his cock up between my thighs.
“I won’t look away,” he whispers, the head prying open my lips. “Not for one second, I promise.”
I prop my hands on the shower door and stare into his eyes in the mirror. His cock fills me, going deep, stretching me wide. I play with him, shimmying my hips to make him whinny and groan like a stallion. The sound of his soft growls makes my skin flush.
We collapse into a quicker and quicker pace, cock grinding, my pussy getting tight, shower water clinging like drops of boiling ecstasy to my clit and sliding down his length. When the mirror is completely hazed-over, I grab his hips behind me and pull each thrust in deeper and deeper.
He grabs me, spins, lifts me and pushes me against the shower wall. He slides up inside of me again, my breasts pressed against his scarred, chiseled chest.
“I’m so close,” I pant in his ear. I move my hands through his hair. Our noses are touching. Our eyes are open. We’ve never been this close before. “I can’t hold it anymore. Oh, oh, oh…!”
He makes to say something. But then his lips twist and he lets out a primal roar. I moan at the same time. The sounds join and become one, and then my pussy is clenching and his cock is throbbing and we’re just falling into the shared moment. I can’t take it. Neither can he. We don’t have a choice, though—so we ride it out together.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
I slip to the floor. I’m not sure if it’s his come or mine or the water sliding down my thighs. I don’t care.
“Carlo,” I ask. “Will you—will you stay with me tonight?”
He freezes.
Suddenly, I know I’ve gone too far. Whatever new bond is developing between us, apparently it doesn’t override Carlo’s no-sleeping-together rule. Like always, I can tell just by looking at him, he’ll be gone before I wake up.
He sighs. “I’m—it’s just …”
It’s just hard for me.
He leaves it unsaid. I fight the urge to say anything else. I don’t want to ruin this moment—what’s left of it.
But to be honest, I’m starting to get pretty tired of tap dancing around Carlo De Maggio’s idiosyncrasies. I wish I could feel just one way about him.
He’s making that harder and harder and harder.
22
Carlo
The night after the sex in the shower, I ride out to Sole Nero, where we’ve moved Benjamin Sweeney.
As New York City flits by in flashes of yellow streetlight, I rest my forehead against the glass, dreaming about Hazel. It’s safe to say that the whole threshold thing is absolutely certain now. Not only have we crossed it, but it’s behind us. I am trying to keep some kind of distance between us, like not sleeping in the same bed with her, but it’s getting harder by the day.
She knows me. I’ve told her things. And she hasn’t pushed me away. Even if I can tell that it makes her uncomfortable, even if I can tell she’s fighting her own war behind her glistening, alert green eyes, I can see that my pull on her is just as strong as hers is on me.
I’m so lost in thought I don’t even realize that the car has come to a stop until the door opens and the Albino leans down, grinning.
“How’s the hand?” I ask. “Has the novelty worn off yet?”
He lifts it, displaying the bandage. “Non mai. It is a beautiful wound.”
“Maury, you’re a strange one.”
His smile widens. “Grazie, Carlo.”
I step from the car and together, we head past the long line of waiting patrons under the red flashing lights of Sole Nero. The Albino raises his voice as the music begins to pump louder the closer we get to the dance floor.
We skirt around the dance floor to the entrance to the basement. Nario is waiting next to the door, Ubert standing at his shoulder to stop any partiers from stumbling over and acting like drunk assholes. Every one of our clubs has a door like this: leading to an electronic cell.
“Will he talk tonight?” I ask Maury.
He rubs his hands together. “If he doesn’t, he’s a silly man,” the Albino replies. Since the Irish have amped up their attacks, I’ve given the task of making Benjamin talk to Maury. I do not envy the Irish prince. “But then again, he’s even stranger than me.”
Nario kicks off the wall and together we head into the basement. “Not you,” I tell