Lorenzo: A Grumpy/ Sunshine, Dark mafia Romance (Chicago Ruthless Book 3)
Lorenzo: Chapter 26

I close the laptop Kat loaned me with a snap, not wanting Lorenzo to see what I’ve been looking at. Not that I have anything to be embarrassed about—I’m entitled to my curiosity—but after the way he reacted last night, I figure he might be pissed to learn that I’ve spent the entire day researching the Dom/sub lifestyle. I just replace it all so intriguing. And a little thrilling. If only I could get him to unlock that part of himself again.

Lorenzo walks straight to the piano and takes a seat. It’s getting dark out and I haven’t switched the lights on, but surely he saw me sitting in here. He lifts the lid and his fingers brush reverently over the keys, but he doesn’t play.

Setting the laptop aside, I approach him. He remains still, staring at keys as though they might start playing of their own accord. I run a hand over his powerful back muscles that flex beneath his white cotton shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and thick veins wind down his forearms as he clenches his fists.

I lean down and press my lips against his ear. “Would you please play for me?” I whisper.

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his forearms flex. Then his hands dance over the keys, and he plays a few notes of a song I don’t recognize. I curl myself around his body, sliding my leg onto his lap, and he stops playing for a second to allow me to straddle him.

“Thought you wanted me to play for you, sunshine?” he asks, his voice a deep growl.

I roll my hips, lining my pussy up directly along his thick cock, and dust his ear with my lips. “I do, but I’m going to play too.” My fingers trace the buttons of his shirt while his hands move swiftly and effortlessly over the keys, playing the beautiful song. His muscles tense as I drag my teeth along the fresh-smelling skin of his neck, and I resist the urge to bite and suck. For now. I nuzzle his throat, inhaling his masculine scent. Warmth pools in my core, and I squeeze my thighs together so they’re snug against his hips.

As I work my way from one side of his throat to the other, a soft groan rumbles in his chest, spurring me on. He doesn’t miss a single note, not even when I unbutton his shirt, but with each inch of skin I expose to the air, he grows tenser. My hands glide over his pecs, down every muscle and groove of his chiseled abs, sinking lower and lower.

I pop open the button of his pants, and he growls and misses a note, making me smile against his skin. To my surprise, he picks the tune back up perfectly, and the haunting song fills the library once more. I pull down his zipper, and he groans as I slide my hand into his underwear. My core contracts with a deep aching need to have him inside me. I can barely think straight, distracted by the burning desperation to have him fuck me. His ability to continue playing so smoothly impresses the hell out of me. How does he maintain such ironclad control?

I tug his boxers down and stroke my fingertips over his smooth, rock-hard length. He misses another note, and I grow braver. Lashing my tongue against a spot on his neck, I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft and squeeze.

“Holy fuck!” he growls, his arms and shoulders tense, but the music stays steady.

“Your cock is so beautiful,” I purr against him.

He misses another note. “So sit on it.” And another.

“If that’s what you want.” I fight my base urge and stop short of adding the word Sir. Wet heat slicks between my thighs, and I pull him free from his pants. Lifting my hips, I tug my panties aside. The soothing melody fills the room, but the tempo speeds up as I shift myself to the perfect angle for his crown to nudge my entrance.

His eyes burn into mine and my entire body shivers. He looks so tormented. But as I sink down onto him, allowing him to stretch me wide, his mouth goes slack and his eyelids shutter closed. He misses a few more notes, and when he reopens them, they’re full of a different kind of desperation. A kind that mirrors my own.

“Mia.” He follows my name with something in Italian, and I imagine they’re words of desire and longing because those emotions pour from him in waves. His fingers clash and clang on the keys before he stops playing altogether. Banding his arms around my waist, he pulls me in tight, burying his face against my neck while I ride him. My pussy walls squeeze him, trying to draw him deeper, but he’s already so far inside me that I feel him everywhere. It’s pleasure bordering on the brink of pain. And when he fists a hand in my hair, pulling my head back so that he can feast on my neck, I whimper and allow him to take full control. He drives his hips upward and devours my flesh, all teeth and tongue and lips over my skin.

My skin blooms with heat. Pleasure shuttles around my body like lightning. I’m so close. I squeeze his cock and he groans loudly. Then he’s talking to me in Italian again, whispering soothing words that call to my soul.

I rock my hips as he pistons his, thrusting himself deeper and deeper inside me and making light flicker behind my eyelids. Pleasure coils in my gut, snaking through my thighs and up into my ribcage before bursting out of every single part of my body. I scream, hanging onto him and grinding out my release. I’m unable to catch my breath while he holds me tight, pushing into me until he comes with a harsh grunt of my name.

I rest my head on his shoulder. Our breaths come labored and heavy. “What were you saying?” I whisper. “In Italian?”

“I don’t remember.” The lie falls right off his tongue so easily.

I swallow the sob that wells in my throat. “Shall we go to bed?” Please. I want to hold onto our closeness, but it’s already ebbing away into the night.

“I can’t tonight. I have too much to do.” He brushes the hair back from my face and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Are you lying to me, Lorenzo Moretti?” I ask, but I already know the answer, and I prepare myself for another lie.

“No, sunshine. I’m just busy. Promise. Go to bed and get some sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.” He’s already untangling himself from my arms and pulling his dick out of me before he even finishes the sentence.

Perhaps I pushed him too far by asking him to play for me. Perhaps it was too soon? I climb off him, tugging my panties back in place. “Can you at least tell me the name of the song?”

“Tchaikovsky’s sixth symphony.”

The final symphony.

“One of history’s most famous goodbyes,” I say quietly. If he hears me, he doesn’t respond.