He pushed one in, and Brianna crumpled against him. She dragged her tongue up the curve of his neck and then breathed in the trace of his cologne still lingering on his skin.
Tino had always smelled so crisp and clean and distinctly male. The scent memory alone would have been enough to get her wet, but when he pushed another finger in deep, stretching her and then curving both up until he found that place inside her that made her legs shake, she gave up. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into the muscled flesh in a way that made Tino grunt under her.
Jesus, she was going to come just from him touching her.
Not only come, but come hard. He touched her in exactly the right way, and it had been so long, so very long, she had almost forgotten how easy pleasure was for Tino.
Too easy.
Yet she was still moaning and pushing against his hand, letting Tino finger-fuck her to one of those sharp, hard orgasms only he could give her. It made her feel eighteen again, wet and needy and completely careless of anything else in the world but one more touch, another sharp spike of pleasure until she was nothing but a raging ball of need.
He started kissing her neck, encouraging her in a broken combination of Italian and English. “Sei bellissima. Do it for me.” He sucked on her earlobe, his voice a low rasp of pleasure. “Solo io.” He ran his hand farther up her spine, until he was tangling his fingers in her wet hair and pulling her head back. Then he leaned down, sucking on one of her tits, his teeth tugging at one sensitive nipple before he whispered, “Solo noi.”
She came, brazenly, in a way she forgot she could, with one of those bone-deep orgasms that made her entire body quake from the force of it. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as her * clenched around Tino’s fingers, and she dug her nails deeper into his shoulders.
Tino rode out the storm with her, until she fell over him, now extra touchy-feely as the pleasure waned out to tiny jolts of bliss because his fingers were still in her, and she was still tightening her muscles around them just to cherish the fading tide of ecstasy.
She caressed his back, savoring the feel of slick muscles that were still tight with pent-up desire. Then she pulled back a little, staring down between their bodies, admiring the way his tan hand looked over the smooth lines of her *, watching the water running down the deep ridges of his abdominal muscles.
She touched the O in the Omertà tattoo lovingly.
Brianna was the one to pull Tino’s hand away from her. She tightened her hold on his wrist as she met his dark gaze. Then she slowly brought his hand to her mouth, entranced with the way his breath caught as she sucked his sticky fingers. His eyelids fell to half-mast as he let out a low groan. Then he fisted her hair with his other hand and pushed his fingers in deeper, letting her suck them.
It was dirty as fuck.
But sexy as hell.
And it reminded Brianna exactly why she had lost herself to this man.
Tasting herself on him, seeing his reaction to it, she was aching again. Desperate. Wet and empty without him in her. Wanting so much more, she forgot about the rest of it. The hit men and the price on her head. Her life back in New York. His life back in Kentucky.
It just didn’t fucking matter.
Nothing mattered but igniting that spark that had once made them beautiful together, if only for a moment, and who cared if they were nothing but a smear of ash in the morning.
Right then they were a firework.
Tino obviously needed it as badly as she did, color and love and passion after what felt like a lifetime of sex that was cold at best and cruel at worst. He slipped his fingers out of her mouth, only to use his hold on her hair to force her lips to his. She went to him, openmouthed, letting him lick her taste off her tongue.
She grabbed his cock, the thickness of it at once foreign and comforting. She’d forgotten just how big he was, so wide her fingers didn’t touch at the base. She had to stroke him a few times to savor the feeling of having him in her hand again. He made that low groan of pleasure in the back of his throat and kissed her deeper, holding her hair tighter as if he needed an outlet.
“It’s okay.” He grunted against her lips. “The fights. I test for them. I wouldn’t with anyone else. I promise. It’s good. Solo tu. Solo noi.”
She pulled back and looked at him, arching an eyebrow. He tended to say things in Italian he didn’t want her to understand. She touched his lips, tracing them with the pads of her fingers, knowing the lifetime of lies they held back.
“Only you,” he repeated, making her realize he was translating the Italian. “Only us. That’s it.”
She rose up and then lowered herself over him slowly, letting him stretch her and fill her to the point that the pleasure was electric. It made her sensitive to every nuance of movement, but she couldn’t seem to stop wanting more.