Fucking. Hell. My heart is hammering. I thought it couldn’t be moved anymore, but my sun seems to know how to pump life into it. Into me. I can’t take my eyes away from his now. His fingers find the back of my neck, and I lift my hand to swipe my thumb along his chin. My gaze is drawn down to the way the plump flesh of his lower lip curves outward as he lets out a shaky breath.
“You want romance?” I ask, letting my voice turn gruff.
He nods eagerly.
I grab his hand and flatten his small palm over my chest. “I haven’t shown my heart to a single being before you. I didn’teven suspect I had one. If I ever did, I buried it with my parents thirty years ago. Now it pounds and bleeds and breaks and hardens for you, Art Enzino. Because I’ll hate-love you until its last beat.”
He chuckles as tears spill again from his eyes. They have turned pale blue.
“I’m madly in hate-love with you too, you wacko. And your dick.” He insists on specifying. Then he gestures to his face. “See? What the fuck is this? You make me feel fucking…emotions and wishy-washy crap. You big mobster!”
I pull his face toward mine and let my lips respond to him.
His tongue is eager and thirsty, fucking delicious. He hums and sighs as he lets me take control. The sounds he’s making are giving me a half chub. This kiss tastes like hot times to come, like late snacks and night cuddling, like blazing fights and hate-love fucks. Like us.
Art suddenly jumps into my arms, wrapping his legs tightly around my waist, taking the kiss from zero to dirty as fuck. There’s no finesse, just two mouths devouring each other. I bite hard on his lower lip and then wince when he tightens his thighs around my hips—pushing on my wound.
“Oh shit! Are you okay?” He slides down and opens a couple of buttons to check the injury.
I nod. “You're the one who did something very stupid and reckless when you left.” It made me hate-love him even more.
“My regret mode is on.” He grabs a towel from one of the chairs and then pushes it over my wound. I hiss.
“But I did it because?—”
“Don’t say a word,” I interrupt him.
“How about two?” The cheeky brat counters.
I slap his ass and then squeeze. “I’m going to ram this hole so hard you’ll get so addicted you won’t be able to live one day without it—as soon as your back heals.”
“Stop, Luca. Do you want to give me a joy-related heart attack?”
No. But I want to find out how to make him listen to me.
Seb’s voice suddenly reaches my ears. “Should we give them some privacy?”
“I feel like a peeping Tom,” River, Fly’s brother, adds.
“Shhh. I can’t hear anything, bunny.” Akira, his husband, tsks.
I finally turn toward them just as Marco starts clapping.
“Enjoying the show?” Art winks at them.
“The corpses littering the place kind of ruin the atmosphere,” Akira has the gall to say, chewing loudly on his gum.
But he isn’t wrong, my mood is ruined. “Everything taken care of?”
“Yes. The Enzinos are all dead except…” Marco doesn’t finish the sentence, he doesn’t need to.
“I’ll get the real Scarface soon,” I growl.
“Coretti?” Art asks.
“Dead, but actually, your bride-not-to-be wants to talk to you.”
I tense, hearing Akira’s teasing words. Even more when a cloud of white lace and chiffon comes barreling toward us. She screams Art’s name and slides between us to hug him.