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From Italy With Love

Page 35

by Rebecca Joyce

“Why not?”

I turned to look at her, my hand cupping her face. “Because you’re worth it. Whatever comes next, whatever price I have to pay, I’ll pay it because you’re worth it.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she kissed me. It was soft and desperate at the same time, full of everything we couldn’t say, everything we both knew was coming.

When we finally pulled apart, she was crying.

“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.

“Then let’s not think about the end,” I said, wiping her tears with my thumb. “Let’s just have this. However long it lasts. Let’s just have this.”

She nodded, and we sat there for another hour, holding each other, pretending that time wasn’t running out.

The days blurred together after that.

We spent most of our time in the hotel room, in bed, learning each other’s bodies with an intensity that bordered on obsession. I couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t stop touching her, tasting her, being inside her. Some mornings I would wake her up with my mouth between her legs, licking her slowly until she came with my name on her lips. Other times she would wake me up by climbing on top of me, sinking down onto my cock before I was fully conscious, riding me until we both came.

We fucked in the shower, the water streaming over us while I held her against the tile wall and thrust into her. We fucked on the couch, her bent over the armrest while I took her from behind. We fucked on the floor, on the desk, against the window overlooking the city.

Every time was different. Sometimes it was slow and tender, me worshiping every inch of her body. Sometimes it was rough and desperate, both of us clawing at each other as if we couldn’t get close enough. Sometimes it was playful, laughing between kisses, exploring each other with curiosity and joy. But it was always intense.

Always consuming, and always left me feeling like I had been cracked open and remade.

One afternoon, I had her on her back on the bed, her legs over my shoulders while I fucked her deep and slow. The angle let me hit spots that made her sob with pleasure, and I was watching her face, memorizing every expression, every sound she made.

“Look at me,” I commanded, and her eyes opened, glazed and dark with desire. “I want you to watch while I fuck you. Want you to see what you do to me.”

She kept her eyes on mine as I moved inside her, and the intimacy of it, the connection, the vulnerability, was almost too much. I could feel her getting close, could feel the way her body was tensing, and I reached between us to circle her clit.

“Come for me,” I demanded. “Let me feel you.”

And she did as her body convulsed, her inner walls clenching around me so tight I saw stars. I followed her over the edge, burying myself deep, and the pleasure was so intense I couldn’t breathe. Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, and she traced patterns on my chest.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Free. Happy. Like myself.”

I kissed the top of her head, my chest aching. “You should always feel like this.”

“I know. But I don’t. Not in my real life.”

Her real life. The one where her father controlled everything, where she was a prisoner in a gilded cage, where she had no choice and no freedom.

“Then stay here,” I said. “With me. Don’t go back.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my family will come after you. It will start a war. People will die.”

“Let them,” I said, and I meant it. “I don’t care. I’ll fight that war. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

“Salvatore.”

“I mean it, Madigan. I’ll burn down the entire city if that’s what it takes to keep you.”