Giovanni
“The Atlantic lies just beyond those cliffs. Climate’s very different than Las Vegas,” I clear my throat as I say.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she says, turning to me, then scanning the room, the antique furniture that’s been in my family for generations, the tattered rugs on the floor so necessary against the chill in these old stone estates.
I walk into the second room, which should be a sitting room, but I see it’s been converted into a huge closet stuffed to the gills with dresses and shoes and bags, all brand names I recognize. All wholly unnecessary and impractical for the Scottish Highlands. Many not even worn with tags still attached.
This is Ann’s work. Her pathetic legacy.
I return to the main room, trying like hell to manage whatever the fuck is going on in my head and in my gut.
“There’s a bathroom through here if you need it,” I say, opening the door to find they had updated the bathroom with modern luxuries.
Sienna walks toward me. “Are you okay?”
I look over her head, out at the sprawling hills and the lush green grass. The wind has cleared the sun of clouds for the moment and the light it casts is more beautiful than that of constant sunshine.
But in the next instant, it’s dark again and rain pelts the windows.
She touches her hand to my cheek. “Giovanni?”
I look down at her.
She didn’t sleep last night, not much at least, but even so, she’s still beautiful. Las Vegas, and that first night, and the auction, and everything, all those things, it feels like a lifetime ago.
She feels like a lifetime ago and I realize how much my own thoughts and feelings about her have changed. Have become something strange and foreign to me.
I give a shake of my head.
Now’s not the time for that. Now I need to deal with my family.
But I need one thing from her first.
I need to fuck her. To bury myself in the familiar warmth of her.
I walk her to the bed and there, turn her, hold her to me as I undo her jeans with one hand and slide my other hand up her sweater to cup her lace-clad breast. I shove her jeans half-down her hips and push her over the bed. Her panties are askew, and I push them down too. I gaze down at her ass, her perfect ass, as I undo my jeans and take myself out.
Crouching down behind her, I spread her open and look at her, lick the length of her. Dip my tongue inside her and taste her wet cunt before standing, keeping her spread as I drive into her.
She’s not ready and she struggles against me.
“Be still,” I say, taking her wrists and spreading her arms wide, like she’s the Christ nailed to the cross that’s hanging over the bed. Like she’s the sacrifice.
But she isn’t that.
I am.
I was.
I lay my weight on her. Looking up at that thing when I fuck her, holding her down, her cunt slickening, wetting the passage for me. This is what I need. Her. To fuck her. To be inside her and feel her.
This fucking, it’s like animals rutting. There’s nothing slow or sensual about it. It’s simple need. And soon I hear her breathing change, coming short and fast. So I fuck her harder and I don’t care if she comes, not right now. This is about something else.
I need release.
And being here, I need to stake my claim.
When I’m just a thrust away, I pull out of her, fisting my cock as it throbs, and I come. I come all over their bed, their sheets, their pillows. I cover their bed in cum as Sienna watches.
I know she doesn’t understand. Even as orgasm racks my body, I see her, and I know she does not understand.
When I’m finished, I pull my jeans up, look at my work, then at her. I see the expression of shock on her face as if I’ve just defiled a fucking church altar.
“You don’t know what they did to me,” I say harshly.
She steps toward me. “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in, especially with your father’s-”
I chuckle. It’s an ugly sound.
“No, I’m not overwhelmed by emotion or sorrow for the loss of my father. I lost him long ago. If he was ever a father to me at all.” I check my watch, run a hand through my hair. “Go have a shower. I’ll have someone change the bed so you can sleep. I’ll come for you after I meet with Benjamin.” I don’t want her talking to Declan or anyone else.
She reaches down to pull up her panties and jeans.
“What’s going on with you?” she asks.
I turn away, and everywhere I look, I see memories. Remembrances. Hell, I almost see him.
And worse than seeing, I feel how much I’ve lost.
Fuck.
It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to feel like this.
“Giovanni?”
“I need to take care of some things. Talk to Benjamin. Understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Get cleaned up. Shower. Take a nap. Whatever. But you’re not to leave this room until I come to get you.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” I walk to the door.
“Hey!” She follows, grabs my arm. I turn and see on her face that she’s taken aback by what she sees on mine. It takes her a moment to continue. “Don’t take it out on me. I’m sorry your father died and that you had to come back here, but I am not your enemy. You brought me, remember?”
I snort.
She has no idea.
“You’re tired, Sienna. Get some rest.” I open the door to leave, anxious to talk to Benjamin.
“Tell me why you bothered to bring me if you’re just going to be a jerk to me. At least tell me that.”
I stop, turn to her. “Do as I say. You know how you’ll be punished if you don’t.”
Her face pales and her mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything.
Fuck. I don’t mean that. Not after everything.
“Sienna-”
She clears her throat, shakes her head and when she looks at me, her eyes are different. Wounded.
Crap.
“You’re right. I am tired,” she says. “Tired of you and your secrecy. You accuse me of it and look at you.”
I don’t have a comeback. She’s right.
A moment later, she turns and disappears into the bathroom. I hear the lock turn.
I look at the closed door, take a step toward it, but stop. I have to deal with my brother now.
I walk out the door telling the maid along the way to change our bedding as I head down the stairs and into my father’s old study.
My study now. Almost.
Along the way, I’m looking at everything I pass, remembering everything, the paintings, the rugs, the feel of the stone walls and even their smell. God, I’d forgotten how Scotland smells. How this house smells.
But I can’t think about all of that because if I do, it will overwhelm me, and I can’t let that happen.
Not now.
Not here.
Not ever.