I lifted my chin, giving him better access. “He was worried about me. That I was unhappy.”
The pressure increased. “You agreed with him.”
“No,” I rasped out. “I’m only unhappy because I can see you are dying inside. You are…going places I can’t follow, and I cannot save you!”
His eyes were hard before he released me. Before I could even catch my breath, his mouth was on mine, giving me the breath I could not seem to find.
I cried out and then moaned, months of frustration and hurt and longing, all coming out in those two sounds. He parted my legs, and on a thrust that was so intense it made me put a hand behind my head to stop from hitting the headboard, he took my free hand, moved it above my head, and squeezed. His blood and mine entwined and stained our palms red.
It smeared between our bodies as we moved together.
“This,” he said. “This is what I live and die for.” His neck arched back, exposing his throat, the blood dripping down in a steady stream.
I reached up and wiped it with my hand, applying pressure to stop the overflow of it.
“Corrado,” I moaned out, a truly crazed sound. The madness had gotten inside of our hearts and rushed through our bloodstreams. This one man could drive me out of my mind but make me feel sane in the same breath.
He started to move slower, reaching me even deeper than flesh, blood, and bone. I could not remove him if I tried. Not even with a sharp knife.
His eyes were on mine as he moved, and even though his body demanded mine to bow to his, his eyes were servants to mine. They were lowered, almost closed. As warm as honey in the glow of the firelight as he gazed at me.
“Come back to me,” I whispered. “Be one with me again.”
He hit me even harder, starting to move faster, and I knew it was going to be hard for me to walk after. This was his response, his yes, a reminder that he went deeper than what the eye could see.
We came together in a rush that made me dizzy. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my tilting world. He kept me with him as he turned us.
It hit me again, harder this time.
What I had done.
I opened my eyes and he was staring at me. I started to kiss him—all over his face, his chin, where I had cut him.
“Mi dispiace, amore mio.” I kissed him, saying these things, hoping to heal the wounds I had caused.
His body shook, and I stopped kissing him, realizing that he was laughing.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He laughed even harder—his laughter was as deep as his voice.
“What is so funny? You are bleeding!”
He lifted my hand, bringing it to his mouth. “So are you.”
After he reminded me, I felt it. The burning. I had felt nothing before but the burn of jealousy.
“You are not right!” I tapped at his head.
He continued to laugh, pulling me into him. “You telling me I’m not right? Who brought the knife to our bed, Alcina?”
“I had a reason,” I said. “I really believed—what I saw. I snapped.” I looked down at his chest, where the knife had cut him there, over his heart.
“You believed what this life has taught you to believe.” He wrapped his arm around my back, pulling me even closer. “I know what you saw, but it was nothing. Just bad timing.”
I looked him in the eye. “I know what I said, that I would kill you, but I did not really think I could.”
“Not until you believed what you thought you saw.”
