I whirl around. “Adrian, you don’t need to leave. De Rossi, if you want to talk to me, you’ll need to wait for your turn.”
There’s a stunned silence. Adrian is looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes that glint with a hint of fear, and the sight of it annoys me. Is this what I looked like when I meekly obeyed Papà’s and Lazaro’s orders? Saying no to them always felt impossible. But my life isn’t on the line when it comes to De Rossi, and neither is Adrian’s. Why does everyone treat him like he’s a god? Seriously, is it just the money? If that’s all it takes to command this kind of deference, why did Papà even need his enforcers?
Adrian says a rushed lo siento and runs off without another glance at me.
“One day, I pray I’ll understand why everyone listens to you,” I say.
He starts to advance. “He listens to me because he works for me.”
“Of course he does,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I think next time I talk to someone, I’ll need to do a background check first.”
“Big words for a woman without a passport.”
I frown. Is he just teasing me, or is that a hint that he’s been digging?
He halts a few inches away, close enough to blanket me with his heat. Inside his dark eyes, something dangerous is brewing. “You came.”
The way he says it makes it clear he thinks I’m here for him. I better set him straight. “We both know what this party is for, De Rossi. You decided you could go, but I couldn’t? That’s not how it works.” I place my hands on his hard chest and try to press him away.
He doesn’t budge a single inch. His chin tips downward, his gaze glued to my lips. “I warned you.”
“So what? Maybe no one’s ever told you this before, but you’re not God. Just because you say something, doesn’t mean everyone has to listen.” I press harder against his chest.
His palms wrap around my wrists. “Why did you come?”
“Because I felt like it.”
“Why?” He drags one calloused thumb down the inside of my wrist. I feel that small caress all the way down to my belly. I shouldn’t have touched him. When I try to ease myself out of his grip there’s zero give. He’s not hurting me, but his hold is firm.
I huff a breath. “For the same reason you did. To have fun.”
“Do you want to get fucked, Ale?”
My eyes blow wide. A wave of arousal slams into me so hard that I forget how to breathe. “Excuse me?” I choke out.
De Rossi leans in closer to my ear. “You didn’t come here to look at the stars,” he says in a low, seductive voice.
No, I didn’t. The reason I’m here is because I couldn’t stand the thought of him screwing some random woman while I spent my entire evening thinking about that kiss.
But I’m not about to tell him that. “I’m not here for you.” My voice comes out all breathy.
His lips move against the shell of my ear. “Then who are you here for?”
“For myself.”
“And what do you want?”
Do you want to get fucked? Heat blooms across my chest. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” he coaxes. His hand releases my right wrist and trails down the center of my chest before stopping at the waist of my shorts.
I should stop him and put an end to whatever this is pronto, but as he nudges my T-shirt up an inch and starts to caress my midriff with his thumb, my body sings. Sparks come alive beneath my skin and travel all the way down to my clit.
“I think that wet pussy of yours wants to get fucked hard tonight,” he whispers. “I think it wants to get ruined by a big cock.”
I lose my ability to think. Who talks like that to a woman? Who the hell gave De Rossi permission to use the English language as a method of mind control? “You’re wrong,” I breathe.
This earns me a decadent chuckle. His fingers dip into my waistband. “Why don’t you let me check?”
He wants to feel how wet I am.
My God, Vale. Wake up. Tell him no. Tell his cocky ass to jump off the boat so he can see how wet the ocean is.
I open and close my fist, the one attached to the wrist he’s still holding. “De Rossi…this is…”
Just say no.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and gives it a soft kiss. “There’s no need to be timid,” he says, trailing his lips against my skin. “No need to hide how your body’s reacting. Do you want to feel what you’re doing to me?”
I nod, because I am weak. The moment he steps closer, presses his groin to my stomach, and lets me feel his hard length, I let out a needy whimper. It’s steely and huge and clearly wants to be inside of me. My walls flutter with anticipation. What would it feel like to have De Rossi fuck me with that thing?
“Your turn,” he says, pulling his lips away from my hand.
I nod again, keeping eye contact with him. His gaze darkens with triumph, and without any rush, he slides his entire hand past the waistband of my shorts and underwear. We’re still standing on the deck. Anyone can see us, although they probably have far more interesting things to watch on this boat.
I’m so damn wet that he can feel it as soon as his middle finger reaches my clit. His expression melts with pleasure as he gently circles the hard nub and makes me squirm in his grip. “That’s it.” He pushes further in and probes my sopping entrance. “So warm and wet,” he mutters. “So perfect.”
A moan fights its way out of my throat. “Damiano…”
He shuts his eyes. A tremor runs up the thick column of his throat.
Just then, I remember what he told me about calling him by his name.
“You always remember your first hit,” he mutters.
And then he kisses me. The finger that’s still inside of me curls in a rhythmic way, setting my nerve endings firing and making my body weak until all I can do is hold on to him for dear life.
We make out on that bridge deck for what feels like hours until I’m dizzy, on the verge of coming, and unbearably hot. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, pulls his hand out of my shorts, and tugs me into his chest. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” I ask breathlessly.
“To my bedroom.”
“We’re on a yacht.”
“I own the yacht. I lease it out to the Werners for the season.”
Why am I even surprised? The haze of my arousal lifts a tiny bit. “Do you ever get tired of showing off?”