The tension I was feeling in the shower starts to dissolve as she kisses me back. My teeth scrape her lips, our tongues clash, and my fucking dick—hard as steel—presses against her belly.
I don’t know who pulls away first, if it’s a joint effort or what, but as soon as our mouths separate, our eyes spring open and we stare at one another.
“You kissed me,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
“Do it again.”
I’m not sure if it’s a plea or a demand, but I answer the call and this time I kiss her slowly, savoring every fucking second, knowing it’s all I’m ever going to get.
Men like me don’t get to keep pretty little things like Violet.
We live for the stolen moments and take what we can get.
Men like me are destined to end up alone.
Chapter 13
Violet Cabrera
I can still feel his lips against mine. Still taste him and feel his hard cock pressing into my stomach. At first I thought I was dreaming, that my mind was finally letting me escape the hell I witnessed, but with every stroke of his tongue and thrust of his hips I became all the more aware that I was in bed with Rocco. He was naked and he was kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before and I wanted more.
So much more.
I wanted that skilled mouth to explore every inch of me.
I wanted to feel his hands all over my skin.
I wanted to know how it felt to have him inside me.
But Rocco pumped the brakes before any of that could happen. I’m still trying to figure out why. I mean, I know he was into it—I felt that much. He could barely walk when he climbed out of the bed, that’s how hard he was. I tried to convince him not to leave. Hell, I fucking begged him, but he took his naked ass to the living room and left me with my fingers between my legs.
Two hours later he woke me up. He was fully dressed and acted as if nothing had happened. In fact, he threw my suitcase on top of the bed and ordered me to get dressed. I was baffled, mostly because of his behavior but also because I had left my suitcase at Joaquin’s apartment.
I brushed the mystery of the suitcase off and gave into the anger that washed over me. He didn’t get to crawl into bed with me, kiss me and touch me—leave me hanging—and then throw orders at me.
“You got ten minutes to get dressed,” he said.
“Or what?”
“Or I’m taking you to the airport dressed like that.”
“I’m not wearing panties.”
“Yeah, I got that much,” he growled.
“I bet you did,” I taunted, cocking my head to the side. I tossed the comforter off my body, crossed my leg over my knee and gave him a glimpse of what he turned down. Then his words sank in. “Wait a minute—did you say you’re taking me to the airport?”
Keeping his eyes between my legs, he said, “Sure did.”
I jumped out of bed and tugged the t-shirt down my thighs.
“My flight isn’t until tomorrow and Joaquin needs me.”
He lifted his chin.
“You’re the last thing Joaquin needs. Now, stop taunting me with your pretty little pussy and get dressed before I get my ass handed to me.”
“By who?”
“Not your concern. Just do as I say.”
I want to tell you that I put up a good fight. That I didn’t let him get the last word, but Rocco turned on his heel and exited the room before I could reply. I weighed my options, recalling the night before and how I tried to talk to my brother. He was distraught and barely paid me any mind. I couldn’t be mad at him, though, or press him to confide in me. He was mourning and that screws with a person. Still, it stung knowing he didn’t want me around.
Not to console him or help him deal with his grief.
He just wanted me gone and out of his hair.
I’m not even certain he wanted me in Miami before the shooting. To my brother, I was a nuisance. A complication he didn’t need.
Rocco wasn’t the only one who had changed since taking a position in Victor Pastore’s organization, so had Joaquin and I was starting to hate the man everyone in our neighborhood respected. Victor had taken the two men in my life and molded them into villains. So you can imagine how fucking ticked I was