Taken by the Italian Mafia: A Dark City Romance (9 page)

W
hen Whitney opened her eyes
, the room was bathed in morning light. She began to piece together where she was and all that had happened the night before. An abduction. An attempted murder. A near rape. All of it seemed so distant now, as though it had happened to her in another life instead of in another day.

By all rights she should have been terrified, and yet Whitney couldn't bring herself to feel fear when it came to Rocco. The way he'd protected her and kept her safe from Arturo's evil was more telling of his character than the man she'd encountered behind
The Avenue
. It was foolish, but Whitney wanted to believe that beneath it all, Rocco was good.

As Whitney's sense of surrounding returned, she realized that Rocco still spooned her. Rocco mumbled something in his sleep and tightened his grip around her waist. With a shift of his hips, he brought himself closer. In their new position, the lower half of his body cupped Whitney's ass. Usually she wouldn't have cared, but this morning Rocco had morning wood. The hardened length of his shaft pressed against the back of her jeans with insistence. Whitney's thoughts returned to his nude form, dripping wet from the shower. The member pushing against her felt way bigger than what she'd seen, and what she'd seen was already impressive. Whoever Rocco took to bed at night had to be satisfied every time.

In this case, Whitney thought with a tiny thrill, she was the one Rocco had taken to bed.

Heat rising to her cheeks, imagination twisting through scenarios, Whitney thought about what would have happened between them if the circumstances were different.
If the handsome man had come into The Avenue and stayed at the bar, what would have gone differently?
She imagined Rocco staying to chat, charming and slick. When some douchebag drunk slurred at her about her skin tone or sex, Rocco would've beat him down with the same venom he'd used in his fight with Arturo. Then, like it was nothing, he would have grabbed Whitney's hand and guided her from behind the bar and into the club as Cassandra looked on in awe. In the back alley, where the hit had taken place, Rocco would have pushed her up against the wall and kissed her hard. The lingering taste of coffee liqueur would cling to his lips, and she'd melt into him despite the cold. And then, when the kiss heated and their bodies began to crave more, he would have run his hand down her side, along her thigh, and inward until...

Whitney closed her eyes as the fantasy continued. Need spread through her lower abdomen and soaked into her groin. Tingling with desire, body craving the cock that pushed against her, she pushed back against it and rubbed in slow, small movements of her hips. If only the night had played out differently. If only she hadn't been dragged into this mess.

Then Rocco moaned.

Terrified that he would wake up to find her rubbing against him like a cat in heat, Whitney pulled away and rolled over. With any luck, he wouldn't know what she was doing. She'd pretend she never felt the erection that had inspired her imagination and left her drenched at the thought of his body.

Rocco woke up.

Blue eyes like sapphires stared into hers, but lacked the intensity and cold calculation they boasted during the day. Until Rocco woke up in full, the killer inside wouldn't surface, and the years of emotional restraint he'd built up wouldn't set in. For now, he was raw, pure, and unapologetically beautiful.

Whitney pressed her lips together and kept her eyes on his.
What was it she saw in those blue eyes?
Whitney thought she knew, but was too shy to acknowledge it. It was adoration, affection, a kind of connection far deeper than a mobster was supposed to share with his hostage. And although she was reluctant to admit it, Whitney felt as though she returned those same emotions, and that Rocco could read her like a book.

"Why did you take me?" she asked, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. "There were so many times you could have killed me or left me to die, but you didn't."

"You know why," Rocco murmured in reply. Although Whitney had moved away before he woke up, there was still scarce distance between them.

"I don't," Whitney murmured. "All I know is that you ran at me when I was out taking out the trash. It wasn't until we got in the car that I saw the blood. You could've just walked away. I would have just thought that the hot guy from the bar was done with tonight, maybe caught up in drugs or something. Was there something more to it? Am I caught up in something I don't know about?"

She'd called him hot. Again. Whitney shifted uneasily in the bed, embarrassed. The need between her legs ached for him, and yet she knew it was wrong. Rocco wasn't the kind of guy who she should get involved with. She'd left that kind of life behind with her high school days. Men who were caught up in illegal dealings were trouble, she'd dated enough thugs to know that. But then again, Rocco was no thug. This was the son of the Don, an intelligent, brutal, efficient killer whose family had most likely been in this business for decades. Rocco wasn't doing this because he came from a broken family — he was doing this because he loved his family with everything he had.

"There's nothing you're caught up in," Rocco told her. She believed him, and it looked like he believed her as well. "You came out after I shot the guy I was supposed to meet up with, and you were looking right at me. What was I supposed to think?"

"Well I mean, I wasn't screaming or panicking. I was only looking at you because... Well, because from the first time I saw you in the club, I thought you were attractive. I was letting myself indulge in a few fantasies about you and... Well, then you rushed me with a gun, and here we are."

Rocco's gaze moved down her face to look at her lips, then moved back to her eyes. Another thrill lit up inside of Whitney.
Was he interested?
He had to be.

"You're a good girl," he told her. "Honest, street smart, pretty... I'm sorry I got you mixed up in all this. No matter what, I'm gonna fix it, okay? You're gonna be just fine." And then, to seal the deal, Rocco planted a delicate kiss on her forehead. His lips were firm, but not harsh. Whitney couldn't help but imagine how Rocco's lips would feel upon hers. Down her neck. Across her shoulder. Lower...

"Thank you," she whispered, closing the distance between them to cuddle up to his chest. Rocco tensed for a long moment, then relaxed as she fit her head beneath his chin. Like two puzzle pieces come together at last, they fit each other. Whitney had never felt so comfortable.

"I guess you were wrong about me," he murmured, the words fleeting as though he spoke to himself. "You must not find me attractive after everything I've done to you." One of his hands slipped over her waist, and his fingers ran slow circles along the small of her back. The gentle touch sent shivers down Whitney's spine, and she pressed herself closer. Once more she felt Rocco's erection through the thin cotton of his boxers against her, this time against her crotch. If only she weren't wearing pants.

"No," Whitney replied. "You made a mistake, a big mistake, but that's not what defines you in my eyes. What defines you is how you risked yourself to save my life from Arturo. No stone cold killer is going to beat his brother to save the life of some hostage he wants to kill anyway. When we ran into each other in the alley, you weren't really you — you were just on the job, thinking on your feet. The Rocco I saw save my life is the Rocco I think is the real you, and I think that man is attractive as all hell."

A smile crept across Rocco's usually serious expression. The hand that traced circles along her back slipped beneath her oversized t-shirt to trace them directly onto her skin. Fresh arousal swept through Whitney, and she closed her eyes and breathed in deep to try to relegate it. Rocco lit her soul on fire.

"For your sake I hope you're right," Rocco said. "These days, I find it hard to tell who the real me is."

The sound of his voice, tender and truthful, filled Whitney's heart and implored her to draw away just a little to look up at him again. Rocco's eyes met hers, and a shiver of a different kind passed down her spine.

"I know in my heart that you're not as bad as you make yourself out to be, Rocco. There's nothing wrong with that."

"It's a big gamble to take on a stranger."
How had his lips drawn so close to hers?
Whitney glanced down. It had been a long time since a man had gotten under her skin like Rocco had. It had been even longer yet since she'd wanted someone this bad.

"Then let's not be strangers," she whispered, heart alive from want of him.

No more words were said.

Whitney didn't know if she had leaned into him, or if he had closed the distance between them. All she knew was that when they kissed for the first time, she didn't care who he was, what he did, or where they were. Rocco's lips were everything she wanted, both commanding and sweet in their insistence. He tasted good in a way she never thought possible after a night's sleep. No matter which way she turned the kiss over in her mind, it was perfect. Rocco was perfect. Whitney never wanted the moment to end.

But a kiss never lasted forever. Rocco parted their lips and looked at her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incredible, Whitney Greene?" he asked. Whitney's cheeks grew warm as she looked down.

"Not until right now," she said, and meant it. That kind of kindness and support had never been hers to enjoy, not even from her past boyfriends. Historically her taste in men was terrible, and Rocco only proved her poor choices. But there was a redeemable quality in him that she'd never found in other lovers.

"Well, it's true," he replied, "and it's also true that you have the best goddamn lips I've ever had the pleasure to kiss."

Glee lit up Whitney's face, and she held back a laugh.

"If you think that," she cooed, "why don't you kiss them some more?"

Whitney didn't have to ask twice. Before she had time to gasp in delight, Rocco and pinned her onto her back and lay on top of her. The lips she cherished were back on her own, and he guided her through a kiss far more heated than the first. Between his erection and the intensity with which he kissed her, there was no question what his motives were. He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

Caught beneath him as she was, all Whitney could do was run her hand up his arm and to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his dark hair. The locks were soft and smooth, the kind of hair she wished she'd had when she was younger.

Body aching for him, Whitney lifted her hips so that the pressure between their bodies increased. To her, the sign was clear: do something about these jeans. Instead, Rocco took her gesture as an invitation to let her know what she was about to get herself into. A thrust of his hips dug his clothed erection across her stomach. Whitney couldn't help but gasp against his lips. It hadn't been what she was expecting.

She was still fully clothed, and he was in his shorts, but she could feel herself getting wetter as their bodies became better acquainted. Whitney needed him, and she could hold herself back no longer.

"Take my jeans off," she begged him when their kiss broke. "Take it all off. I want to feel you inside of me."

Although there was unchecked desire in his eyes, Rocco held himself back. There was an uneasiness in his expression that spelled hesitance.

"I don't have a condom," he said. Condoms were the last thing on Whitney's mind. She needed to feel him moving inside of her and feel that need met. If she didn't let herself indulge, she thought she would go crazy.

"Doesn't matter. I need you. Please."

All Whitney could think about was his length slipped between her legs. How their bodies would feel one against another when all barriers between them were removed.

"As long as you're sure," he replied. The caution in his expression slipped away, giving in to his baser nature. The animal that lurked inside, the one who wanted her and nothing more, emerged in full. One of Rocco's hands undid the button of her jeans, and when the fly was lowered he tore them from her frame, leaving her in the thin black thong.

"I'm sure," she promised. As Rocco's fingers hooked into the elastic of her thong, Whitney occupied herself with wiggling out of the shirt he'd given her the night before. Hours ago she'd been embarrassed to bare her breasts before him, but now she wanted Rocco to see. She wanted to drive him crazy. For all the poor life choices she'd made, and knew she would continue to make, Rocco was the best one.

When her body was left nude, back to the mattress, Rocco took the time to tug down his shorts. The elastic waistline caught against his erection, but a second insistent tug saw the garment pulled free. The shaft Whitney fantasized about was on display above her, bobbing from its own weight. It was just as thick and long as it had felt against her ass and across her stomach, and Whitney was greedy for it. Without pause, she reached down and wrapped her palm around it. A few bold strokes proved to Rocco that she was ready — not that he needed much more evidence. The crotch of her thong was soaked, showing him just how aroused she really was.

"So naughty," he murmured, allowing his hips to move lazily against her hand. A bead of precum threatened to drip from the tip of his cock, length ready for her. "Who knew my good girl could be so bad?"

"There's a lot more to learn. Why don't you go ahead and start the first lesson?"

It was rare that she was this smooth, but Rocco awoke the seductress inside of her and filled her with confidence. Whitney lifted one of her long legs and ran it down Rocco's hip towards his thigh. Before the leg could get too far, Rocco caught it with one of his arms and held it steady. She was spread for him now, and he wasn't going to let her tempt him without following through.

"It would be my pleasure."

A trill of delight burst from her lips as Rocco hoisted her body upward. The smooth slit he desired met the heavy erection he'd teased her with, and Whitney gasped in ecstasy. Rocco hadn't penetrated her yet, but the length of his cock brushed up against her clit and sent waves of sharp bliss through her body. When his hips rocked, that pleasure intensified.