Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 44

I’ve never felt so amazing on stage. So inspired. I put my heart and soul into every movement, and at the end of the performance, we had to do two extra curtain calls. The audience couldn’t get enough. It’s always hard to say what an audience’s reaction will be to the adaptation of a celebrated work into a new format. Our director can breathe easy after tonight. The reviews should be phenomenal.

I just hope the sensational news of the incident at intermission doesn’t overshadow any talk about the performance itself. Not that it can be helped. I’m sure I made quite an impression, but I don’t regret it for a second. I’m incredibly proud of how I handled the night.

I was a little worried my fellow cast members might be upset that I wasn’t more discreet until, one after another, dancers approached backstage and gave me hugs and words of encouragement. The director? Not so much. Despite his show of support, he didn’t say a word to me after intermission. And I totally understand. His name is tied to the success or failure of the production.

The dancers allow the audience to clear out before we return to the main theater to see the family and friends waiting for us. More than a dozen people are clustered together just for me, though I only have eyes for one. I fling myself into Sante’s arms the second I’m close enough. He bellows out a laugh and spins me around.

I’m showered in congratulations and bathed in praise. All comments revolve around my performance rather than the AG, and I’m grateful. It’s time to focus on the good and let the past go. Tonight is a night of celebration.

“The theater is hosting an after-party at the Skylark. You’re all welcome to join for as little or as late as you like.” It’s a Sunday evening, and most of them have young kids, so I don’t expect many to come, but damn if there aren’t nods all around.

“Awesome! Let me change real quick, and we’ll meet you there.” I start to turn, but a hand clamps around my wrist, spinning me back around. I gasp when Sante pulls me straight into a passionate kiss, dipping my body backward like we’ve stepped off a 1930s movie set.

Our family and friends tease us with whistles and catcalls. I can hardly kiss him back, thanks to the irrepressible grin that may never leave my face.

Sante rights us and whispers, “So fucking proud of you.”

“Never would have happened without you.” His unwavering support and strength have bolstered me in ways I never expected.

That grin is back, drawing out a matching one on his face. I pop up on my toes and give him a quick smack on the lips before rushing off. “Back in a jiff!”

The dress I brought for the party is phenomenal. I wish I didn’t have my hair in a bun, but that’s the nature of the beast. The concrete holding this thing smooth isn’t going anywhere until I shower. Therefore, I’ll rock the half-movie star, half-librarian look.

Sante studies me intently when I return. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable taking you out in public like that. I’ll end up in prison.” He’s teasing. Mostly.

I grin. “Let them look. You’re the only man I’m going home with.”

He grunts in agreement, sending my grin into orbit.

Our group is well into their first drink when we arrive. They’ve gathered around two bar tables, clusters of animated conversations in progress. We’re easily absorbed into the group and welcomed with cheers and hugs.

“Champagne?” Sante asks.

“Yes, please,” I answer with enthusiasm, to which he smirks before fading into the crowd. When he returns, he raises his glass to gain the attention of our clutch of family and friends.

“On behalf of Amelie and myself, I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight. Having you here makes this big opening night that much more special. I know Mellie is capable of thanking you herself, but I wanted to steal the stage for a moment because there’s something important I need to do, and having you all here makes it the perfect opportunity. You see, Amelie here has graciously agreed to marry me.”

Everyone around us gasps and squeals—at least, the women do. The men mostly give macho grunts of approval.

I smile like an absolute loon.

Sante steps closer, setting down his drink and pulling a box from his jacket pocket.

My jaw hinges open.

“And I don’t want to go a minute longer without seeing my ring on her finger.” He opens the box, and I see a flash of sparkling brilliance. Then he’s holding my hand, sliding the most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen on my finger. The central diamond is round with a halo of smaller diamonds surrounding it—like Sante and I now with our closest loved ones all around.

I’m overwhelmed with joy. Radiantly happy. Incandescently in love.

“Sante—” I breathe.

“Mellie, you’re mine, my piccola ballerina, forever and always.”

Before I have a chance to burst into tears, he kisses me, and this time, the entire room erupts in riotous cheers.

I’m quickly swarmed with congratulations from the ladies as soon as the kiss ends. One after another, they give me hugs and beg me to show off my stunning new ring. Noemi holds off until the rush subsides, saving her congratulations for last. When she finally gets her turn at a hug, she holds me so tight I can’t possibly question the sincerity of her joy.

“Oh, Amelie. I’m so incredibly happy for you two.” Tears shine in her eyes when she pulls back with a warm smile. “And I’m so grateful to you for giving me my brother back.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” I say sheepishly, feeling a bit awkward from all the praise.

“Of course you did. You gave Sante a reason to love again. Your beautiful soul helped him heal, and now he’s back where he belongs. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, which thrills me, but I’m also overjoyed to get such a wonderful new sister.”

Now I’m tearing up, which sends us into another round of hugs.

“Thank you, Em,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me over the music but unable to speak any louder past the emotion constricting my throat.

“Okay, enough of the sappy stuff!” Noemi says with a grin, wiping the moisture from her eyes. “Tonight is about celebration. I’d say it’s time for a toast!”

Another round of cheers fills the air around us. The next hour is a brilliant blur of happiness—hugs, laughter, stories … more hugs—everything that makes family such a blessing.

Eventually, however, our group begins to thin as folks head home. I don’t complain. I’ve had enough champagne to give me the courage to test something I’ve daydreamed about for weeks.

“I think it’s time we head out as well,” I suggest to Sante.

“Your wish is my command.” Moments later, we get the keys from the valet and relax in the quiet of his car.

“Hey, babe?” I ask warily.

“Yeah?”

“I left something at the theater. I bet it’s locked up by now. Youuu … wouldn’t happen to knowww … how to sneak in, would you?” The answer is obviously yes—the man snuck in to stalk me for weeks—but I’m feeling playful.

“Yeah, I think I can make that happen.”

“Good because I’d prefer not to wait.”

Back at the theater, he shows me the side door he used to get in. The man has a damn key.

“How did you get that?” I gape at him. Here, I’d envisioned some sort of Spider-Man-style climb to an upstairs window. Not actually, but a key had never entered my mind.

“I stole it from security and made a copy.”

“Well, that’s a little alarming.”

“You’re telling me. That’s why I didn’t like you being in there alone. Who knows who else can get in,” he grumbles.

“If I’d known stalkers were so considerate, I would have found one ages ago.”

Sante bares his teeth, then takes a playful bite at the air. “Too late. And if anyone gets any ideas at this point, I’ll pluck their eyes right out of the sockets. Hard to obsess over someone you can’t see.”

I look at him, knowing he’s not joking in the slightest.

“You say the sweetest things,” I tell him in a tender voice to make sure he knows I’m not joking either.

“Yeah, it’s time to get home. I need to be inside you.”

“Okay, okay. We just need to hit the dressing room real quick.” I lead us back there and go to my vanity, but the problem is, there’s nothing among the makeup and supplies that I need. What I wanted was something a little twisted, and I’m not sure how to ask.

As it turns out, I don’t have to.

When I turn around, Sante is leaning on the wall in the same place he did that night he wore the mask. I practically start to salivate as I combine my knowledge of him with the memory. I feel like any shrink would tell me that being turned on by that night is a red flag for all sorts of mental health issues, but I’m tired of caring what other people think. I replace it hot as hell.

My breathing turns shallow, and I’m pretty sure my panties are now soaked.

“Oh, pet, what have you done? You should know better than to let a man like me see you thinking thoughts like that.” His voice rakes across my sensitized skin, drawing out a shiver. “Stay,” he commands, then disappears back into the hallway. When he rounds the corner again seconds later, he’s wearing the mask. I can hardly believe my eyes.

“Where was it?” I can’t stop from asking.

“Giant lost and found bin in the hallway.” He resumes his station at the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “The dress. Take it off.”

I reach back to unbutton the single-loop closure at my neck. The emerald-green dress is long-sleeved and square cut, outlining my frame without being glued to me. Elegant and almost professional if it wasn’t for the length—possibly my favorite part. The dress is super short, which shows off my toned legs to their full potential. The perfect mix of sexy and sophisticated.

I lift the fabric over my head and drop it on the floor. I wasn’t wearing a bra, leaving me in my panties and heels. My nipples pebble from the exposure and knowing Sante is starving for a taste.

“Panties off.” His voice is ragged, worn through like the knees on an ancient pair of jeans.

I slide them down to the ground.

“Take that chair and set it facing me. Then have a seat.”

I do as he says, laying one of Hazel’s misplaced scraps of fabric on the wood seat before I sit.

“Spread your legs, and let me look at you. I want to see that beautiful pussy weep for me.”

I have never felt sexier in my whole life.

I press out my chest, hands on my knees as I open them wide.

“Fuck, I can taste you already.” He walks to where a robe hangs on a hook and slips the belt from its loops. He then prowls around behind me. “Hands,” he demands.

I bring them together behind the back of the chair. It’s easy enough as the wood chairs used in our dressing room have been around for decades and are petite café-style chairs. He uses the soft terry to loosely bind my hands.

“If any of this is too much, you say so. I want it to be enjoyable, not triggering. Understood?”

I nod readily, eating up every second of this delicious fantasy.

“Look to your left.”

I do, just as his hand cups my breast. I see it all play out in the vanity mirror beside us. I arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

“Such a performer, pet. I approve, so long as this sort of show is only for me.”

Again, I nod. “It only feels good because it’s you.” If I truly was in a room with a masked stranger, I’d be petrified. This is different. Role-play. Fantasy. This is safe.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror.”

I watch him circle before me and undo his pants, letting his swollen cock fall free. I see it bobbing in the mirror and desperately want to turn my head, but I don’t. I want to be his good girl, and he hasn’t told me I can look yet.

He steps one leg between mine and rounds the other to the side of the chair. The side where the mirror is. I can now see the crimson head of his cock inches from my face, though I’m not looking directly at it.

“So good at following orders,” he purrs. “So good at pleasing me.” His hand trails along my jawline, then down to my breast, where he twists one nipple in the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. “Tell me, pet. Would you like to please me by wrapping your fuckable lips around my cock?”

“Yes, please.” God, yes. When it comes to this enigmatic man, I want everything. All of him.

“Good girl. Keep watching that mirror while you suck my cock. Look at how well you take me.” He keeps himself close enough for me to reach while still letting me remain in control. I can tell how mindful he’s being about not pushing me too far, and the comfort that brings me emboldens me. I’m able to lose myself in his salty taste on my tongue and the feel of his smooth skin gliding past my lips.

Wanting to see how much of him I can take, I relax my throat as best as I can and press forward.

Sante groans. “Jesus, such a greedy girl.” He pulls free of me and adjusts himself back into his pants before moving in front of me and scooting my butt to the very edge of the chair. “My turn.”

Then he’s on his knees, devouring my pussy like he hasn’t eaten in a week. His hands roam my thighs and up to my breasts while his mouth teases and taunts my core. When he inserts two fingers inside me, I nearly come undone. He builds the pressure to excruciating levels, then lets it recede enough to start over. Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. I don’t even know why. I’m not crying. It’s like my body is so full of pleasure that it’s leaking out in the form of tears.

“Please, Sante. Please let me come.” It’s a breathless cry that causes him to stop rather than keep going. I think I might actually weep until he has me stand, unties my hands, and has me rest them on the vanity. I watch him in the mirror behind me as he frees himself again and takes hold of my hips. Seeing the unfiltered desire on his face as he admires my backside has my inner muscles clenching with need.

I whimper, only to be rewarded with the fullness of his enormous cock inching inside me.

“God, Sante. It’s so good. Yesss, so good.”

He rips off the mask, our eyes locked in the mirror. “Look at me. I want you to see the man who owns you. This body is mine—to fuck and feed and protect. You’re mine, pet.” He fully sheathes himself inside me and continues his movements. Possessive and dominant and oh-so delicious.

“Yes!” I cry, so close.

An orgasm builds just out of my reach, the wave of pleasure easily reforming after his earlier ministrations.

“Touch that pretty pink clit, pet. Make that pussy come all over my cock.”

The second I reach for my center, his thrusts intensify. I don’t know if it’s his actions or my touch or a combination of the two, but I’m catapulted over the edge into an abyss of pleasure. I have to lock my knees to stay upright.

Sante hisses. “Fuck, you squeeze me so good, so tight.” Then his release starts with a growl deep in his chest as his entire body strains and flexes. He grips my hips even tighter, curving his body around mine. “Made for me,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around my middle and holding me to him while his other arm supports us, leaning on the vanity.

After a minute of recovery, he kisses the center of my spine and pulls out of me. Wetness immediately starts a slow trail from my core to the top of my thigh. I stand awkwardly and look around for a tissue when Sante appears already armed with a roll of paper towels.

“We’ll do a proper cleanup at home. This should do for now.” He tenderly wipes the excess cum from my body, extra careful at my most sensitive areas. Once I’m dry, he helps me get my dress back on and zips himself back in his pants.

We’re about to make our exit when he pauses. “Can’t forget this.” He takes the mask off the floor and shoves it in his pocket.

I laugh quietly. “We could always get one of our own.”

“This one’s got sentimental value. Besides, no one here is going to miss it.”

I can’t argue with that. Nor do I want to. The way I feel right now, I may never argue with anyone ever again.

Let’s not get carried away.

Touché. Maybe just until tomorrow.

That’s more like it.