Page 49 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello

My tense muscles loosen the second I spot Izzie stepping into the gym.

The place hums with the clank of weights and the rhythmic thud of gloves hitting heavy bags, but she’s the only thing I see.

I cut across the room before she gets too far, her warm, honey-gold gaze softening when she notices me walking toward her.

“Hi,” she says with a smile, her fingers curling around the strap of her gym bag.

Not satisfied with her simple greeting, I slide the handle off her shoulder, let the duffel drop to the floor with a heavy thud, and cradle her face in my palms.

“Not good enough,” I murmur before pressing my lips to hers and letting the peace her kiss always brings wash over me.

I’ve lived my whole life in the dark. Wanting her is the first time I’ve ever craved the light.

When I force myself to pull back from our kiss, Izzie’s eyes are half-mast, her cheeks flushed, and her lips deliciously swollen.

“Did you just hard-launch our relationship?” she asks, glancing around at the gym full of gawkers who have clearly stopped mid-rep to watch.

“I have no idea what that means,” I reply, slinging her bag over my shoulder.

“Of course you don’t.” She giggles, leaning into my chest to hide her blushing cheeks from the attentive audience around us.

I kiss the crown of her head, then gently tip her chin up with my finger. “How was class?” I ask, since she’s been buzzing all week about teaching her first self-defense session at Sacred Heart.

“It was great,” she says, beaming. “I got the job.”

“You sound surprised,” I tease, brushing my knuckles along her cheek.

“I kind of am. Sister Margaretta runs a tight ship, and I wasn’t sure she’d want me on board.”

While Izzie seems to have had her doubts, I never did. She’s a perfectionist, pouring herself fully into everything she does. I knew she would make an impression on Mother Superior as well as the girls she was teaching. She sure as fuck has made an impression on me.

“She’s lucky to have you. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Her eyes light at the praise, her pulse visible at her throat. “I… uh… should get changed,” she says, suddenly shy. “I have a client in half an hour.”

“Actually, you don’t.”

“Beg your pardon?” She arches a brow.

“Rico’s covering your sessions today.”

“Happy to help,” Rico calls from across the gym counter, clearly eavesdropping.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she says, still uncertain.

“He can handle it. I’ve got other plans for you.”

“Is that so?” She giggles again, the sound making my chest tighten.

“Do you trust me?” The words are out before I know the reason behind my question, but suddenly her answer feels like it will settle something deep inside me.

“I do,” she says without hesitation.

And just like that, the last of my anxiety evaporates, replaced by an ache to be closer to her.

“Come,” I growl, taking her hand and leading her toward the door as fast as possible.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?” she laughs, so carefree and trusting that it feels like my body might explode if it doesn’t have her right here and now.

Still, that will have to wait. I have a surprise for her.

“Wow.” She breathes when we step inside my new home, her voice echoing faintly against the soaring ceilings and cream-colored marble floors. “This is… wow. Just wow.”

“Do you like it?” I ask, sliding my arms around her waist from behind as we take in the space together.

The foyer is pure elegance, the light spilling through a glass wall stretching nearly three stories high, casting reflections across the polished cream stone floor.

Ahead, a sweeping staircase curves upward like something out of an old-world opera house, its black iron railing gleaming against a limestone wall.

As Izzie takes my new home in, I see my mother’s elegant touches everywhere.

From the fresh orchids on the entry table, to the subtle scent of bergamot from lit candles, and the perfectly staged art pieces that look like they belong in a museum.

I’d asked her for a minimal look, but I should have known this was as restrained as my mother could get.

“I do,” she finally answers, her gaze wandering over the grand piano tucked under the stairs, then to the antique mirror framed in gold leaf at its side, and finally to the handwoven rug anchoring that part of the room together. “Although it isn’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” I ask, curious.

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “Just not this. It’s a bit intimidating.”

“More than me?” I joke, placing a kiss on the crook of her neck.

“Not that intimidating.” She laughs. “It’s just… kind of big. For one person, I mean. I always thought you’d have some kind of bachelor pad in the city.”

My only bachelor pad is the one across from her place, but I don’t tell her that. For now, I’d rather let her think this is where I lay my head at night. If she knew differently, it might derail the celebratory plans I’ve got for us today.

“The tour isn’t done yet,” I tease, grabbing her hand in mine.

“Should I be scared?” she goads back.

“Even if you are, I’ve locked every door in the house. No use in running now.”

“Is that a challenge?” She bites her bottom lip, making my cock harden at the sight.

I have half a mind to shove her against the wall and fuck her right here with the way her autumn eyes taunt me, but that would defeat the purpose of my surprise.

“Play nice and you might just get your wish.”

“I’m going to hold you to it.” She winks, letting go of my hand to walk in front of me, already imagining herself running up and down this house with me chasing behind her.

I watch her hips swing left to right, her ass taunting my restraint further as we pass under a crystal chandelier, the size of a small car, and into the living area.

Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors at the far end of the room, drawing the eye toward the landscaped terrace beyond.

From here, I can just make out the neat rows of planters and the soft green canopy of trees outside.

The street past it is hidden for now, but I know that you can see the elegant lines of the neighboring brownstones beyond the trees and high walls.

Izzie eyes the black marble fireplace that dominates one wall, its mantel adorned with a handful of family photos to give the lavish house a homey feel, curiosity tugging her toward the framed pictures that hold a younger version of me. Still, that can wait.

I close the small space between us, my hands finding her waist as I gently stir her toward the grand living room instead. Her gaze sweeps over the space before she lets out a gasp, followed by an excited laugh.

“You didn’t?!” she squeals.

In the center of the living room—where a sleek white leather sectional has been pushed aside—sits a king-sized mattress dressed in crisp white sheets.

Beside it, a bottle of champagne chills in an ice bucket, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries—fresh from the kitchen—waits, their glossy shells catching the warm afternoon light.

“You got the job, so I thought you might want to celebrate,” I murmur in her ear, grinning at the feel of goosebumps rippling across her skin.

She turns in my arms, draping hers over my shoulders. “This took some planning. What if I hadn’t gotten the job?”

“I liked my odds.”

Izzie’s eyes lock with mine, and what I see in them should terrify me. But it doesn’t. Quite the opposite. If her gaze were an autumn forest, I’d lose myself among the golden light and shadow until I forgot the way home.

“What am I going to do with you?” she whispers, her voice soft but charged.

“I think the better question is, what am I about to do to you?”

Not waiting for a reply, I scoop her into my arms. Her legs swing back and forth playfully as I carry her over to the mattress.

I lay her gently on it, then hurry to strip us both bare, her laughter spilling into the air at my eagerness. But when my head dips in between her thighs, the laughter melts into breathy moans.

I might have been a novice when she first brought me into her bed, but like in all things, I’m a quick study. I know exactly what makes her whisper my name, what makes her cry it out, and what makes her scream for more.

Since I’ve been with her, I’ve learned a few things about myself, too.

Spending almost twenty-four-seven either in a testosterone-filled gym or surrounded by wise guys, I’ve heard the crude saying that men fall into one of two camps—they are either the kind who lose their shit over a generous handful of tits, or the kind who can’t look away from an ass they’d love nothing more than to sink their teeth into.

You’re either one or the other. Never both.

Me? I’ve learned that I’m an Izzie man. Every inch of her is perfect. The way her skin heats under my palms, the way she trembles when I’m inside her, the way she shatters when my tongue flicks at her clit.

Eating Izzie out has become my favorite kind of foreplay.

Hearing her gasp my name as she comes undone has me hard as stone every damn time.

I barely have to touch her for her body to respond to me.

But I get a thrill every time I part her thighs and sink my teeth into her tender flesh, knowing she’s already wet and aching for me.

No other aphrodisiac could ever compare.

The only thing I haven’t mastered yet is talking to her as I eat her sweet cunt out.

Izzie loves it when I talk to her. Every word that spills from my lips as I worship her body increases her desire for me tenfold.

I live for her tiny moans and how her breath catches in her throat.

How her fingers dig into my skull, encouraging me to do my worst.

“Marcello,” she cries out after she’s come on my tongue.

I lick my lips and pull myself up to hover over Izzie. I kiss her lips, needing her to taste how sweet she is, the illicit kiss coaxing her to moan into my mouth.