Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) (18 page)

The man was too distrustful of outsiders to hire a nanny of sorts.

Emma was left to the job of caring for most—if not all—of Cross’s needs because Affonso was incapable of doing anything other than showing the baby off for praise and congratulations.

But what about when Cross could walk?

When he didn’t wake up four times in a night?

When he was potty-trained?

When he didn’t
need
his mother to survive?

Emma’s throat closed around the sob she held back. Burying her face against the towel covering her baby, she held Cross a little tighter where no one could see her fear and worries.

“Mamma loves you, sweet boy,” she whispered to him.

Cross kept sucking on his thumb, blissfully unaware of his mother’s panic.

In a way, she was happy he didn’t know.

“And your father—” Emma’s words cut off, but only briefly before she finished quieter with, “Your father will adore you—I know he will.”

She had made the decision to tell Calisto the truth—all of it, every single detail, no matter how hurtful, unbelievable, and dirty it may be to him. He needed to know, and she needed him to know, too.

Emma had thought for so long that to protect her son, his father, and herself, she needed to do what Affonso demanded of her.

But she didn’t think that was true, now.

She was pretty sure the only way to win against her husband was to play his own damn games.

Or … that was her plan.

If Calisto ever came back, that was.

Another two weeks passed Emma by in a worry-filled, sleepless blur.

She never complained.

Not about her son.

But inside, she was a mess of emotions and it made her feel useless most days.

The only bright spot in her life currently
was
her son—Cross kept her sane. He was the one and only reason she woke up in the mornings, because he always smiled so big when she peered over his large, ornate crib. He had gone from a newborn who barely kept his eyes open, to a six week old that recognized her face in practically a blink.

Sometimes, she wanted to slow down time.

Others, she didn’t know what she wanted at all.

Most days, Emma was stuck in a hazy bubble that felt like she was looking out of a dirty window. Or like maybe she was a dusty, old, forgotten doll placed upon a shelf, waiting for another day to be taken off and played with.

That was, essentially, what her life had been turned into.

She was just a doll.

Affonso’s toy to show off.

Her husband’s thing to own.

Something for others to admire.

Emma had always known this, but it was never more apparent than after the birth of her son when it seemed like even six weeks beyond his birth, guests still regularly showed up unannounced to the house. Affonso expected Emma to be on her best behavior. To him, that meant she was to be quiet, pleasing to both the ear and eye, and she was to be by his side at all times.

Only now, she usually held the baby, too.

It disgusted her.

She was not someone Affonso cared for—neither was Cross, really.

They were simply things he had for people to envy and admire.

Nothing else.

So when nighttime fell, and Emma could put her son down for bed—or as long as it took for him to wake up hungry again—she took the greatest pleasure in locking her bedroom door, and dreaming of something better.

… someone better.

“Did you wear that damn thing today just to see how far you could push me?” Calisto asked.

Emma glanced at him from the passenger seat. “Wear what—what are you going on about?”

“That damn thing.” He waved at her, adding, “That damn dress, Emmy!”

She peered down at the fitted, red dress she had chosen that morning. The skirt ended just above her knees, and it flared wide all the way around. It had been appropriate enough for Affonso not to say anything. And God knew that fucking asshole wouldn’t hesitate to say something if he felt the need.

She couldn’t figure out what the hell Calisto’s issue was.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dress,” she said.

Calisto’s gaze narrowed as he passed her another heated look. “
Dolcezza
, come on.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “It’s—”

“Red,” he interrupted, his tone thick. “You know I like red. On you, I like it a lot. You know this, Emma.”

Oh.

Well, she hadn’t really thought of that when she’d picked it out. It was just one of the few red dresses that Affonso turned his cheek to. He wasn’t a fan of the color, and he thought it made women look like whores.

Emma figured that said a lot more about Affonso than it did the women who wore the color.

But who was she to say?

Calisto let out a sigh. “You know what’s fucking worse, sweetheart?”

Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Whenever he used casual endearments so offhandedly like he did, it made her heart ache. She saw him interact with more than enough women to know Calisto didn’t use pet names on every female he came across. He rarely, if ever, called them anything but their first name.

With her, he always had something sweet on the tip of his tongue.

“What?” she finally asked.

Calisto’s hands tightened on the wheel. “What’s worse, Emma, is that you don’t even realize how much hell you put me through without even trying. I am fucking hard—like steel—it hurts. I have been this way since you came down the damn stairs this morning. I will be this way until I take care of it, or you do. And you don’t even
know
—but I sort of love that, too.”

Emma blinked, turning into stone in the passenger seat.

It was rare for Calisto to use that word—love.

Even as a slip of the tongue, or in passing.

He just didn’t.

She knew he loved her, of course. It was hard not to see how the weight on his shoulders disappeared when she was closer to him, and how the sadness and anger that was always in his eyes just left when he looked at her.

How could that not be love?

“What?” Calisto asked, passing her a strange look.

Emma shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Did I say something?”

“No, Cal.”

“You sure?”

“Nothing bad,” she promised softly.

The corner of his mouth tugged up into one of his sinful grins, he snagged her hand in his, lifted it toward himself, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her hand. Just as quickly, she felt the strike of his hot, wet tongue snake across her skin.

A heat flooded her middle, pooling straight down to her sex.

“Cal …”

Her warning fell on deaf ears.

Calisto was looking at the dashboard clock, he checked his rear-view mirror, and then he was pulling off to the side of the road. Emma didn’t even have a chance to ask what in the hell he was doing as his car slid in between two tall buildings. The alley was dark for it being the middle of the day, the shadows giving the brick walls a dirty, low vibe.

“We’ve got time,” Calisto said.

Emma turned to ask him what in the hell he meant, but her question was swallowed by his mouth landing hard against hers. The surprise move had her gasping, and that allowed Calisto to kiss her even deeper, his tongue tangling and dancing with hers as his hands fisted into the side of her dress.

She was supposed to be meeting her husband for dinner.

Affonso was waiting …

Those thoughts melted away when Calisto’s hands slid around Emma’s waist, and she found herself falling into the backseat under his silent demands.

This wouldn’t be the first time, she thought.

It wouldn’t be the last.

Their months’ long affair was full of times like these where they’d just taken the moments they had because more like them probably weren’t going to happen anytime soon. She didn’t mind letting Calisto pull her into a small closet of a room and hiking her skirt up high enough for him to eat her out from behind while his fingers buried into her ass knuckle deep. She didn’t care when he fucked her hard enough over Affonso’s desk during a dinner party that she’d felt tender for two days after.

No.

Emma just didn’t care.

In no time at all, he had them both in the back seat, and her red dress hiked up over her thighs. Without a word, he was unzipping his trousers and pulling his thick, hard erection from his boxer-briefs, his hand closing around the shaft to pump it in a tight grip. He yanked her thighs apart roughly as she bent down to kiss him again, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Fucking ride me,” Calisto growled against her mouth.

Emma whined when he bit down hard on her bottom lip. She felt his hands tangle into her lace-trimmed cotton briefs a second before he was pulling them down over her legs with enough strength to make her skin sing and sting all at the same time.

“I want that sweet come of yours soaking me until I smell just like you,” he told her.

Emma’s mouth went dry at his words.

They played such a filthy, dangerous game together.

One wrong step and … that would be it.

For both of them.

His hands landed on her hips, she grabbed the base of his cock to keep him in place, and then he was tugging her down hard and fast. There was no give when his cock slid into her wet, clenching sex. He didn’t take his time, or work his way in because the need that always seemed to be burning between them took focus and attention.

It came first.

That brief flicker of pain …

That sting when he stretched her open …

That ache when he bottom out …

She needed that, too.

Emma tugged on Calisto’s hair, her arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. With his hands firmly attached on her hips, pulling and lifting with her own rhythm, she forgot they were in the backseat of a car in some random alleyway.

She couldn’t seem to ride him fast enough.

… hard enough.

“Come on,” Calisto urged, a shake coloring up his words. “Don’t you want to come for me, Emma? How long has it been since you came for me, huh?”

“Too long.”

And that was always her answer.

Each stroke of his cock filled her a little more. She was wet enough that there was no doubt in her mind she was going to leave stains behind on his pants.

Calisto didn’t seem to care.

His hand tangled into her hair, pulling her head back until her neck was taut.

Her fingers raked down his shoulder, leaving scores of red behind.

So stupid.

But so, so good.

She loved the way he touched her, and how he never handled her like glass. She loved his roughness, his harsh breaths in her ear, and the heat that pulsed between them.