Page 72 of Valentino

He just admitted he would lie to keep me close, and the worst part is not that I believe him. The worst part is that something in me settled when he said it.

Like some broken, needy piece of me heard finally and decided that was close enough to love.

"That's a terrifying thing to say to a woman," I whisper.

"You asked for honesty."

"I did." I'm already moving. "I really did." I take his face in both my hands and kiss him hard. He makes a sound low in his throat, and I climb straight into his space before he can think better of it.

The shift throws him off balance. One second he's crouched in front of me, and the next his back hits the floor, his arm wrapping around me before my head can follow.

I pull back an inch. His pupils are blown wide. His chest is heaving under my palm.

"Fuck me," I tell him. "Right now."

He freezes, and the look in his eyes turns dangerous. So dangerous, I feel it everywhere.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Valentino

Asudden shift sends us tumbling onto the rug. One moment she’s straddling me, the next I’ve trapped her beneath my weight, my arm curved around her ribs as I pivot. Her hair spills across the carpet in waves, her eyes wide, her lips parting before I even touch them. I press my mouth to hers, then slide my hand up to the hem of her hoodie. “Off,” I murmur. She lifts her arms without hesitation, and I pull it free, tossing it aside.

Her skin is cream, soft where her ribs taper to meet her hips. Her breasts rise small and high with each breath, two freckles beneath her left one as if placed there deliberately by someone who knew what they were doing. A pale scar, small and faded, marks her knee. Her thighs press close together, and one hand rests lightly on her stomach, as though shielding something tender and private. But then she moves it to the rug beside her and lifts her gaze to mine.

"Say something," she urges.

"I don't have the words," I admit.

"Valentino—"

"In English or Italian, they escape me entirely."

She swallows, steadying herself against whatever it is she sees in my expression. "Then keep looking."

So I do. My attention moves to the hollow at the base of her throat, to the elegant curve of her collarbone, and I am aware of her watching me look. Her hand rises slowly and brushes against my face, and I lean into it, pressing my mouth softly into her palm, kissing the center, then trailing my lips down to the thin skin of her wrist.

Slowly, I place both hands on her hips and roll her over. She makes a soft sound as she settles onto her stomach against the rug, and I slide my hands beneath her and lift.

"On your knees, bella," I tell her.

"What—"

"Up."

She obeys, rising under my steady hands. I put my palm flat between her shoulder blade and press down. Her chest goes to the rug and her ass comes up.

Dio.

"Like this?"

I sit back on my heels. I look at her.

The line of her spine from her tailbone to the back of her neck. Her hair falling over her shoulder onto the rug. The curve of her waist where it meets her hip.

My hands shake as I put them on her, both palms full on her ass. I cup her and she makes a sound into the rug that lands somewhere I have not used in a long time. I move my right hand slow. My thumb traces down the seam of her, over the tight ring, down through the wet of her—and she is so wet it undoes me—until I find her clit. She moans, and I do it again.

My thumb traces the same path, from top to bottom. She arches into my touch, moaning softly as her nails look for purchase on the floor.