Twisted Fate (Dark Heart Duet #2) - Ella James Page 0,61

the other engines running. I’m surprised and also not surprised that it feels like no decision at all.

He’s here, and he’s the same. He didn’t come back different from the war. He’s still the boy I loved. I think distantly that I have spiders to thank for this. Then I reach out, brushing his cheek with my shaking fingers.

He leans closer—our foreheads are almost touching—and his eyes glisten. His hand cradles my chin, strong fingers splayed along my jaw. “You’re still an angel,” he says. “Still too nice. Too…selfless.”

“No I’m not.”

“I’m being selfish,” he says softly. “Playing games.”

“So what’s the game?”

His eyes are tired.

I take his hand and press it to my chest. I close my eyes, and his lips brush mine. Then we deepen the kiss, and I’m lost in it, to it. I’m nothing but sensation—the dizzy sensation of melting against a man’s hard body. He’s crawling on the bed beside me, then we’re lying down and he’s atop me. He’s so heavy. He’s so warm. He’s scooping me up so he can flip us.

He’s on his back, and I’m straddling his hips. I’m laughing into his mouth because this is what he used to do. He’s arching up to meet me, his tongue hot, insistent, even as his hand cups my head gently. Oh hell, now it’s not gently. He’s gripping my hair so it hurts.

I wrench my mouth from his, looking down between our bodies as I rub myself against him. I feel him hard against me, rocking his hips, groaning as if he’s never been touched—not since me. He’s perfect, and I’m rubbing up and down his body, tracing the rim of his preposterously long and thick cock. His whole body trembles, and he tilts his head back, starts to moan.

Little whispered nothings, and I worry that I won’t remember. “Amo questo. Amo le tue mani su di me.” He loves my hands. I tell him I love his body. Then I’m crouching down between his legs. I’m licking him. He’s going crazy, bucking under me before I even seal my mouth around him. Then I do, and he’s clutching my hair, his palm cupped around the back of my head.

He groans, “Oh fuck, rosa.” His hips tremble like the ground during an earthquake, and it happens so fast. His hand shoves my forehead as his grande pene gives a hard throb, and he lifts his hips off the bed, trying valiantly to get away from me—but I’m still sucking. I’m swallowing.

He makes a sound—almost a mewling sound, but lower. Then he’s panting, his whole body shaking so much that at first I’m almost worried.

“Sorry,” he rasps. His hand covers his face.

I grip his hips, giving them a shake as I laugh, “Why are you sorry, Galante? You just got a killer blow job.”

He moves his hand off his eyes. I watch as his mouth twists, torn between surprised, elated, guilty.

“Do you think it’s okay?” I ask, husky.

His eyes close as he shifts his hand down to his heart, if he’s saying the pledge. “Yeah. I know it’s okay. I would never let you…if I thought we needed condoms.” He sounds winded—so much that it makes me wonder if he’s sick or something.

I give his dick a little pat and move so I’m stretched out beside him. Then I wrap an arm around him. He wraps his arms around me—we’re facing each other—and he starts breathing harder. Like he’s struggling to get enough air.

“Hey…” I rub his neck, noticing it feels warm. I can feel the little prickles of his hair along his neckline, and it gives me a strange burst of pleasure.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, kissing his temple.

He tightens his grip on me, nodding into my hair.

I press him against me, rubbing his back, which feels slightly damp. “Are you cold?” I reach toward the covers, but he tightens his grip on me.

“Not cold,” he says, and it sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. But his body gives this little shudder, like a counterpoint.

“Hi, Not Cold. I’m Elise, and I really want to cover you up.” I kick the covers up from where they’re pooled at our feet, then reach for them—even as he starts to wrap himself around me. He kisses my neck, panting against my skin. I kiss his forehead. There’s a hoarse sound from him.

“Hey…” I smooth his hair back, finding his eyes closed and his face twisted in what looks like regret. His chest is still pumping. “Luca…is