Sweet (12 page)

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Strong.”

I touched lightly the puckered scar on his chest. “Strong,” I whispered.
Beautiful, so beautiful. Alive.

No more pain, he’d said. No more waiting either. I tugged him over me, shedding my leotard and the rest of my clothes like skin of old, wearing instead the salty sweat of my labor, the scent of my lust. We continued upward in our steady fashion, finding surcease in the climb. His mouth quested lower on my body, over my belly button, and across the crease of my leg. He delved lower and deeper, into the private-secret places I opened to him, meeting my pulse with his tongue and splitting my body with heat.

“Drew,” I moaned.

He shuddered, his whole body curling around itself as his hand went to his cock. “Again. Say that again.”

I could have repeated his name in an endless litany, a euphoric prayer, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted me helpless and frantic. Brought low by my need for a few helpless moments…before he lifted me back up again. Unbalanced and then righted again. Taken away only to fill me back up.

With a renewed sense of submission, I let the currents of his mouth drag me down, submerged in pleasure. Soft cries sounded muted to my own ears, as if I were underwater, as if I were drowning.

He flicked at my clit, and it pulled a moan from me. “Drew, Drew.”

Exactly what he’d wanted and authentic too. Like he’d bypassed my walls and reached deep inside me. Like plucking the private strings beneath the hood of a grand piano and playing secret music only meant for us.

I shuddered through the stroke of his tongue and rode his fingers to a rolling, blinding climax. His fingers tore open the condom packet with rough movements, and I stilled him, taking the condom from him and pressing the tip to his cock. He jerked at the light pressure but let me continue.

I took my time rolling the latex over his velvet-smooth firmness, feeling out each ridge and curve before hiding it from view. When he was covered, I cupped the taut skin behind, enjoying the tremors that followed each probing curl of my finger.

I understood now what he meant: to explore each other’s bodies and all the ways we fit. It wasn’t about fulfilling a need. It was want, pure and lawless, which made it that much sweeter. I wanted to search out every point of pleasure, soothe each rough-edged pain.

“I’m going to come,” he groaned.

I guided him to my center. With a hard thrust, he pushed inside. It stretched me, bringing a gasp to the surface. The sound seemed to spur him on. He receded only to force his way in again—more insistent this time. He took and took with each forceful thrust in equal measure to what I gave in every stretch and pulse of my walls. He demanded and
here, here, take all that you need
.

Between my thighs, I felt his movements grow jerky, less refined. His legs trembled in their force, and I rocked my hips up to meet him. Neither of us were whole, neither sturdy. Batted about by storms, we’d found refuge in each other.

He changed the angle, and it hit a spot of white-hot pleasure inside me. My mouth opened on an empty cry, and he took it into his own mouth with a hungry mating kiss. Sensation rioted through my body, zinging from the tip of my tongue to the clench of my toes. The pressure inside me built to trembling, and I held on with my legs and let go with my fingers. He cradled me through the climax, slow and steady, until a sudden stiffness and a grunt signaled his urgent and rocky release.

In the aftermath, I felt my muscles flutter futilely while his cock flexed in response. Our bodies communed while he pressed lazy kisses along the top of my shoulder.

“Is it always like that?” I asked before I could stop myself. I sounded drunk and felt that way too.

He rolled us over, slinging my body over his. “No. But I always hoped it could be.”

I smiled against his skin. “So I guess I’ll have to keep you around. You know, for the great sex.”

He sounded amused. “Whatever reason you need, I’ll give you.”

I shut my eyes against the rush of emotion. “And for what reason will you stay with me?”

“For the same reason I stood outside your window. To watch you dance.”

The simple, heartfelt words curled around me, adding another layer to the blanket of his arms. He wanted to see me free and happy—well, he would. Just to be with him, to hear the steady beat of his heart, filled me with a joy both complete and unending.

Thank you for reading Sweet! I hope you enjoyed Drew and Rose’s story. This is one of my sweeter books, both sexy and romantic. The next book in the Chicago Underground series is Philip’s book, so sign up for my newsletter to find out when it’s released:
www.skyewarren.com/newsletter

Discuss this book in my Facebook group for fans:
Skye Warren’s Dark Room

I appreciate your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. Reviews help readers find books! Please leave a review on your favorite book site.

If you love the Chicago Underground series, you’ll really enjoy the dark and dangerous Stripped series. New York Times bestselling author Pepper Winters calls it “captivating.”

Click here to download Tough Love for free!

T
he moon sits
high above the tree line. Somewhere beyond those woods is an electric fence. And beyond that is an entire city of people living and working and
loving
each other. I may as well be on the moon for how close I am to them.

A guard walks by my window at 10:05 p.m. Right on time.

I wait a few minutes until he’s out of earshot; then I flip the latch. From there it’s quick work to push up the pane with its bulletproof glass. I broke the lock a year ago. And almost every night since then I’ve sneaked down the ornate metal trellis—like a thief, stealing a moment to myself.

The grass is still damp from the rain, the ground beneath like a sponge, sucking me in. I cross the lawn, heart beating against my chest. I know exactly where the guards are on their rounds. I know exactly where the trip wires are that will set off the alarms. My father is too busy in his office to even glance outside.

The office I broke into this morning.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the pool. I’m still out in the open, but the bright underwater lights make it hard to see anything on the patio. They make it hard to see me as I curve around the edge and reach the pool house.

The door opens before I touch the handle. “Clara,” comes the whisper.

I can’t help but smile as I slip into the dark. Giovanni always opens the door for me. It’s like some old-world chivalry thing, even though we’re just two kids sneaking around. At least, that’s how everyone treats me. Like a kid. But when I’m with him, I feel less like a girl, more like a woman.

He looks out the door for a beat before shutting and locking it. “Are you sure no one saw you?”

“You’re such a worrywart, Gio.” I let myself fall onto the couch, facing up.

“If your father ever found out…”

We’d be in so much trouble. My father is a member of the mob. Giovanni’s father is a foot soldier who works security on the grounds. Both our dads are seriously dangerous, not to mention a little unhinged. I can’t even think about how bad it would be if they caught us sneaking around after dark.

I push those thoughts away. “Did you bring it?”

Reluctantly, Giovanni nods. He gestures to the side table, where a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels gleams in the faint light. “Did you?”

I reach into the pockets of my jeans and pull out two cigars. I hold them up and grin. “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

He rolls his eyes, but I think he’s relieved. “This was a bad idea.”

“It was my idea,” I remind him, and his cheeks turn dark.

Of course the little homework assignment was my idea. I’m the one ridiculously sheltered up in my room with the tutors and the gilded locks. Fifteen years old and I’ve never even been out to the movies. Giovanni gets to go to regular school. He’s too young to get inducted, but I know he gets to be at some of the sit-ins.

“I just want to try them,” I say. “I’m not going to get addicted or anything.”

He snorts. “More likely you’ll get a hangover. How are you going to explain puking to your padre?”

“Honor will cover for me.” My sister always covers for me. She takes the brunt of my father’s anger. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love the way she protects me. But one percent of the time, it feels like a straitjacket. That’s why I started coming to the pool house. And I’m glad I did. This is where I met Giovanni.

He examines the cigar, eyes narrowed.

“How do you even light it?” I ask. I’ve seen my father do it a hundred times, but I’m still not clear on how the whole thing doesn’t just catch fire. Isn’t it made from dried plants?

He puts the cigar to his lips experimentally. It looks strange seeing his full lips around something I’ve mostly seen my father use. Then he blows out a breath, miming how it would be. I imagine white smoke curling in front of his tanned skin.

“They don’t let you use them when they do?” I ask.

He gives me a dark look. I’m not supposed to talk about the side jobs he does for his father. “I mostly sit in a corner and hope no one notices me. It’s boring.”

“If it’s boring, then why won’t you talk about it?” I know it’s not a good thing to be noticed by men like our father, to be groomed by them, but sometimes that seems better than being ignored. I’m the younger one. And a girl. And there are rumors that I’m not even my father’s legitimate child. In other words, I’m lucky my sister remembers to feed me.

He swears in Italian. “That’s no life for you, Clara.”

“And it’s a life for you?”

“I would leave if I could,” he says. “You know that.”

“You turn eighteen in a year. Will you leave then?” My stomach clenches at the thought of him gone. I’m two years younger than him. And even when I turn eighteen, I won’t be leaving. By then I’ll be engaged to whoever my father picks for me.

Just like my sister. I shudder at the thought of her fiancé.

He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

I roll my eyes. I suspect he’s making plans, but he isn’t sharing them with me. That’s how the men around here operate, keeping girls in the dark. Honor only found out she was engaged when Byron was invited over for dinner. He has the money and the power. She doesn’t get a choice. Neither will I.

“If you go, you should take me with you,” I say.

“I don’t think Honor would appreciate me taking you away.”

No, she wouldn’t. And the thought of being without my sister makes my heart ache. Sometimes I give her a hard time, but I love her. I’d never leave her behind. “She can come with us. It will be like an adventure.”

“Don’t talk stupid, Clara.” His eyes flash with anger and something else I can’t define.

I jerk back, hurt. “It was just an idea.”

“Well, it’s a bad idea. Your father is never gonna let you leave.”

Deep inside, I turn cold. I know that’s true. Of course it is. Giovanni doesn’t have the money or the resources to take us away from here. And even if he did, why would he want to?

I hate myself for even suggesting it. How desperate can I look?

Shaking inside, I stand up and grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. It’s heavier than I would have expected, but I carry it over to a wet bar still stocked with decanters and wine glasses. No liquor though. There used to be huge parties here. When my mother died, they stopped.

We’re supposed to have a party in a few days, though, to celebrate my sister’s engagement. I’m not even allowed to go. I’ll just be able to see the fireworks from the window.

Without a word Giovanni joins me, his heat both comforting and stark. He takes the glass from my shaking hand. He opens the bottle and pours the deep amber liquid inside. Then takes another cup for himself, twice as full.

“Why do you get more?” I protest, mostly because I like teasing him.

His expression is amused. “I’m bigger than you.”

He is bigger. Taller and broader, though still skinny. His hands are bigger than mine too. They hold the glass with confidence, whereas I almost drop mine.

I take a sip before I can second-guess myself. “
Oh my God.
”

It burns my throat, battery acid scalding me all the way down.

His lips firm, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Good stuff?”

“Oh, shut up.” Then it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing too. That stuff is
awful.

He grins and takes a drink—more like a gulp. And he doesn’t cough or wince after. “You get used to it.”

“How much do I have to drink to get used to it?”

“More than you should.”

I take another sip. It burns again, but I have to say, not as bad. It still doesn’t taste good, but I’m determined to drink it anyway. This pool house is the only place where I can break the rules, where I can experience things. The pool house is the only place I even feel alive.

“Let’s try mine,” I say. My voice already sounds rougher from the alcohol.

He holds up the cigar. “Did you bring a lighter?”