Page 45 of Sweet Prison
“Good morning,” I croak when I finally find my voice.
Massimo turns around, and I can see that his front is tattooed, as well. “Hey. Sleep well?”
“Yeah, sure,” I lie. I barely slept a wink, tossing and turning and thinking about him.
The hours we spent perusing reno companies’ sites in the parlor last night, almost left me tachycardic. My heart was racing rapidly the entire time as adrenaline coursed through my system. That stupid muscle inside my chest couldn’t deal with his close proximity. Just as it’s having a hard time doing now.
Massimo crosses the distance between us with slow, soundless steps. His feet are bare, and, for some reason, that only makes him hotter. “Do you want me to fix you some breakfast?”
I blink. Massimo Spada, the man who’ll imminently be crowned Don of Boston Cosa Nostra, is offering to make me breakfast? “Um… I’m not really hungry. I think.”
He lifts his hand, and, for a moment, I think he’s going to touch my face again, but he just braces it on the doorframe. His deep, dark eyes capture me, while the force of his presence seeps into my bones. Envelops me inside and out.
Unsettling me, all the same.
The few minutes I did sleep last night, I dreamed about him. We were alone in a parlor, and he was holding me tucked closely to his side. The roaring fireplace warmed my skin while Massimo whispered in my ear. Quiet words I have craved for so damn long. How I’m the only one who understands him. His kindred spirit. And how he couldn’t wait to be set free, all so he could come to me, and we could be together.
My gaze glides down his sculpted, inked chest, soaking in the sight. There is a faint tingling between my legs that I’ve never experienced before. Like… an aching need. Oh my God, I’m getting turned on. I press my thighs together, hoping it will make the feeling go away. It doesn’t. The ache only gets stronger.
I’ve never had sex, haven’t even wanted to, never so much as had a man touch me down there. But I want Massimo to.
I’ve been suppressing my feelings for such a long time. This yearning has plagued me for years. And also, the chest-tearing guilt for caring for him as I do, all the while knowing it’s wrong. Between my affection and my guilty conscience, there’s fear—dread that he’ll reject me if he ever finds out. The sheer torment of imagining what people will say when they realize I’m in love with my stepbrother. I’m already a pariah as it is.
Is it really that bad, though? After all, it’s not like we’re related through blood. How can something that feels so right, be wrong?
“Why do you do that?”
I freeze, while my heart hammers wildly. “Do what?”
“Pull on your sleeve.” Massimo cocks his head, lowering his gaze. “You were doing that the whole evening yesterday.”
I let go of the cuff immediately. “Just a habit. I… I don’t like my hands to show.”
“Why?”
“Because people tend to stare.”
I didn’t think my heart could possibly beat faster than it already does, but as his fingers wrap around my wrist, it nearly bursts inside its protective cage. Breath catches in my lungs as Massimo raises my hand, bringing it up between us for a close look.
“I see why they would do that.” His voice turns raspy while he lightly strokes the skin of my palm with his thumb. “You have beautiful hands, Zahara.”
A pleasant shiver rushes down my spine from just that slightest touch. And I want more.
I want to feel his touch everywhere. I want kisses… and everything else. To be close to him, and know him carnally just as intimately as I know his mind. I’ve been such a chicken for so long, too scared to ask for what I want. Not willing to take the risk of giving voice to my desires, all for fear of ridicule. That’s not who I’d like to be anymore.
Reaching out with my free hand, I press my palm to Massimo’s stomach. His nostrils flare as he draws in a sharp breath. Those stunning eyes peer into mine with such intensity, that my knees begin to shake. He doesn’t move a muscle, just watches me while still holding my other hand in his own, cradled in those huge inked fingers.
“Zahara?” A question. His tone conveys confusion as his eyes search for… something.
“Yes?” I bite my bottom lip and slide my palm a little lower.
Warm breath fans my skin as Massimo bends toward me. His nose nudges the hair at the top of my head, and I hear him inhale. This close, I can feel the heat of his body and smell the scent that’s purely his. Towering above me, he’s an imposingfigure, still clutching the doorway with his unoccupied hand. Another deep draw of air, and then he releases his grip on the jamb and places his palm on my hip. Slowly, he starts sliding it down to my ass cheek and—
“Jesus fuck!” Massimo abruptly steps back, away from me. The look in his eyes is frantic. His chest rises and falls with jerky movements as he glares down at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s okay, I—”
“It most definitely is not okay.” He grabs the back of his neck with his interlaced fingers and shakes his head. “Shit! What the fuck is wrong with me?” He takes a deep breath and meets my stare. “Goddammit. You’re my stepsister. I’m so sorry, Zahara. This won’t happen again.”