Page 54 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello stands over me as he takes off his jacket and throws it to the ground, followed by his T-shirt. Then, with the grace of an Olympic gymnast, he presses his palms flat on either side of my head and flings the rest of his body straight into the air.

“Hi,” he says finally, doing push-ups with his hands until his lips meet mine.

I can’t help but giggle as every time his head comes down, his lips crash onto mine.

“Stop showing off,” I laugh.

“You think this is showing off?” he teases and then proceeds to pull his whole body up and down with only one hand. “ This is showing off.” He winks.

I bite my bottom lip because I can’t help but be in awe—and, well, a little turned on—by how strong he is.

But then, I guess he has to be when he spends most of his time either in the gym or dealing with the Outfit’s enemies. It’s that realization that throws a cold bucket of ice on my libido. Marcello sees my changing mood instantly and jumps back on his feet with the grace of a cat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows pinching closer together as he watches me getting up from the yoga mat and starting to pack it up.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not very convincing,” he says, hugging me from behind. He then places his chin on my shoulder and presses a kiss to the crook of my neck. I hate how my whole body instantly ignites, as if one touch could flick awake a dormant volcano in me.

“I said I’m fine.”

To this, he chuckles, and God help me, his laugh sends shivers through my insides. Marcello isn’t the kind of man who smiles, much less laughs, so any time he does, I swoon like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“One thing I’ve learned from living with my mother and sisters is that when a woman says she’s fine, she is anything but.

” He then turns me around in one swift motion until my chest is pressed against his, his hands now firmly placed on my hips.

He leans into me and whispers in my ear, “I think I know how to turn that frown upside down.”

Doubtful. Can he not be the heir apparent to the Chicago syndicate?

Because that’s the only way I’ll ever truly smile again.

Screwing the man I’m trying to build a case against wasn’t exactly smart.

But falling for him? The way I feel my heart do every time we’re together? Well, that’s just plain stupid.

Still, it isn’t even his role in the Outfit that I have a hard time dealing with.

It’s the fact that we still haven’t had one honest discussion about his disorder.

If we’re still playing pretend that everything is fine, how will I ever be able to persuade him to seek the professional help Professor Montgomery is offering?

“Hey?” he says, lifting my chin so I can stare into his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

If only that were true.

“I’m fine, Marcello. Just have an errand to run after my training sessions tonight that I’m not looking forward to, that’s all,” I explain, grateful for not having to entirely lie to him.

Tonight, I have to meet Haynes and update him on my investigation.

And the reason I’m not looking forward to it is because I have nothing to report.

To be fair, Haynes wasn’t exactly thrilled that the one lead I got incriminated Father Torres in Father McDonagh’s disappearance, not Marcello.

Haynes has been dragging his feet in getting me any intel on the priest, which only delays the progress of my case.

I understand his reluctance, though. If Father Torres is truly responsible for Father McDonagh’s disappearance, then any case the FBI had against the Outfit collapses, leaving us no closer to dismantling the criminal organization than when we first started.

Life really works in mysterious ways. Not a few months ago, I was salivating to get any proof on Marcello to take him and his family down. Now here I am, praying that Father Torres really is culpable in the other priest’s death just so I don’t have to cuff Marcello and destroy his family.

“An errand, huh?” Marcello grins, knowing full well what I’ll be up to in a few hours.

“Then how about I take your mind off it for a while?” He winks before grabbing my hand.

I don’t even have time to protest when he leads me into Carmine’s empty office.

He then locks us inside and pulls the shades down, giving us the illusion of privacy.

“What are you up to?” I ask curiously.

“What I’m always up to, just trying to make you feel good,” he cracks a crooked smile before picking me up and placing my ass on the desk.

“Marcello,” I start, but it’s too late. He’s already on his haunches, spreading my thighs wide.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says before ripping my yoga pants in the middle. I gasp, incredulous at his action, but all my protests die on the tip of my tongue when he swipes my panties to the side.

“Don’t you dare,” I reprimand. “I need a shower. I’ve been working out for the past hour.”

“Does it look like I care?”

No, it doesn’t. It never does. Marcello doesn’t care how he takes me, just as long as he can. And for the life of me, I can’t seem to be able to stop him. My body is already clenching with the idea that it will soon feel his tongue.

Having given up the fight and needing him to erase all my concerns, I run my fingers through his hair, stare him in the eye, and ask, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Marcello’s lips curl at the side, and I almost combust with his smoldering look.

Seeing this man on his knees, licking his lips, just dying to get a taste of me, is too much for any red-blooded woman to bear.

All too soon, I feel the flat of his tongue lap at my slit, and I let out a moan, grabbing the edge of the desk and leaning my head back.

It’s only when he slaps my pussy that my head flings forward.

“Eyes on me,” he growls before going back to his favorite meal.

If I weren’t so turned on, I’d praise him for finally finding his footing in the bedroom.

Or in this case, his grandfather’s office.

The shy man who admitted not so long ago that he’d never had sex before has mastered the art of dirty talk to a T.

He’s leaned into his dominant nature, while making sure that I’m always kept safe in his arms and that all my needs are met before his.

I’ve never thought I’d enjoy being submissive to any man. Still, when Marcello takes the lead, I find myself effortlessly assuming the role and enjoying every damn minute of it.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as Marcelo continues to stare up at my eyes, while flicking my clit with his tongue, then sucking it into his mouth.

On and on this tortuous dance goes. When my breathing starts to come out in spurts, he runs his digits over my soaked pussy, before thrusting them deep inside me, hooking them just right to ensure he hits that one sensitive wall.

I bite into my lip to keep myself from crying out as he works my pussy with his fingers. He does it in such a way that the air in the small room becomes intoxicating with the scent of my desire.

“What do you want, bella? I can either make you come like this or bend you over the desk and fuck you senseless until you see God.”

“Fuck me,” I pant, my vision beginning to blur at the obscenities coming out of his mouth.

“Second choice it is then.” He smirks, rising to his feet. He grabs my throat and presses an arduous kiss on my lips, before flipping me around and bending me over the desk.

I barely have time to breathe when his cock drives deep into my pussy, the desk shaking beneath me with the sheer force of it all.

“Always so ready for me,” he purrs while tugging at my hair, forcing me to keep my head up in a way that he can see every expression flickering across my face.

“Tell me, bella, do you always get this wet?” I shake my head since words fail me right now with the way he’s fucking me from behind.

“Do you only get this wet for me?” he rasps huskily.

Though his tone suggests that his question is merely for foreplay purposes, I can hear the vulnerability behind his words.

I try to clear my head to answer, though it’s hard with the way every thrust gets me closer and closer to the precipice.

“Only you, Marcello. Only with you,” I manage to moan out.

“Fuck,” he curses, snaking his head to my throat and pulling me against his chest. “Say that again, bella. Tell me that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this? The only one who you let fuck like this.”

My nipples harden at his plea as my pussy clenches around his girth, making him hiss out in pleasure.

“Only you, Marcello. Only with you. Forever you.”

He lets out a growl before gently pulling my head sideways to kiss me. And it’s with a kiss that I elaborate on my confession.

You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.

You’re the only one who will ever make me feel this way.

It will always be you.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he curses when he feels himself starting to unravel.

Marcello breaks our kiss, shoves me back down against the desk, and starts fucking me with abandon.

“Hold on tight,” he orders, and it takes me a second to realize he means the edge of the desk. I grab hold of it as he drives deep into me, carving his name in every cell in my body.

Unable to hold it in any longer, a high-pitched scream erupts from my throat, the world around me disappearing, leaving only me and Marcello to bask in the light. He comes with my name on his lips, as if it were the most precious word he’d ever uttered.

A lazy smile crests my lips as my body feels like it just went on the most majestic rollercoaster.

I’m still lying on top of the desk, fully enjoying my afterglow after such a soul-shattering orgasm, when Marcello picks me up, sits at the desk, and gently plants me on his lap.

He wipes the wet strands away from my face, kissing my temple, then my cheeks, and finally my mouth.

When he pulls back, I’m still wearing an ear-to-ear smile.

“ Bella, ” he coos, rubbing my cheeks with the pads of his thumb

“Mmm,” I retort lazily, my head too heavy to keep up, preferring to rest on his shoulder.

“Did you mean what you said? Just now?”

His shy tone forces my eyes to flash open and look at him. “Yes,” I confess, running my finger over his lush lower lip. “Is that okay?”

He nods, staring back at me with his ocean eyes. If his gaze were a current, I’d let it pull me under until I forgot the surface even existed.

“Then there’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” I ask, still mesmerized by the look in his eyes.

“It’s time you met my mother.”

No matter how many orgasms Marcello gives me, the sweet euphoria is quickly tarnished by the sight of Hayne’s car in the empty mall parking lot.

“Here,” he says, throwing a manila envelope in my lap the second I get in. The asshole doesn’t even have the decency to say hello, too bent out of shape to offer me the courtesy.

“Is this Father Torres’s file?” I ask, opening the envelope and briefly glancing over the documents inside.

“It’s what you asked for,” Haynes barks, his gaze full of disdain. “There’s nothing there. Check it yourself, but the priest is not our guy.”

“Just because he doesn’t have a checkered past doesn’t mean he isn’t the man we’re looking for.”

“Are you hard of hearing as well as stupid?” he shouts. “I just said there is nothing there. Leave the fucking priest alone and get me fucking Romano!”

My eyes go wide at his manic outburst. Two months of working with Haynes has taught me he’s a real piece of work, but even with all his misogynistic crap he’s put me through, he’s never once lost his temper with me in such a way.

“I follow the leads that show up. We can’t make a case against the Outfit for Father McDonagh’s death if nothing ties them to it. I’m not sure what you want me to do. I can’t just make shit up!” I counter back.

Haynes’s manic glower pins me to the passenger seat, and something in his eyes tells me that leaving is the safest thing I can do right now. He must read the intention in my gaze because my hand has barely touched the door handle when the asshole grips my neck to keep me in place.

“Listen here, Graham. I will not let you fuck this case up. You either get me what I want, or you’ll be on the first plane back to D.C., where you should have never left.”

Haynes’s grip tightens around me as I maneuver my hand just enough to grab his gun from his holster. The second he hears the familiar click of the gun’s safety switch being flipped, he releases his fingers, loosening the grip around my throat.

“What do you intend to do? Kill your supervising officer with his own gun because you didn’t like the feedback?” he snorts.

“Touch me like that again, and—”

“And what?” He scoffs.

“Fuck around and find out,” I seethe.

“Dumb bitch. Get the fuck out of my car.”

“With pleasure.”

I swiftly get out of his car, but just as I’m about to swing the door in his face, he stops it and throws me a curveball with his following remark.

“I’d go home and think long and hard before doing anything stupid.

If I hear that this little spat of ours gets out and finds its way to Director Roderick’s ears, you’ll force my hand to tell her what you’ve been up to. ”

“And what exactly is that?” I grind my teeth at him.

“Fuck around and find out,” he says before slamming the door and hightailing out of the parking lot.

I fist my hands on my sides and watch the asshole go. I should report him. He deserves to be written up for the way he just acted. Hell, his gross misconduct is enough to even get him suspended.

However, the threat he threw at me has me second-guessing myself.

Does he know about me and Marcello?

No. That can’t be possible. I’ve been so careful.

Always checking to ensure I’m not being followed when I go over to Marcello’s.

I didn’t think I needed to warn Marcello about being followed, considering he’s had years of paranoia drilled into him to spot a tail.

And in all honesty, I thought I was just as good at it. But what if someone caught us together?

“No,” I tell myself.

The only place we’ve ever been, even remotely public, is the gym, and that place is crawling with Outfit soldiers and enforcers. They would be the last people who would ever rat me out to Haynes.

Unless… Unless an undercover agent infiltrated the gym posing as a client.

No. Not possible. This is Haynes just fucking with my head because I’m not giving him the results he wants.

He’s bluffing. He must be bluffing. Right?