Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3) (15 page)

She turned toward the door and then stopped. “Wait—we’re not going to set fire to the place with all those candles, right?” The thought of fire gave her a moment of gooseflesh.

“We’ll be in a tub full of water, Carm. I think we’ll be okay.”

She left him to his chore and went into the bedroom to change into a hotel robe of her own.

They’d had a tense day or two at the beginning of this week that was now ending. Somehow, they’d found themselves in a tender place, hurting each other. Talking about things that Carmen certainly had no intention of talking about—or, rather, they’d almost talked about those things. But she had no intention of talking about them. Angry sex was better.

Angry sex had been a
lot
better.

But after that day or two, they’d been okay again. She was glad; in a month, she and Rosa would be heading back to the States, into whatever fray the Cove presented. This time with Theo would be over, and she wanted these last weeks to be good.

Rosa was already beginning to mope a little about the end of the trip. She and Eli were surprisingly serious with each other. Carmen had stopped waiting for the explosive breakup. They were making plans, figuring out how and when Eli might move to Rhode Island and what he might do when he got there. It worried Carmen a little—they were moving fast—but she’d told Rosa to go with her heart. She was young. So was he. They had that luxury.

As Carmen had hoped, her little sister had changed during this trip. But she wasn’t sure she’d had nearly as much to do with those changes as Europe itself had. And Eli, too—he was good for her. Carmen saw it. He was a down-to-earth young man, and seemed to be a kind of anchor for Rosie. He called her on her drama. Of course, Carmen did, too. But when she said something, Rosa got defensive and entrenched. When Eli called her out, she listened.

He wasn’t setting out to change her; he simply said what he thought. Carmen believed that he did love Rosa. And he was steady. Rosa needed that.

Rosa needed someone who saw her as Rosa first and Pagano second.

In the process of looping her thick mop of hair into an elastic high on her head when that new thought struck her, Carmen stopped. Sabina had said more than once that Rosa was disconnected from the family. Carlo said he’d come to see it, too. Carmen had seen their point, but mainly she’d rolled her eyes and thought they were engaging in yet another excuse for Rosa to be a vapid twit. But maybe the problem was that she was trapped along the edge of the family—too distant to be fully in the bosom, too close to be free to do her thing. She was the only of them—now—who had aspirations beyond Rhode Island.

Jesus. They were trying to do to her what had been done to Carmen. Something like it, anyway. Trying to reel her in, get her under control. Carmen had dragged her across the ocean with that very goal in mind. And Rosa was pushing against it, braver than Carmen ever had been. The fight was taking so much out of her, though, she was spending so much energy trying to be different, that she couldn’t legitimately grow into her own self. So what they all got was the plastic shell.

“Carm? Okay?” Theo came up behind her, and she realized she’d been standing there with her hands on her head for who knew how long. Long enough for her fingers to get tingly. She finished putting her hair up. She had time to think those alarming thoughts later.

“Yeah—got lost in thought for a sec. We ready?”

“Steamy hot and relaxing.” He handed her a flute full of champagne. She took a long drink, enjoying the way the bubbles moved down her throat, into her belly and then through to her arms and legs. More tingly. Nice. The French knew what they were doing with the grapes.

“It’s good.” She noticed that he had a glass, too. “You’re drinking champagne?”

He shrugged. “When in Avignon…” He tipped the glass to his mouth. “Come on.”

He’d lit the candles, and Carmen stepped carefully over them to get into the tub. As advertised, the water was steaming hot and felt amazing. He handed her her glass, refilled, and then stood at the side of the tub, staring down at her.

“Are you coming in, too?” She sipped the champagne, feeling warm inside and out, the water and drink buffering her mind, quieting her thoughts. Rosa was a big girl. She could figure her own shit out. Carmen wasn’t her mother. Even if she had abandoned her own dreams to take care of her.

She took another long sip and shut all that noise down completely.

“I am. First, I want to stand here and watch you. You are a beautiful, beautiful woman.”

She made a face. “Meh. Skin deep.”

“No.” He squatted at the side of the tub, his robe opening to show his considerable assets and his considerable interest in her. She found herself transfixed, watching his erect cock bob as he moved, leaning over to push his hand through the water. “No, not skin deep. You’re beautiful on the inside, too. Strong and smart and fascinating.” He traced the outline of her nipple with one finger, making the skin pucker. “You know that. It’s not like you to fish for compliments, Carmen.”

“How do you know what I’m like?” She smiled as she said it; she was only playing. She felt relaxed and mischievous.

“I’ve been paying attention this summer.” He flicked his finger back and forth over her painfully hard nipple, and then pinched and plucked. Her back arched as if he’d physically lifted her out of the water by that single point.

“Fuck, Theo. Get in here.” She drank her glass empty and set it on the ledge while he finished his, too, and then shed his robe in a heap and climbed in behind her.

He slid in gracefully and settled her between his legs, against his chest, and then his hands were immediately on her again. They’d never bathed together before—or showered together, for that matter. Usually, they were busily getting ready to go somewhere, and showers were practical matters. Carmen tried to think when she’d last had a sensual bath with a lover. Then Theo took her breasts in his hands, her nipples between his fingers, and she didn’t care when the last time was. She only cared about this time.

She kept her eyes open as long as she could, watching his hands on her. His cock was like an iron pole against her back. She clutched his knees and tried to squirm against him, but she couldn’t get leverage in the tub, and he wasn’t helping, so finally she simply gave in and focused entirely on what he was doing to her. The candles were the only lights in the windowless room and made a flickering, golden glow that suited the warmth she felt everywhere.

His hands were gentle at first, his fingers massaging and teasing, but as the need built in her, making her moan and writhe, he altered his touch and left gentleness behind. Catching her nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, he pulled briskly, and each time the intensity of the pleasurepain made her bow sharply upward with a cry. The water sloshed, covering his hands.

His head was tucked in the crook of her left shoulder, his teeth nipping at her skin. In a fleeting lucid moment, she gasped, “Don’t mark me too much.”

“Not
too
much, no.” He chuckled and bit down.

Feeling like she’d go nuts if she didn’t get off, she let go of his right knee and put her hand between her legs. But he released her right breast and grabbed her hand. “Ah-ah-ah. That’s for me.”

“Then fucking do it.
Please
.”

“I love it when you beg. Do it again.”

“Fuck you.”

He released her left breast, too. When she went for herself with her left hand, her grabbed that and brought her hands together, clasping them in one of his. Then, with his free hand, he traced very light, slow, circles on her bare belly, making all of her muscles throughout her entire body quiver and clench. “Theo, Jesus Christ.”

“Beg me, beautiful. I want you to beg me.” He blew lightly in her ear, and a shiver moved down her neck and over her chest.

“I’m going to make you pay.”

“I hope so. Beg.”

“Get me off.
Please
.”

He released her hands immediately, shoving his left hand between her legs and inside her—one finger, then two. His right hand returned to her breast. And his teeth latched onto her shoulder. She didn’t care anymore whether he marked her.

His hands were rough, pumping and flexing inside her, twisting and pulling on her. He went at her hard and fast, and Carmen could hear her grunts and cries echoing against the marble walls. The water sloshed against the sides of the tub. She felt his growling breath vibrating against her back and on her neck.

Suddenly, he let go of her breast again. Before she could complain, he shoved another finger inside her, and then his other hand was between her legs, too. On her clit. He rubbed her roughly, his fingers moving with speed and pressure.

She came so hard she nearly literally passed out. Her vision went dark and sparkly, and sound seemed to pull inward, becoming indistinct and intense. She threw her head back, colliding with his shoulder, and went instantly limp while his hands were still moving on her.

“Carmen? You with me?”

She heard him unclearly, as if she’d slid under the water. But she was lying back on his chest. His hands were out from between her legs, and he was holding her gently now, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

“Yeah. I nearly passed out, I think. I think I’m drunk.”

He chuckled. “I know you are.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not yet. I’ll catch up.” He smiled down at her. Damn, he was pretty.

She flopped her head to the side and spied her empty champagne glass. “I’m thirsty.”

“You want more?”

“Yes. I want more champagne and more you. More everything.”

He sat up a little, bringing her up with him, lifted the magnum out of the bucket, and refilled their glasses. As he handed hers to her, he said quietly, “You can have all of me, beautiful.”

His eyes were serious, and there was something going on in what he’d said, but Carmen was taking a break from thinking at the moment.

She drank the cool champagne down all at once and set the glass aside again. Turning around, making the water slosh finally over the side a little, she knelt between his legs. “Okay, round two.”

He was still drinking from his glass. At her words, he smiled and made to tip the glass up and drink it all, but she put her hand on his arm. “No. Go slow.”

After a quizzical look, he nodded and took only a sip. As he drank, Carmen leaned in and bit his nipple. He jerked, and a drop of champagne landed on her cheek. She thought it was champagne. It might have only been water; they were in the bath, after all.

She bit and licked and kissed all over his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms, and as she did so, her hands circled his cock, working it as hard as he’d worked her.

He was so thick that her fingers didn’t touch—or even close, really—when she wrapped them around him. It gave her a massive sense of power to squeeze and slide and pull on his hard cock, watching his face while she did so. She’d always loved giving hand jobs and blow jobs, when the guy’s pleasure was entirely in her control. Theo was especially responsive. He didn’t just lie there and wait to come. He made noises, said dirty things. He touched her. He writhed and flexed. He showed her exactly how she affected him. It was sexy as all hell.

Whether it was the rush of power she felt watching him close in on a climax, or the champagne and the earlier wine, or the dim, cozy light of the room, or lingering heat of the bath and the literal and figurative steam in the room, Carmen was starting to feel woozy with need again. When Theo finally drained his glass and set it down—the tension in his arms making the action clumsy and abrupt—she released him. On his groan of frustration, she straddled him, taking his cock into her. Her own cry escaped her despite her intention to be in control. He just felt so fucking
good
.