Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 23

You know when little kids close their eyes to hide and think that if they can’t see anyone else, no one can see them? That’s me. I’m that kid as I sit in my apartment, curtains drawn shut, lights low, hiding from my problems. They’re still out there. Hiding doesn’t change a thing, but it feels necessary because I don’t know what else to do.

You can’t escape me.

I hear his words whispering on repeat in the back of my mind. What bothers me the most is the relief I feel. I’m also scared and worried and embarrassed—a whole cocktail of decidedly negative emotions—all somehow offset by a heavy blanket of relief.

I’ve held such a tight grip on my reins for so long that the threat of losing control has been terrifying. The uncertainty of the unknown loomed as dark as any storm cloud. I had no idea that once that control was stripped from me, I might experience … freedom. The consequences may not be ideal, but if events are entirely out of my hands, I can’t do anything about it.

The allure of that sort of release of responsibility is incredibly tempting.

But I have to ask myself, what kind of horrible person would ever give up fighting if it meant bringing horrible pain to their loved ones? How do I know if circumstances are out of my control or if I simply quit trying? I’m petrified of making a mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

Which brings me back to hiding in my apartment.

Lina called not long after I got home. I wasn’t up for talking but was glad I answered because she was dead set on skipping the rest of brunch to come over, worried about why I’d run off. I told her a version of the truth—that I met Sante recently, and he intentionally concealed his identity. I explained that I was upset and simply needed a little time to cool down. Assured that I wasn’t on the verge of emotional collapse, she agreed to give me space, though I could tell she was itching to know more.

I’m sure they all are after my disappearing act. Everyone will know something is going on between Sante and me. And what’s better than emotional turmoil? Having that trauma put on display for the whole world to see.

Did I mention I may never leave my apartment?

The credits begin to scroll up the screen, signaling the end of The Princess Bride. I pause it and select start from the beginning—for the second time. I could watch this movie all day long, and that’s my current plan until I hear a knock on my door.

I don’t have to look through the peephole to know who it is, but I do anyway, just in case.

“Go away, Sante. I’m not ready to talk yet,” I call through the door.

“I’ll break it down, Amelie.” He doesn’t yell or sound angry. He doesn’t have to for me to know he’s serious. His crazy ass will do it.

I heave a dramatic sigh, then open the door, one hand on the knob, the other propped on my hip.

“What?” I ask in a clipped tone, though he’s still in the suit he was wearing earlier, and the sight winds me for a second. Something about the dichotomy of tattoos with silk ties is mesmerizing.

On the other hand, I am wearing flannel pajama pants with little sheep on them and an oversized sweatshirt with a faded image of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet holding hands.

His eyes take a sweeping survey of me from top to bottom. “You’re fucking adorable.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “That is so not fair.”

Sante prowls forward, not waiting for an invitation. I backtrack, doing my best to look disapproving. He kicks the door shut behind him and continues toward me.

“Told you I’d be honest. Never said I’d be fair.”

“After the stunt you pulled, you don’t think you owe me just a little?”

The only word that adequately describes his answering grin is diabolical.

“You’re absolutely right. I do owe you.” His guttural words tease my inner ear and send tingles down my spine.

Before I can argue, he backs me up against the dining table, then seats me atop it with his body pressed between my thighs.

“Sante,” I warn. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

His teeth rake over his bottom lip. “What I know is that I’ve been denying this craving for you for too damn long, and now that everything’s out in the open, I’m not waiting a minute longer.”

He trails his nose along the length of my neck on a deep inhale while his hands, around my waist, pull my center against the enormous bulge in his pants.

The sensual assault short-circuits my brain.

My head falls to the side, making room for him. He nips at my jaw, alternating between gentle bites and soothing kisses. A moan unfurls from deep in my throat when he begins to rock himself against me.

“Better than I imagined,” he murmurs against my skin. “You’re perfect.”

Perfect is a very high standard. The word seeps into my consciousness, kickstarting my thoughts … and my doubts.

I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and graze my nails in the softly shaved hair. “Nobody’s perfect. Especially me,” I whisper against his lips before kissing him deeply. I let my tongue swipe over his, savoring his taste.

His hand slips confidently beneath the loose elastic of my pants and into my panties. His touch is criminally competent—the perfect pace and pressure—he brings his fingers to my entrance, teasing it before slowly working his way closer to my clit.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs.

His touch feels incredible. I try not to think and simply enjoy the moment because I desperately want to feel good, but it’s no use. I can’t shut off my brain. He’s doing everything right, and it feels incredible, but I know there’s no point. I also know how awkward it is to let a man chase something that isn’t there.

“You don’t need to do that. It’s okay.” I angle my hips away, encouraging him to remove his hand.

Sante stills. “You don’t want me touching you?”

“It’s not that.” I can hardly meet his eyes.

This is so fucking embarrassing.

The more I draw it out, though, the worse it’ll be. I need to get it out there and be done with it.

I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I don’t have orgasms, okay? It doesn’t matter how long you spend at it, so it’s not worth the effort. Trust me, I can’t even make it happen on my own.”

Not so perfect now, am I?

If my face blazes any hotter, I’ll be in need of a burn unit.

“Mellie, look at me.”

I do, though reluctantly. His tone tells me I have little option.

“Who did I say this body belongs to?”

“You,” I breathe.

“And that’s the problem. How will anyone else unlock a door when I’m the only one with the key?” It’s the cockiest, most overconfident thing I’ve ever heard a man say, and he says it with such conviction that I somehow believe him.

Sante lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his middle, and takes me back to my bedroom. He sets me on the bed, then disappears into my bathroom. When he returns, he’s carrying the full-length mirror he’s taken from the wall.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“You have toys?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“You mean a vibrator? Yeah, in the nightstand.” I may not orgasm, but it still feels good.

“Get it.”

I do as I’m told while keeping a curious eye on him as he moves the corner chair next to my bed and props the mirror against it.

He takes off his jacket and begins rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Take off your clothes.”

I can’t believe I’m going along with this, but he has me in his thrall. I’m desperate to go wherever he’s taking me.

He crawls onto the bed and sits with his legs wide in front of the mirror. “Come here.” He pats the space in front of him while his eyes devour every inch of my body.

I know I’m thin—so much so that it’s a turnoff for some men. That’s the nature of someone with my passion for dance. I’ve worked hard to achieve this level of ability, and it thrills me beyond words that his appreciation for what he sees is palpable.

I snag my finger inside the band of my pink panties and tug them off, leaving me completely bare for his ravenous gaze. I feel a tad awkward climbing into his lap, especially when I’m seated staring at my naked reflection with Sante fully clothed behind me.

His left hand presses flat against my belly, guiding me to lie back against him.

My heart bounds around in my chest like a Ping-Pong ball on meth, nearly imploding when Sante’s voice rumbles a one-word command.

“Open.”

I know what he means, but it feels so lewd. So vulnerable. It’s hard to make myself comply.

I stare myself down in the mirror and slowly coax my legs apart, giving us both a clear view of my dripping pussy.

A primal growl of approval reverberates from his chest into mine.

“That’s my girl. Already weeping for me.”

I fear I might do a lot more than that to hear him call me his girl in that tone again. It makes my heart so light I might have levitated off the bed for a second. Every inch of my body begs for his touch. I know it’s coming, or … I thought I knew. What he does instead surprises me.

“Show me what feels good.” He picks up the vibrator and places it in my hand.

Embarrassment showers me from head to toe.

He wants me to touch myself … while he watches? I can’t. That’s too awkward. It’ll never wor—

My thoughts evaporate when I catch sight of the captivated delight in his eyes. He’s transfixed. The knowledge that I have that effect on him does something to me. Emboldens me. Heals me.

I spread myself slightly with one hand and use the other to tease circles with the tip of the vibrator around the sides of my clit. The intensity of the sensation startles a gasp from my lungs. I arch into the pleasure with my lips parted in ecstasy.

“You make my cock so hard it might never go soft again. Jesus, you’re incredible.” He trails a hand along my thigh. My brain glitches as it tries to focus on the two sensations at once.

“God, Sante. It feels so good.” I dip the vibrator tip into my entrance, then go back up to my swollen bundle of nerves. When his other hand crosses in front of me and cups my breast, my eyes roll back in delirium.

“Eyes open, pet,” he purrs before thick fingers twist my nipple. The zing of pure liquid pleasure is so intense that my legs twitch in unison.

“That’s it. Keep those emerald eyes open and see what this beautiful body can do. Watch me watching you. I know you like it. Like seeing my hands touch you in ways no one else has. See me witness you move in ways no one else has seen you move.”

The hand he was using to caress my thigh drifts upward over my hip bone and to my other breast. I work myself faster, feeling the need for more friction. My breathing now comes in haphazard pants. Sante’s knuckles graze the undersides of my breasts in tandem. I arch with need, but he continues to tease by avoiding the pebbled skin so desperate for his touch.

“Please, Sante. Please.”

“Please what, pet? I’ll give you what you need just as soon as you’re ready.”

“I need more.” I don’t know what that means. I’ve never felt this mind-bending sense of urgency before to be able to decipher it. All I know is that I’m filled with need—a chaotic, consuming need that threatens to annihilate me in the very best way.

His calloused fingers drift down to cup the inside of my thighs just shy of my center. He kneads and caresses before drifting back up to graze the sides of my breasts again. He kisses my neck, reminding me to keep my eyes open. I do, but I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what to focus on. There’s so much pleasure coming at me from so many places.

I gasp and moan, my hips flexing and arching instinctively.

“Your pussy was made to be fucked, Amelie. So wet and ready and greedy for my cock to fill you.”

His words light fires inside me like I’ve never felt. The bliss soaking my veins draws a mewling cry from deep in my throat. I feel so close. So close to something incredible that tears tumble from the corners of my eyes.

“That’s it. My girl is ready. Fuck, she’s so ready. Come for me, baby. Show me this body is all mine.” The whole time he speaks, his hands finally twist and tug at my aching nipples. The relief to finally have his touch initiates a cascade of liquid lightning that rockets from my core out to every tiny nerve in my body. It’s so unexpected and transformative that I scream, feeling as though I have no choice. The intensity needs an outlet.

As the explosion ebbs, I replace myself floating on a cloud of bliss as though I was launched into the sky and now get to enjoy the peace of a weightless descent. When the vibrator’s touch becomes too much, I turn it off and drop it on the bed beside me.

Holy crap, I had an orgasm. A real, honest-to-God orgasm.

I truly believed I was one of those women who physically wasn’t capable, but I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. And it was all thanks to Sante.

I realize my eyes have drifted shut.

When I open them, Sante’s gaze is there waiting. Devouring. One of his arms is curled possessively around my middle, and the other brings a finger to my entrance. I start to stiffen, knowing how sensitized I am, but he pauses, commanding me with his stare to trust him. I relax and watch in the mirror as he gently inserts a finger inside me.

It feels so fucking good that I shudder.

He makes that masculine growl again, then brings his finger up to his lips and sucks every last bit of my juices from his skin.

His hooded eyes darken. “This body is mine. I think I’ve proven that. When I say no other man gets to touch you, I mean it. If I’m uncomfortable with you going to a man’s house alone, what I mean to say is, if he touches you in a way I don’t like, I’ll break his fucking legs.”

It’s a good thing I’m so blissed out, or I’d be totally freaking. Instead, I chide him dazedly. “Don’t joke about that sort of thing.”

“Have I given you the impression I’m the joking sort?”

My eyes widen, but I still can’t summon the appropriate outrage. “Sante, you can’t do that sort of thing. It’s barbaric.”

“I learned years ago that when it comes to protecting what’s mine, there are no limits to what I will or won’t do. That’s who I am.”

I’m not sure what to think about that. It makes me wonder what happened to make him so unbending about keeping me safe. This isn’t the time to ask, but I will.

I twist until I’m facing him and sit back on my knees. “I’ve shared more with you than anyone now. I need you to return the favor and trust me where Andrey is concerned.”

“It’s him I don’t trust. After everything you’ve been through.” He grapples with a swell of emotion. “I met with Renzo earlier today. He told me why you left home—what your parents tried to do. If they weren’t already dead, I’d have done it myself the instant I left his house. You should know better than anyone that people can be cruel, even those you think you know best.”

“Exactly. I know people are unpredictable, but I’m telling you, I’ll be safe with Andrey. I need you to trust my judgment.” And I need my costar to have confidence in me. After the little scene I pulled, he has to wonder if I’m going to cave under the pressure. This role is too important to risk losing.

Sante’s expression is inscrutable. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not because he changes the subject.

“I also talked to Renzo about The Society, and we decided it wouldn’t hurt to sniff around, make sure there’s no signs of a resurgence.”

All lingering effects of my first orgasm are doused in an icy shower of panic.

I’m off the bed and throwing on my clothes in two seconds flat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I hiss.

Sante stands and spreads his arms wide. “Clearly, I don’t. Why don’t you fucking enlighten me?”

“They’ll know you’re digging.”

“They supposedly don’t exist anymore. Care to tell me how you know otherwise?”

This is the moment I’ve been dreading. The falling dominos have extended beyond my control and will trigger consequences I can’t begin to anticipate. No degree of desperation on my end will undo what’s been done. The only thing I can do now is try to minimize the fallout, and the best way to do that is to tell Sante what I can so that he’s prepared.

My limbs feel leaden with defeat as I walk to the bed and sit heavily.

“My parents tried to sell my virginity, and that’s why I ran away—everyone knows that. What I didn’t tell Lina or anyone else was that I saw the man. I recognized him.”

I don’t look at Sante, but I sense the preternatural stillness of his body. “The man who planned to rape you?”

I nod. “He’s still alive, and he knows that I know. He’s always kept tabs on me, and I think that’s who’s been following me.”

The silence between us is deafening.

“His name.” No two words have ever been spoken with such restrained violence.

In my head, I see a giant boulder rolling down a hill, and I know I’ll never be able to stop it from gaining momentum. It’s going to decimate everything in its path. The only thing I can do now is keep its trajectory pointed where it will do the least damage possible.

Biting my lip, I slowly shake my head. “I can’t.”

Sante closes the distance between us and cups my face. “I get it. You’re scared, but I can make it all go away. This can be fixed, Mellie. I just need you to give me his name.”

“It’s not that simple.” Tears well in my eyes. “I can’t give you his name, and I need you to promise me that you won’t go looking for it.”

“What the fuck?” he roars, turning his back to me before whirling back around. “You’re telling me this guy could be out there hurting other girls, and you’re going to protect him?”

My body caves in on itself like a rotting apple. Tears pour down my cheeks, but I don’t say a word.

“What’s he holding over you?”

I shake my head. “It’s not just him. The people involved in The Society are powerful, dangerous people.”

In a flash, Sante is back in my face, wrath incarnate. “In case you couldn’t tell, so am I. No one threatens what’s mine. No one.”

He slams my bedroom door behind him, leaving me to succumb to a battery of fear and shame.