Page 21 of Wicked (Wicked Billionaires #2)

RAVEN

We sit at breakfast, at the perfectly placed table. We face each other, but we say nothing; the weight of the silence is chilling. Maria should not have set the place mats facing each other, but to move them now would be more awkward. I am slightly hungover, and it does not help at all.

As Maria places traditional Italian breakfasts between Dante and me, surely she must be picking up on the loaded energy.

This is getting way out of hand.

Last night at the wedding, we were light and bouncy. After when he commanded me to come , I had. That was as hot as all fuck, but now…

Now, we’re like a couple of strangers.

Like a couple of screwed up people who can’t even communicate. Maria breaks it up fast, thank God. “So did you sleep-a well, young Raven?” I clear my throat, about to reply. “You have a glow about-a you, dear. Whatever you did last night must have been good for you.”

She clearly meant the wedding, and I try not to look at Dante. Dante, however, groans ever so slightly, and he sounds like a wounded wolf.

“Si,” I say. “It was a lovely evening, grazie.” I then raise an eyebrow at Dante. “Thank you again, Dante. For letting me… come.”

Dante watches me devoid of emotion. Actually, that’s not accurate. He looks cold and ruthless or full of hate.

“And you, Dante?” Maria asks, standing back and adjusting her apron.

Dante turns on that charming version of himself. The version apparently reserved for older women, relatives, and weddings. “Grazie, Maria. Si. I am well.”

I know otherwise, and unless he fisted his cock hard last night, he is likely charged.

He is also a tease and a brute. Not at all the polite reserved gentleman he portrays himself to be here and now.

The arrogant grump played me last night before walking away without a word or touch of humanity.

As Maria tells us about her day, she dusts her hands on her apron. With a final smile, she adds, “Well, I must-a be off. Enjoy your day.”

After we stand and thank her, she heads out and I exhale nervously. I calm some, and I fight not to look Dante’s way.

He shakes his head, leans back chewing, and our eyes meet. He appears slightly playful, and I warm, slowly grinning like a naughty teen.

I want more.

No, I need more.

Dante gives no more emotions away, and as usual, he is reserved and controlled. Make that controlling. As he reaches for the fresh bread, he licks his fingers.

“Pass me the jam.”

I give him a look with my smoldering eyes, and I pass him the sweet jam and then the marmalade.

After trying some of each, he shakes his head. “It’s not what I want.”

As our eyes meet, he leans back again. He then crosses the strong arms in his tight black T. His eyes are cold, and his energy is becoming charged.

“I need something sweeter and wetter,” he says huskily. “Find it for me.”

I double blink in disbelief. What the heck does he mean?

“Put your hand in your panties and give me your wet fingers.”

He has to be kidding, surely. Part of me wants to leap up and slap him. It’s completely wrong, but it’s beyond… hot. As I get turned on, I feel myself getting wet.

“Hand in panties, now!”

Slowly, I gulp, and I slide my hand inside my pants. My eyes are full of hate, and as our eyes hold each other’s, I get the ends of my fingers wet.

I can’t help myself, and I circle my throbbing clit. As I slide lower in the seat, I find more room. I spread my legs, let my lower lip drop open, and I whimper. As I insert two fingers, I moan, my mouth open wide.

Our eyes do not leave each other’s, and it’s electric.

I hate the fact that I’m not horrified about putting on a show, but being alone with Dante does something bad to me.

As Dante sits up, he leans forward. His eyes are locked on mine, and his energy is strong. He slides his thick tongue out, and I pant as I remove my wet fingers.

I insert the two slick fingers into his hot wet mouth, and he closes his sinful lips. His hot wet mouth is like my hungry pussy, and I pant as I slide them in and out. Knowing he is tasting me, and enjoying it, makes me squeeze my thighs tight.

As I finger fuck his filthy mouth, my clit throbs hard. Again, it is wrong, but again it’s so F-ing hot.

After a long sinful minute, Dante pulls his head back, and he licks his slick lips.

Without warning, he stands, and he pulls on a classy leather jacket that is on the back of his chair. He walks behind me, and he runs a hand through my hair. He then pulls my hair and it’s hard, but hot.

His other hand slides down my top, and he plays with a pebbled nipple, turning it perfectly in his fingers. Just when I think it’s going to go further, and he’ll command me to take him, he whips his hand up and walks.

I stare at him, mouth open, panting and played. I hate him for it with all of my heart.

As the arrogant bastard eye fucks me from the doorway, he licks his lips and winks. I slump in the chair. Turned on. Disturbed. Confused.

Seconds later, I hear the Black Range Rover start, and I run to the window. As I swing it open, I look down at him in the courtyard. “Pollo!” I yell. “Pollo!”

Chicken.

The smug tease peers up, and he growls, “Vaffanculo.”

Dante races towards the castle, and I grab my phone and type the word in.

“Fuck you!”

As I slump, frustrated and turned on, I mumble, “Son of a bitch!” I close my eyes and say it louder. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

After trying to eat breakfast but unable to consume much, I go to my suite. I cannot focus on writing, and I’m way too charged. I climb under the sheets, and I kick off my stupid clothes. It does not take long, and I am soon bucking against my fingers, gasping, and coming.

I’m not proud of myself, because of the fantasy I’d used to come.

Bucking into his face and coming on his tongue. Yanking him into my pussy and seeing my cum on the end of his tongue and on his chin is what did it.

After I clean myself up, I change panties, and I center my energy. With a new sense of energy, and a clear head, I get into my writing. I focus on my book for an hour, and I flow with incredible speed.

Suddenly, my eyes pop wide. “Dad!”

I tap out a fast email to my father, and I tell him I’m in Italy for a few weeks. I also inform him I’m trying to finish the novel. Then, as always, I tell him I miss him and Mom.

I hit send and start to read the next chapter of my novel. It only needs a light gloss, and it reads well.

I’m five minutes in when an email comes in. I grin. Dad!

Wow and congrats, darling. Very proud! Love you, and call if you need anything. Always here, enjoy Italy! Good luck with the novel, and I know you must be close.

Mom would be proud! I know I am!

Love, Dad xo

I beam proudly, and I hide my phone, so I’m not distracted.

As I read and polish fast, my fresh energy and renewed passion is delightful! The sea air, inspiring Tuscan location, and stunning village setting seems to do wonders for my energy. I bite down on my lip after another minute, and I think of the damned bath.

Finally, I push on and I continue writing.

After another great hour, he distracts me, again. I huff, shake my head and pace. I force myself to sit, center my scattered energy, and I dig back in.

I find flow state again, and I polish and rewrite ferociously fast. For the next few hours, I’m in the zone, and I add key sections, elevate passages, and words somehow stream from me.

I push on until lunch, then I break for the bread, cheese, roasted chicken, and wine Maria has wrangled for me.

I made a nutty request earlier when she popped up asking about lunch.

I want to imitate timeless Italian masters, and I want to eat what they did. Even if they were more artists than writers, I want to experience what they experienced.

Being in the same nation as Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Botticelli, and Pavarotti is inspiring, and I feel something in my blood.

As I finish lunch, Maria returns, and we discuss writing, life, and Italy. She laughs at my kooky mind, and I smile, not knowing any different.

As we talk on, I learn about her life in the cute Tuscan village. She really is a wonderful woman. She is also uncomplicated, timeless, and gentle.

Maria mentions the horses around rural Tuscany, and she asks if I’ve ridden. I tell her I grew up in Virginian horse country, and that as a teen, I rode weekly.

I even jumped in competitions, but only at the county and state level.

Maria reminds me it’s a perfect day out, and she points to a horse in a field above the dunes. As I lean out the villa’s arched window, I see the lovely chestnut. It has a long mane and tail, and they are lighter than her brown body. “You can ride her, bella. We call her Olive. She’s gentle.”

My lips curl up. It’s just what I need!

I find the bridle, then I water and saddle sweet Olive. Maria shows me the path down to the beach, and she explains a possible loop-like ride.

As I ride Olive along the beach, I listen to the sound of the sea. I inhale the fresh salty air while I talk to the soft mare and tell her she’s beautiful. We canter along the water edge, her golden mane and tail flying.

I feel more alive . Yet calmer than I have for some time.

I guess it’s because there are fewer people around, and there are fewer life complications like in modern NYC.

As I ride on, I try not to think of the bath or him. I do not do well, but I do find a way from the beach up through the rocks near the cliff. It’s under Dante’s family castle, and it’s likely near where he is.

As I follow the hillside path, I head higher and higher toward the beautiful cliff-side fortress. The bike on road visit was easier, but the dramatic, cliff climb is invigorating and exciting.

Finally, we reach the top, and we enter what must be the castle estate. I worry about intruding, then realize if Dante gets angry, he may want to punish me.

The idea of him pulling my panties down and spanking my butt makes my clit throb again. I shake my head at the thought, then I catch sight of Dante working outside.

His shirt is off, and he’s covered in sweat. As I gulp and ride forwards, I rock backwards and forwards on the large horse below.

I watch Dante and his warrior-like body, unseen. I imagine rocking backwards and forwards on him, and it’s bad. Like my thoughts.