Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Come on.” I nudge my head to the exit. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I help her dress, my movements slow and languid. She’s still floating somewhere between reality and the high we just shared, and I have no desire to rush her back to the real world anytime soon.
I button her blouse, careful with the fabric, as Valentina watches me with a bemused smile. If I can read her as well as I want to believe, she appears shocked I can be so gentle after being anything but only minutes ago.
I told you the Caruso men fuck hard.
Once we’re suitably dressed, I guide Valentina back onto the street. The rain has softened to a fine mist that sizzles on my skin since my blood is still the heat of lava. Although my SUV is parked at the curb, I don’t head for it. Instead, I signal to one of the security details my family has stationed throughout Carlisle that I require assistance. I was impatient earlier, and I rushed things, so I want to do it right this time.
Within seconds, a sleek black town car glides to a stop beside us. I assist Valentina into the back seat before fixing her belt, and then I announce our destination to the driver.
The ride to my penthouse is quiet. Valentina admires the twinkling city lights, compliments to the driver’s reckless speed, while I study her reflection. I appreciate the curve of her jaw, the hue still dusting her cheeks, our intermingled scents, and the handful of pounds she has put on the past six weeks. They’ve made her body even more appealing.
The way she carries herself is magnetic. She’s confident and unashamed, and it makes her even more beautiful.
I’ve never understood the obsession some men have with women who look like they haven’t eaten a proper meal in years. Give me curves and softness any day, especially if they’re attached to a woman who embraces them.
Valentina is all that and more. Her body is a celebration of Sicilian heritage. Her hips are as full and generous as her bust, and her thighs promise nights of rigorous fucking. Even if she followed all the fad diet obsessions, she’d never be super slim.
Thank fuck.
I like the way her blouse strains at the buttons and how her skirt hugs her thighs and stomach. Her curves announce that there’s nothing fragile about her. She won’t break if I fuck her too roughly. She’s built for passion, and that’s precisely why I didn’t hold back in the alleyway.
I fucked her like a wild animal and loved every damn minute of our exchange.
I’ve bedded women who prioritized counting calories over living. None of them ever made me lose my ever-fucking mind. I don’t solely want to taste Valentina again. I want our exchange to stretch into the morning so I can witness the sunlight dancing across her skin.
Valentina catches me staring, but because we’ve arrived at a hotel I have a majority share in, I pretend I don’t need my head examined.
This is the height of my obsession.
As accustomed, heads turn when I help Valentina out of my Bentley and escort her through the lobby. Not everyone stares with worry. Some watch in admiration, but unfortunately, not all their focus is on me.
Valentina is receiving an equal amount of attention. If I weren’t itching to reacquaint any part of my body with Valentina’s, I’d take names.
Alas, patience doesn’t seem my forte when Valentina is in my sights.
Our footsteps echo on the marble lobby floors as we move through the luxurious surroundings I intend to make Valentina accustomed to. Curiosity darts through the elevator attendant’s eyes as he nods in greeting, somewhat bowing. His interest is expected. The penthouse is usually where I come for solace. I’ve never brought anyone of the opposite sex here before.
Even if I had, he would have never met anyone like Valentina. She isn’t the arm candy constantly photographed with my brothers. She is the heir of the Caruso legacy.
My fingers tap the curve in Valentina’s back in rhythm to the tick of the numbers in the car position indicator above our heads. The higher the number, the more curious Valentina becomes.
The elevator glides straight to the penthouse. I step out first and then extend my hand for Valentina. When she accepts my offer, we cross the threshold together.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of Carlisle. City lights stretch in every direction, and a generous wrought iron balcony wraps around the open-plan living space. The décor is contemporary but not cold. Plush sofas in deep charcoal material hog the living room, which is separated from the kitchen by a large marble-topped island. Art that costs more than most people’s cars adorns the walls, and a subtle scent of cedar and expensive whiskey filters through the air.