Fantasy in Lingerie: Lingerie #6 Read online

  She was already soaked.

  I did it because I enjoyed it, enjoyed listening to her breathe into the darkness of her bedroom. Her small hands would clamp on to my wrists and hold on as I pressed my nose into her slit and smelled her.

  She arched her back and bucked her hips automatically.

  I sucked her clit again before I crawled up her body and brought her nipple into my mouth. I sucked hard, sucked until it was raw. I moved to the other tit and did the same. I worshiped every part of her body, dragging my tongue into the valley between her tits before I breathed into the hollow of her throat. I’d taken her so many times, but every time I explored her body, it felt like a new experience.

  I tortured her on purpose, not kissing her or fucking her so she would writhe underneath me. But it was torturing me too, because I wanted to take her as much as he wanted to have me.

  It was horrific to us both.

  I finally made my way up her body until my lips hung just inches away. My knees separated her thighs, and I pressed my shaft against her throbbing clit. I looked into her eyes, but all I could see was that painting.

  That painting she made of me.

  She gripped my shoulders and breathed in my face, anxious and desperate. “Griffin…please.”

  A beautiful woman like her shouldn’t have to beg. “Yes, baby.” I widened her thighs farther and pressed my crown through her slit, feeling the squeeze as I pushed through. She was wet from my saliva as well as her own arousal. It made my entry smooth and less painful for her. But my thick cock could still do some damage, regardless of how wet she was. I sank into her warm flesh until I was buried deep inside, nearly touching her cervix. “I love this pussy…”

  Her fingers moved through my hair, and she breathed with me, her chest rising and falling in sync with mine. “She loves you too.” She kissed the corner of my mouth before she went for the deeper embrace, moving her lips against mine with passion.

  I started to thrust and listen to the sound our bodies made together. Her pussy was so wet that I could feel us slide past each other. Her cream built up along my base, pushing down with every stroke until it built up at my hilt and just behind the groove at the head of my dick.

  I loved her cream.

  She kissed me as I moved with her, her thighs hugging my waist.

  The second she’d returned from Tuscany, I’d been just like this with her. I’d taken her over and over again, feeling satisfied when we were finished but even more desperate for her after an hour had passed. She was a quick fix, but I always came back wanting another.

  If I’d slept with that other woman, whatever her name was, it wouldn’t have been like this.

  Nothing like this.

  She would have enjoyed it the way Vanessa did, but I wouldn’t be so hard. I wouldn’t be aroused. I wouldn’t feel like such a man because any woman besides Vanessa just wasn’t woman enough for me.

  Only Vanessa was.

  She hated me for the demon that I was, for the promise I made to annihilate her family. But her hatred only went skin-deep, and underneath that were emotions more complex than either of us could understand.

  The best explanation was her painting.

  The way she saw me.

  I wasn’t a murderous criminal that wanted to hurt her family. I was a man alone in the world, isolated from love, friendship, and community. I didn’t have a single relative, and all I had were the boys I did business with. I didn’t have a woman who loved me or children to remember me when I was gone.

  I was alone.

  So fucking alone.

  She saw that. She saw the conflict inside me. She knew I needed revenge to find peace, but every completed vendetta would bring me back to the same place.

  Solitude.

  But I loved that she understood me—and accepted me.

  So why would I want to have some woman I found in a bar? Whether she was more beautiful or not, she wasn’t Vanessa.

  No woman could even come close.

  I drove her into a climax almost instantly since I’d spent so much time torturing her. She screamed in my face and clawed at me, drawing blood just like last time. Her thighs squeezed me hard, and she bucked against me, enjoying my fat cock and all the pleasure it was giving her.

  I watched the production she put on, entranced by the expression she made when she came around my dick. Her eyes squinted hard, and her jaw tensed for second before her mouth opened with a scream. The flood of color entered her cheeks, and when her eyes opened again, they were brighter than before. She watched my expression, and like my stare turned her on even more, she finished the orgasm with another round of convulsions.

  Beautiful.

  Fucking beautiful.

  She was asleep when I crept out of bed and walked into the living room. I shut the door behind me, poured a glass of scotch, and got the fire going again. When I glanced at the clock on her wall, it said it was three in the morning.

  Normally, I could sleep like a rock with Vanessa. Her soft skin, feminine smell, and the way her hair touched my skin when she turned over were all comforting to me. Her hands were always on me, feeling me in the dark to make sure I was still there. Even when she was dead asleep, my presence was important to her. I kept her warm throughout the night so she didn’t have to wear those baggy clothes that made her shapeless, and I protected her from all the things that terrified her.

  I was her rock.

  But tonight, sleep eluded me. I kept thinking about that painting she’d made. It haunted me so much that I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the colors, how the scenery looked exactly as it had on that night. She didn’t have a picture to work off like she usually did—it was all from memory.

  How the fuck did she do that?

  I sat on the couch and lifted the painting onto my lap. It wasn’t a small canvas, but a medium size, something that could be placed on a living room wall. I leaned back and stared at it, studying the black hoodie I wore and the part of the skull tattoo that rose up the back of my neck.

  She knew my tattoos as well as I did.

  The jeans were the same ones I’d been wearing that night, even the shoes. There was never a time when I actually stopped to look at the water, but I’d done it before. I’d stood there and looked across the frozen lake countless times, thinking about all the dead bodies I’d sunk to the bottom.

  The snow was the perfect texture, a mixture of powder and slush. The trees were the exact type that stood there, tall with a path that led directly to the water. The leaves were gone because winter had been too unforgiving that year. She captured a vista I’d been looking at for a decade—but she only saw it one time.

  My image was the most striking. It didn’t show my face, but it showed my outline perfectly. Even the way I stood was correct, the way I slid my hands into my front pockets when I was the least hostile.

  This woman knew me.

  Now that I could see how she stared at me, I felt like I saw something else, something more meaningful. She’d spared my life once before, saved my life another, and even though I said I continued to want to kill her family…she was still there.

  And I was still there.

  I’d never been with one woman for so long. This was a marathon compared to all the others, but I wasn’t eager to finish the race. I loved it when she got jealous. I loved it when she asked me to be all hers.

  I loved it when she felt safe when I was there.

  I loved it when she got jealous just from wondering what I did while she was gone.

  I loved how she hated it when I left.

  I loved how she tried so hard to cut me out of her life but couldn’t do it.

  I loved it all.

  What did that say about me?

  I went to my place down the road. It’d been cleaned up after Joe tried to kill me, and even though I thought about that night every time I stepped out of the elevator, it didn’t bother me enough to seriously consider moving.

  I refused to let an assho
le fuck with me—especially after he was dead.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and then went into my office. I had paperwork to go over, shit that came with the business when we were researching potential hits.

  An hour later, Vanessa called me.

  I leaned back in my chair and answered. “Hey, baby.”

  “Where are you?” She blurted out the question like she had every right to ask it.

  I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Home.”

  “I didn’t know you were leaving…”

  I’d left in the morning long before she woke up. I didn’t say goodbye or leave a note. Staring at the painting all night excited me and terrified me. I enjoyed fucking her so much that I didn’t really think about what we were doing.

  I should have killed her a long time ago—but I never did.

  She should have killed me—had several chances.

  She ruined my plans, and I ruined hers.

  When I took a step back and thought about all of it, I realized we were both in deep shit.

  “I have stuff to take care of.”

  “Oh…”

  I’d never just left like that. Most of the time, I didn’t leave unless I took her with me. But I didn’t want to be there any longer, not when I was confused like this.

  That painting was crystal clear—but fucking confusing.

  The silence lingered on the phone between us, growing louder and louder.

  “I feel like there’s something wrong.” She conveyed her honest truth to me, showing her vulnerability more and more. “Is there…?”

  “No, baby. I just…need some space right now.” She’d asked for space after I kept my vendetta against her family even though she’d saved my life. I wasn’t sure what she’d thought about during that week we were apart, but it seemed like nothing had changed. Now it was my turn to consider this strange relationship.

  “It’s because of the painting, isn’t it?” She sighed into the phone, the pain heavy in her voice.

  I wanted to lie and say that wasn’t true, but I told her I would always be honest with her. “Baby, you asked me to keep a promise. Do you remember what it was?”

  She was quiet for a long time, not because she couldn’t remember, but because she didn’t want to say it out loud. “I asked you never to leave me…”

  “And I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not going anywhere. I just need some time.”

  More silence.

  I stayed on the line, unsure what else could be said at this point.

  “I thought you said you weren’t the kind of man who kept promises?”

  No, I wasn’t. All I cared about was money and sex, not my reputation. “I’m not. But I always keep my promises to you.”

  Max stepped inside my office and tossed the large yellow folder at me. “It’s all there.”

  I ripped open the top and slid the papers onto the table. I looked at the photos and itinerary, along with the information about security and the number of men at each place and the kind of weapons they were packing.

  Max helped himself to the scotch as he sat across from me. “Are you sure you want to do this? It seemed like you had a good thing going with Vanessa.”

  I picked up the photo of Conway Barsetti and examined it, seeing him holding hands with his fiancée outside the old theater in the center of Milan. He was dressed in a black suit that fit his sculpted shoulders and thick arms. He didn’t smile, and I’d never seen him smile in public or real life. His fiancée, on the other hand, couldn’t look happier. Her baby bump stuck out just a little bit.

  “He’s going to be at a show next Saturday. Debuting a new line of lingerie. It’s going to be here in Milan. I managed to grab all the security information from my buddy. I know who’s on his crew and what they’ll be carrying.”

  “Good.” Conway Barsetti took his team everywhere he went, not just because of the paparazzi, but because he knew he had enemies everywhere. People were naturally envious of billionaires.

  Max continued to stare at me as he drank his scotch. He wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. “You’re actually going to do this?”

  My perfect shot was next Saturday. Conway would exit out of the back of the building and into his SUV. Little would he know, I would be waiting for him. I’d take him and his fiancée prisoner, and I would do the very thing I couldn’t do to Vanessa—slit their throats. It would start the blood war—and the Barsettis would come after me.

  But they would be so delirious with rage they wouldn’t be able to think clearly.

  They’d expose themselves—and I would murder each one.

  Except Vanessa.

  “I’m thinking about it,” I answered.

  “I don’t know a lot about the Barsettis, but the two brothers have dark pasts. They’ve annihilated every enemy they’ve ever had.”

  “I’m aware,” I said coldly.

  “And Vanessa saved your life.”

  “Her mistake.”

  Max narrowed his eyes on my face. “I admire your determination and your refusal to let pussy get in the way of your vendetta, but this isn’t going to be a simple kill like it was with Joe. This is much more complicated because there are so many Barsettis. They’re loyal to each other. And the second you turn on them, Vanessa will turn on you. She won’t hesitate to pull the trigger this time.”

  “I’d judge her if she didn’t.”

  His eyes fell in disappointment. “I’m not helping you with this. It’s just going to get me killed.”

  “That’s fine. I never asked for your help.”

  He downed the rest of his scotch and left the glass on my desk. “Good luck, Bones.” He left my office and helped himself to the elevator. Once the sound of the machinery died away and everything turned quiet, I knew I was alone.

  I spread out the different pictures of the Barsetti family, looking at their files with a keen eye. The men were all similar, sharing the Barsetti bloodline with dark hair, green eyes, and Tuscan skin. The wives were much fairer, softer. When I looked at Crow and Pearl Barsetti, I saw a photographic combination of Vanessa’s features. She possessed her mother’s softness and her father’s might. She took her mother’s angled face and inherited her father’s eyes. These two people made the most beautiful woman in the world.

  I looked at the last picture, the one of Vanessa. It was a picture of her at university, walking across campus with her bag over her shoulder. She stared directly ahead of her, not looking down at her feet like most other students did. She carried herself like nobility, as if she understood her self-worth. She commanded respected naturally, not just because of her beauty, but because of her grace.

  I put the picture in a different pile because she was off-limits.

  I spared her life.

  Even if she tried to kill me, I wouldn’t hurt her.

  If the Barsettis really wanted to put me down for good, Vanessa was their best weapon. She wore an invisible bulletproof vest. She had a wall of protection around her no one could see. She had supernatural powers—because I was defenseless against her.

  I wanted to continue this vendetta and put my enemies in the ground. I wanted to avenge the legacy I’d lost. I wanted repayment for the inheritance that was given to someone else. I wanted payback for the years of hell my mother and I suffered.

  But if I went through with it, it would devastate the one woman I cared about.

  The one woman who cared about me.

  My thoughts circled in my mind over and over again, making me think the same things I’d already thought a million times before. That painting was burned in my memory now because I’d stared at it for so long.

  That painting changed everything.

  But I didn’t want anything to change.

  I didn’t want this woman to consume me like this, to claw her way into my chest and stay there. She had an invisible hold over me, but as time passed, that power became more visible. My cock stayed in my pants when she wasn’t around, not out of obligatio
n but desire. I put the war on hold because I wanted to give her peace. I was sleeping in the same woman’s bed every night, when I never slept with anyone.

  She had me wrapped around her finger.

  But I had her wrapped around mine too.

  I piled everything together and placed it on the side of my desk, unsure what I should do with it. Before I made my official move, there was something I needed to do first.

  I needed to go to Lake Garda.

  And stand in the very place where she painted me.

  My shoes crunched against the snow as I walked down the bank toward the water. It was freezing the same way it was that night. The sun was almost gone, so the sky was a mixture of light colors, pink, blue, and a dash of orange. Within minutes, all traces of sunlight would be gone.

  I stopped in the exact place where I stood in the painting and stared at the water. I watched the dock rise and fall slightly with the moving lake, and I stared at the trees around me. Like I was standing in the picture, I saw everything exactly as she depicted, from the number of trees in the clearing to the number of leaves that remained on each branch.

  I felt like I was standing inside her mind.

  Every breath I took was accompanied by the painful bite of the frozen temperatures. It burned my lungs on the way in, and when I breathed out again, my breath escaped as vapor. I watched it rise up in front of my face before it disappeared into the frozen air.

  My hands moved into my pockets, and I cherished the cold, cherished the way it penetrated my clothes and to my warm muscles. Slowly, the sun disappeared from the horizon, and the pretty colors faded.

  Now the light was limited.

  It started to turn into that night, that night when I met Vanessa in an alleyway. I was going to kill her, but then I caught a glimpse of her face and recognized her. I should have killed her anyway, but my enemy deserved a better death than that.