Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

23. Santino

TWENTY-THREE

SANTINO

Delilah was pissed.

She was curled up on the couch, her mouth drawn tight as she stared at the TV. She’d left the bedroom in the middle of the night. I’d followed, keeping my distance. She needed her space.

After last night, she needed to readjust her expectations of this relationship. She hadn’t realized how serious I’d been despite the heavy hints I kept throwing at her. Delilah was a little delusional sometimes. That was alright.

I watched her from the kitchen island as she flicked through the local Italian channels. She settled on a baking show featuring a model-thin brunette who looked like she’d never eaten a cornetto in her life. Did Delilah like pastries? She hadn’t eaten much since she got here. Just some pastina mixed with broth. Withdrawal had hit her hard, and it made me feel like shit for not noticing sooner.

I’d had no idea about her drinking problem. Two months of hanging out, sex, and fun. I thought she could handle her booze. She was good at hiding it, but when I saw her at my apartment…? That’s when it clicked. When I realized this, I researched alcoholism on the internet. It’d been so long since my old man died, and I couldn’t remember much about the disease. All the literature said that withdrawal from alcohol was dangerous. She could’ve died without a medical team closely monitoring her, so I contacted a few uncles who still lived in Italy, and they helped me find doctors. She’d be okay. The worst was over. Maybe the TV show she chose meant her appetite was coming back.

I texted Anna, the housekeeper, to bring fresh pastries in the morning. The leather couch creaked as Delilah turned around, scowling.

“Are you going to stand there and stare?”

I put my phone away. “I’m trying to give you space.”

She glared at me. “Just come here.”

I walked to the couch and took a seat beside her, far enough so that she didn’t feel crowded. Her head turned back to the screen as a baker applied a glossy layer of chocolate to a cake.

“You ever watch shows like these?”

I shook my head. “I’m more of a news and sports guy.”

She fell silent again, pushing the strap of her nightdress up her shoulder. Hard to believe that hours ago, I’d been balls deep inside her tight pussy.

My cock swelled as I replayed last night. She’d been angry, for sure, with the way she gripped my back. And her nails dug into my scalp as she held me to her body, her tongue in my mouth, her hips in sync with mine.

She was perfect.

It felt good to have that final layer of secrecy ripped away. She rode my cock just like I knew she would, holding me tight with her thighs, taking every drop of my cum like a good girl. Holding it inside her for ages. I researched it, and experts recommended twenty minutes to an hour. So I just kept fucking her. She’d loved it. She cried out my name and came over and over again. And when she was too sleepy to continue, I cradled her in my arms, her face buried in my neck, and she held me back. Finally, she treated me like I belonged to her.

Now she was sullen again.

I broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What’s the show about?”

“Baking,” she said curtly.

“Yeah, I got that. Do you like baking?”

She shrugged. “It’s fine. I just like watching people make pretty things.”

“Maybe we could try it together.”

She glanced at me, her expression softening. “You bake?”

“Not really, but I can follow instructions.”

We watched the show in comfortable silence for a while. The model-thin brunette tasted the tiniest piece of a cake with intricate flowers and talked to a girl wearing an apron.

Delilah sighed, her eyes still on the screen. “I used to bake with my stepmom. Before she turned bitter from my father’s affairs. Every year, she went all out with pastries for Christmas. Trying to impress my dad, I guess.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her.

“And your mom?”

Delilah shook her head, her gaze fixed on the flickering images on the screen. “Died when I was little.”

“I’m sorry. That’s a kind of loss you don’t just get over.”

I reached over, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She leaned into my touch, then pulled back, her walls back up again. Delilah turned to the TV, her body tense.

The show moved on to judging, and the contestants awaited the verdict with bated breath. We watched in silence, the only sounds the judges’ critiques and the occasional laugh track.

“What about your family?” she asked.

“My old man was a gambler and a drunk. My mom did her best to protect us, but it wasn’t easy. He’d blow in like a hurricane, mess everything up, then leave again like nothing happened.”

Delilah’s eyes softened. “Sounds familiar.”

“Not all parents are what they should be.”

“And your siblings? You mentioned them before.”

“They’re a mixed bag. We look out for each other the best we can. Family’s family, right? Even when they drive you nuts.” I paused, memories surfacing like ghosts from the past. “After a fire killed my cousin, everything fell apart.”

“A fire?”

“A house fire. My aunt and uncle never stood a chance. Luca, who was ten at the time, didn’t either. The entire family was wiped out.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s awful.”

“It’s haunted me ever since. That night changed everything. My dad started drinking even more. My mom lost her fucking mind. Me and Rome had to pick up the slack and work for the Family. For a few years, we had to fend for ourselves.”

She turned around fully to face me. “That’s really messed up.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you started working for them?”

I nodded. “Somebody had to help put food on the table. Six kids. Two parents.”

She tensed. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“I know your deep, dark secret. I figured I should tell you mine.”

She raised a brow. “Having a rough childhood isn’t a secret.”

“Maybe not, but the idea of going back to that keeps me up at night. Being powerless again. It drives everything I do. It’s why I can’t be weak.”

“Is that why you threw out my birth control?”

A pack of pills was all that stood between me and keeping her forever. If I told her that, would she get pissed? I wanted her to keep talking to me, to stop looking so wounded when I walked into the room. Sighing, I raked a hand through my hair.

“It was the only way to get what I wanted.”

She fumed. “You didn’t even try to find another way.”

“No. I can’t say I did.”

Telling her about my feelings hadn’t worked. Neither did giving her the keys. Delilah’s stubborn streak would have ruined a perfectly good relationship, and I couldn’t have that.

Delilah turned her attention to the TV, frowning. The show continued, and she settled into her blanket and pillows, her foot almost touching my thigh.

She glanced at me.

I pretended to watch a baker frosting a cake as Delilah checked me out. Her eyes lingered on my dick, which hardened. I couldn’t help it.

I watched her bite her lip. The room was drenched in soft light that caused shadows to dance across her face.

Gradually, I edged closer. When she didn’t shift away, I reached out, my fingers brushing her foot. She didn’t jerk back. I began massaging, working the tension from her arch. A soft sigh slipped from her. Her expression melted into something more pliable. I kept my eyes locked on hers, watching every subtle surrender. My hands slid up her calves.

Her eyes fluttered.

I pulled on her legs, dragging her over my lap. I wrapped my arms underneath her and stood. She clung to my neck as I carried her out of the living room.

“I don’t know why I let you do this to me,” she sighed.

She could pretend to be bewildered by her desire for me. If that got her in my bed without a fuss, it suited me just fine.

I carried her over the threshold of the bedroom, just like a newly married couple. A flashback to our first night together burned in my head. Her in that wedding dress. The stolen Romanov bride I’d been determined to defile. She showed up to my hotel room, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. So pretty. I should’ve married her right there.

I gently laid her on the bed.

Climbing onto the bed, I moved between her spread legs, my hands rough as I pushed her silk dress up to her waist. She sucked in a sharp breath, her skin covered in goosebumps in the cool air. Her panties were soaked, and I ripped them down her legs.

Her hips lifted, inviting me in. I smirked, lowering my head between her thighs. My tongue darted out, teasing her clit, and she gasped, hands gripping the sheets. The taste of her was addictive, driving me to lap at her with a fierce hunger. My tongue flicked her most sensitive spot. Her moans filled the room.

Her body trembled, and I knew she was close. I wrapped my lips around her clit, sucking hard, and she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm. She cried out my name, her hands fisting in my hair.

I didn’t stop until she was a quivering mess beneath me. Her body bucked, her nails dragging painful trails along my scalp as she came apart.

I came up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I moved closer to her, positioning my cock at her needy pussy. Then I leaned forward, my cock nudging her. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby.”

I thrust into her, hard and deep. She gasped, a sound that made my balls ache. I set a brutal pace, each thrust meant to claim. Her sounds, her scent, and the feel of her wrapped tightly around me drove me closer to the edge.

She met my every thrust, her cries filling the room, telling me she was close again. That was all I needed. With a few more deep, punishing strokes, I let go, coming hard.

I collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, the sweat from my brow dripping onto her flushed skin. We lay there entwined, the only sounds our ragged breathing. I rolled off, lying on my back, feeling her shift beside me to rest her head on my chest. The silence stretched between us, a thick blanket that neither of us seemed ready to lift. But then, Delilah’s voice cut through, low and more steady than I expected.

“You’re not forgiven just because I let you come inside me.”

I kissed her stubborn jaw. “I know.”

“You can’t fuck me into submission,” she mumbled, staying nestled against me.

I stroked her hair. “It’s a start.”

She snorted. “That’s not how it works, Santino.”

“Yes, it is. When you claim something with everything you got, it’s yours.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her breath warm against my skin. “You need therapy. Fuck, so do I.”

I shrugged.

Delilah lifted her head, glowering. “It’ll take more than good sex to win me over.”

“Go to sleep, principessa.”