. “You’re flawless.”

She raises a brow.

“But I don’t want perfection.”

“Oh?” Her voice drops. “What do you want?”

“Mess,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “Noise. Surrender.”

She blinks once, then she stands. She doesn’t walk, she glides to the edge of the pool with all the elegance of a woman who owns the city behind her.

And dives. I watch the pristine water break around her like it’s grateful to touch her.

When she surfaces, she swims to the side and rests her arms on the edge with her chin tipped up.

“Coming in?” she asks.

She doesn’t know how dangerous that invitation is.

But I go. I walk into the water, and it’s warm. The air’s thick. She floats beside me like temptation in motion.

“Why haven’t you touched me?” she asks, her voice filled with apprehension. “Really touched me, I mean.”

I swim closer to her, close enough so that only she hears me.

“Because if I touch you,” I say, “I won’t stop.”

Her breath hitches, and she blinks. Then she drifts closer, so that her shoulder brushes mine, and her lips are inches from my jaw.

Her voice is a breath. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

Fuck. She’s brutal. Something in me snaps. One hand slides beneath the water to her hip. The other presses to her lower back, pulling her to me hard enough that she gasps. Our mouths don’t meet. Not yet.

But I can feel every inch of her against me now. Her firm breasts begging to be squeezed, her taut abs pressed into mine.

And I’m done pretending.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” I whisper, mouth near her ear. “Not the sex. The surrender. The moment you stopped running. The second you stop pushing me away and let go.”

Her breath stutters as I’m about to kiss her. Almost.

But a voice calls out from the terrace.

“Mr. Petrovi?, your international call is holding.”

I close my eyes, locking my frustration in a vault so I don’t kill the woman who’s interrupting our moment. But on the other hand, perhaps I should tip her handsomely for saving me from giving in to temptation. I’ll be dammed if I’ll fall first.

Bianca growls. “Do you pay these people to interrupt us?”

“I might start paying them to disappear,” I growl.

She swims away, and I let her, because every movement is a taunt. Every moment is a test. But I don’t want her like this, a means to an end.

Because when I take her?

There won’t be any interruptions.

There will be no going back. There will only be the two of us, forever.

And until she understands she is the only woman for me for eternity, I will abstain.

I walk out of the pool, water dripping off my muscular body, and I know she’s watching. I grab a towel and blot the water off my limbs before tucking it around my waist. I’m aware that my tattoos are on display, as well as my eight-pack abs.

I take the call from Italy. The man is a real piece of work and by that I mean a real asshole. I followed up in broken Italian and told him to email me the contracts to review.

Matteo was right, but it’s a joint effort to get guns cheaper than my guy. I doubt he’ll beat my guy’s price, but it’s a good faith effort.

I walk to the courtesy office at the hotel. My raging hard-on is killing me. I take a shower and pleasure myself to take the edge off. The flight home is going to be painful.

Watching her, obsessing over her, and not touching her is going to be the death of me.

But still, I’d die a happy man.

So when she walks into my suite after the pool, water streaming down her thighs in rivulets that make my hands curl at my sides. Her hair is slicked back, cheeks flushed, and her lips are wet from the sun or the way she just licked them—either way, I’m done.

I’ve let her lead.

I’ve let her tease.

I’ve given her the room to run because part of me wanted to see how long she could stay ahead of what we both knew was coming.

But now?

Now I’m not chasing.

I’m claiming.

She stops right in front of me, towel loose around her hips, and meets my eyes like she’s daring me to cross the line.

Again.

This woman will be the death of me. I can’t forget her, and I can’t be the first one to concede.

“Vukan,” she says, her voice dripping with need. She’s not winning me, she’s giving me permission.

I step in close, placing one hand in her soaked hair and the other gripping her hip, and I claim her lips. Not tentative. Not curious.

Confirmed. Lusting, hot, demanding .

She moans into my mouth—no gasp, no resistance—just that soft, desperate sound that tells me she’s been waiting for this since the first time our mouths met and we both pretended it didn’t mean anything.

This time? It means everything. She’s meeting my lips and kissing me back.. She’s giving herself to me.

Tongue, teeth, breath—it’s not just passion, it’s possession. I devour her like I’m starved and she’s the last thing I’ll ever taste.

She clutches my shoulders as her body melts against me, her hips pressing against my hard cock.

She’s not fighting.

She’s falling.

And she’s taking me with her.

When we break apart, her mouth is red and open, her eyes hazy, and her chest rises in sharp little gasps.

“You’re mine,” I growl, but she doesn’t argue.

I scoop her towel around her and toss it. I take her by the hand and lead her to the bedroom like I’m stealing something sacred.

And I am.

She’s mine. No one else will ever touch her, taste her, or fuck her.

I lift her and toss her down onto the sheets like an offering I intend to destroy.

She’s already grinning and challenging me to do my worst. So I do.

I slowly strip off her wrap and wet swimsuit. Her breasts are perfect and fall into my hand.

She unties my board shorts, and they drop to my feet. My veined cock springs free. I crawl over her, pinning her wrists above her head, and kissing her again—deeper, harder, longer. Every inch of my body pressed against hers, and every second daring her to regret this .

But she doesn’t. Instead, she arches beneath me like she’s always belonged here.

My cock throbs. I’m lost in the moment.

“You still pretending you don’t want me?” I whisper against her mouth.

Her eyes flash, and she gives me a resounding “Yes.”

“Fine,” I growl. I immediately pull away, like she dropped an ice bucket on my cock. And in a way, she has. It’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m not giving it to her without her submitting. I’m not playing games, I’m playing for keeps.