Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 40

I don’t know how I could have been so wrong when what Sante had said fit so well, like when a puzzle piece is the perfect fit, but the image doesn’t line up at all. Once he revealed the full picture, it was obvious I’d made a huge mistake.

I’m glad it happened, though, because it was the one last push I needed to finally end the secrecy. After I tell Sante, everyone will know the truth. I’ll have nothing more to hide. I can sense the weightlessness of relief waiting for me, just out of my reach. To get there, I’ll have to strip myself bare one more time and pray the outcome is worth it.

I lead us into the living room and sit on the sofa. It’s been a rough twelve hours for us both, and if we have to go through one more traumatic unveiling, the least we can do is be comfortable. Sante sits with his body angled toward mine, one arm resting on the back cushions.

“Tell me what’s going on, Mel. Why did you think I’d broken things off with you?”

“When you got upset about people keeping secrets and it leading to bad decisions, I thought you’d uncovered the one last secret I’d been keeping. I thought you’d found out, and it made you realize coming back for me was a mistake.”

His face twists as though he’s taken a bite of something bitter. “What kind of secret could possibly create that sort of fear?”

“It’s not a secret anymore. I’ve told Lina, and before I tell you, I understand if it changes things for you. Really.”

“You’re kinda pissing me off, Mellie. Tell me what this is about, so I can tell you how wrong you are.”

I nod and take a deep breath of confidence. “When I saw Talbot and ran, it wasn’t before. It was … after.”

God, I don’t want to say it.

I don’t want him to look at me differently, even if it’s pity in his eyes rather than disgust.

“After…” His piercing stare roots me to the spot while he processes my words. “After he raped you,” Sante finally says, his voice clinical and cold.

I slowly nod.

He gives a single nod in return and stands from the sofa. My heart plummets to the floor thinking he’s leaving, but he detours to the hall closet instead where he stashed his empty duffel bag. He roots around, then stands, now holding a black handgun.

I leap to my feet and rush over to him. “Sante, please don’t do this. I know you’re upset, but—”

“No buts. That piece of shit doesn’t deserve his next breath.” He’s absolutely livid.

“He doesn’t, but he also doesn’t deserve an easy out. Please, just listen to me.”

He sets aside his fury long enough to hear me out.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and with Lina telling me she’d rather her video be out than men like Talbot go free, I’ve decided that I don’t want him dead. I want him exposed. I think he should have to suffer the same as his victims. Have his world stripped away with him powerless to do anything about it.”

Sante sets down the gun on the nearby counter and brings his hands to either side of my face. The fury in his stare has calmed to tender adoration. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

A balloon of emotion swells in my chest while tears prick the backs of my eyes. I shake my head, unable to speak.

“We’re going to make him pay, my piccola ballerina. I promise you. It’s already in the works.” He places one reverent kiss on each eyelid, then rests his forehead on mine. “Now tell me, why would you think knowing what he did would make me leave you?”

“Because I figured you’d realize that’s why I’m so bad at intimacy.”

He takes my hand and leads me back to the couch, pulling me onto his lap. “Having trouble achieving an orgasm isn’t the same as being bad at intimacy.”

“It’s not just that,” I say warily, embarrassed to admit what I’m about to say. “I’ve been too scared of how much it hurt to try again. I panic.”

His brows scrunch together as he studies me. “But you said you’ve had sex.”

“I mean, I have, technically. Once.”

“Jesus, baby. Being raped isn’t sex.” He wraps his arms around me and hugs me to his chest. “I know this is gonna sound really fucked up, but I like knowing I’ll be your first.”

I pull back and look up at him through my lashes. “It’s not fucked up. It’s a relief. I couldn’t think of anything worse than you looking at me as damaged. I love when I see that desire in your eyes. I didn’t want to lose that.”

His brown eyes glint with mischief. “There is nothing in this world that could make me want you less.” He pauses, a somberness settling over him. “I want you to know, though. It was never about sex. Even back at that wedding the first time we met, it was your spirit that sank its claws into me. The way you held on to joy despite whatever shit you were going through. You inspired me. And you’ve continued to inspire me every damn day since.”

My soul takes flight at his praise.

I realize I had it wrong when I thought there were only two possible outcomes for that butterfly in a jar. Instead of releasing it or plucking off its wings, its captor could also replace it a new home where it could thrive. Somewhere protected yet with plenty of room to soar.

“I thought about what you said—before Conner’s call interrupted us—about choosing happiness. I realized you were right, and everything that’s happened today only proves that point. Your issues and my issues? They’re sort of perfect for one another. I can’t let labels tell me this is wrong when it feels so right.”

Excitement and trepidation crank up my pulse to a dizzying flutter. I shift my body to straddle Sante’s lap, my hands coming to rest on his taut chest while his give my hips a squeeze.

“The thought of losing you last night gutted me. You make me feel safer, sexier, and more confident than anyone ever has.” I look down as nerves hit but push myself to continue. “I love you, Sante Mancini. I love you, and I want you to be my first.”

“I love you beyond reason. Always will. But are you sure about this? There’s no need to rush into anything.”

“It’s not rushing. Every time I look at you, I feel my body craving you. The residual fear isn’t going to go away until I prove to myself that sex can be good, and there’s no one else I want or trust enough to give me that.”

“Baby, you have your show tonight. No matter how good I make it for you, you might be a little sore.”

I smirk. “I’m a ballerina. I’ve never not been sore. And besides, I can’t think of anything more perfect than getting up on that stage on opening night and feeling your presence is still with me.”

“Fucking, Christ. How can I say no to that?”

I grin a heartbeat before his lips claim mine. He hardens beneath me, making my hips instinctively rock forward with the need to feel him.

Sante carries me to the bedroom. The shades are still drawn, casting the room in a soft glow.

“You have second thoughts about this, all you have to do is say stop,” Sante says as he sets my feet on the ground. “No judgment. No questions. That’s important to me. I need absolute honesty from you on this.”

“I promise.”

“We also need to talk birth control. Dance is too important for you to take chances.”

I appreciate that he gets that and cares enough to make it a priority. “I’m on the pill.”

“Good because I’m clean, and I don’t want anything between us if we don’t have to.”

He takes his shirt off then mine. One article at a time, we undress one another reverently then move to the bed, the whole time kissing and touching and worshipping one another.

“I’m going to make you come,” he tells me once I’m on my back beneath him, “and while I do, I’m gonna work my fingers inside you, help get you ready. And I don’t want you to worry about a second orgasm. That’s not what this is about. It’s just you and me and our connection.”

“Okay.” It’s a relief to know what he’s thinking. Otherwise, I’d end up worried about his expectations the whole time. I desperately want to please him.

Sante’s tongue has my body craving more in a matter of minutes. When he puts two fingers inside me, I feel the stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“It’s definitely snug, but we got this. Okay?” he reassures me.

I’m feeling good enough that I’m not worried, and it helps that I’m not actively looking at his enormous cock. When he sucks on my clit, the indescribable sensation distracts from the twinge of pain as he slowly adds a third finger to his efforts.

“Fuck, you’re incredible. I love knowing all this is mine.”

“Only yours.”

“Goddamn right,” he rumbles against my core.

So full. Oh my god.

He works my body for a good ten minutes—not that he’d need to for an orgasm. Now that I know how it feels, my body is like a heat-seeking missile, targets locked on that perfect moment of release. But he wants me to be fully primed, and he makes it happen. By the time my body quakes with the onset of an explosive orgasm, his fingers make squishing sounds as they glide through my arousal.

I cry out in exquisite release, my veins flooding with liquid pleasure until I must be glowing. The ecstasy flooding my system is too intense not to be generating some sort of visible electric current.

Sante kisses my body on his way up, giving me time to recover. Then he’s above me, our bodies aligned. He looks deep into my eyes and, and I swear I feel him drop anchor somewhere in the depths of my soul.

“I watched you for two weeks solid like an addict on a bender after four years of going without. I can’t get enough, and I don’t think I ever will. You give my life meaning.”

He slowly eases inside me. My body is quick to remember the delicious feel of his fingers and wants more. He advances with such painstakingly small movements, more like rubbing than thrusting, that the pain I expected never comes. I feel full and stretched but in the most magical way.

Once he’s all the way seated inside me, he kisses me. I taste the obsession on his tongue, and its delicious. I love the way he loves me.

Slow and steady, he begins to pump inside me, moving a bit more with each new movement.

“Amelie Brooks?”

“Mmmm?”

“I don’t ever want to know life without you.” He stills, bringing our gazes back together. “Tell me you’ll be my wife. Tell me you’ll be mine forever.”

I can’t believe he’s truly asking me to marry him. It’s all so fast … and utterly perfect.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I’ll be your wife. Yours forever.”

Triumphant joy shines in his eyes as his thrusts resume, picking up pace until I moan with pleasure.

Having him inside me felt good, but speed and intensity make it all that much better. I’m stunned at the difference. I feel my inner walls clinging to him, and I know he feels it too because each time they contract, he hisses and groans.

“Too tight for me to last long,” he manages between breaths, “but probably best so you’re not too sore.”

At the moment, I can’t imagine this making me sore, but he knows better than me. I simply delight in the feeling. Incredibly, I feel his cock thicken even more. He inhales harshly then his entire body stiffens as he clings to me, pumping once, twice, and a final time before resting his face in the crook of my neck.

I wrap my body around him in a full-body hug as giddiness envelops me.

I did it.

I had sex … with a man … and I loved it.

AND I think I may have gotten engaged.

When Sante pulls back to look at me, he huffs out a laugh at the ridiculous grin plastered across my face. “Not exactly the response I expected, but I think we’ve established normal isn’t our thing.”

“Sante?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Not sure what part you’re referring to, but I suppose that doesn’t matter since I’ve meant every word I’ve spoken today.”

“You really do want to marry me?”

“I’d take you to the courthouse now if it was open.”

My grin widens, if possible.

“Fuck my girl’s cute when she’s engaged.”

I giggle then moan as he pulls out.

“Okay?” he asks with concern.

“Yeah,” I assure him softly.

“Good, stay put. I’m gonna clean up my bride-to-be then get her some food. My baby’s about to be a star.”