Ripping my t-shirt over my head, I tossed it onto the floor and yanked her against me, shoving her shorts and panties down her legs. Once she stepped out of them, I hoisted her onto the counter with a growl, her thighs falling open to welcome me.
“Tell me what you want,” I rasped, slipping my fingers between her folds.
“You,” she moaned, her head falling back. “Now.”
“Beg for me, princess.” I teased her entrance with my thumb and she bucked against me. Leaning toward her, I nipped at the delicate skin of her neck. “Ask me to make you come.”
“Please, Henry.” She met my eyes for what felt like the first time since I stepped foot in the kitchen. “Please make me come.”
I freed myself, not bothering with finesse, and drove into her in one deep, claiming thrust.
She cried out as her body arched into mine, mouth open in a silent cry, legs locking around my waist. She clung to me like she was trying to climb inside my skin, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders as I fucked her with raw, punishing need.
I was completely lost to her, every thought evaporating from my mind. I wasn’t thinking about what the Bratva could want with her. Wasn’t thinking about her husband. Wasn’t thinking about Sarah.
All I could think of was how damn addicted to her I’d become.
This woman would be my downfall. I sensed it deep in my marrow. But I couldn’t seem to care. Not right now. Not when I had her.
Her hands tangled in my hair, her lips grazing my jaw. I drove deeper, harder, dragging her to the edge with me. The scent of garlic and sex and sweat filled the air as the sound of our bodies slamming into each other echoed through the room.
It didn’t take long for her to reach her climax. When she did, she came hard and silent, her teeth clamped on my shoulder. I followed seconds later, pulling out of her, my body jerking as I released onto her stomach.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just our breaths. Her forehead resting against mine. My heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
But even as she curled into me, even as I stroked her back and kissed her temple, the unease returned. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I felt like something was off.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I brushed the damp hair from her face.
“Better now.” Her smile was soft. Perfect. Practiced.
I wanted to believe her.
But I’d spent a lifetime reading between the lines. And Ariana was hiding something. I felt it in her pulse still racing beneath my palm. Saw it in the flicker of hesitation behind her eyes.
“I should clean up and finish dinner. I’m starving after that.” She flashed me a sly grin that felt empty. Then she pushed against me, and I stepped back.
After collecting her discarded clothing and disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes, she returned to the kitchen fully dressed, slipping past me and stirring the mushroom sauce bubbling in the skillet like nothing had happened.
Like we hadn’t just devoured each other in the middle of the kitchen.
I watched the tension creep back into her shoulders. Saw how she flinched when the sauce hissed and popped. Noticed how she stirred the pan too quickly, as if she couldn’t stand still.
Maybe I was just over-analyzing everything. Maybe my brain was still on edge from Salvatore’s news. From hours of coming across dead end after dead end.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine.
Something was wrong.
Something that was about to change everything.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ariana
I’d been through my fair share of nerve-wracking dinners. Hell, I was married to a man who turned meals into mind games, each bite a test, each glass of wine laced with unspoken threats. But this dinner?
This one took the fucking cake.
