“Oops!” she said, using a ridiculous Italian accent, setting the chocolate on the counter. “Scusate.Mi sciocco.”
I moved in closer, inhaling her from neck to ear. “There are a lot of things about you, baby.” My voice came out low, rough. “But clumsy isn’t one of them.”
She shivered and then moaned when I took her earlobe between my teeth. Her cool hands moved along my sides. Then her head ducked under and her tongue found my skin, tracing the trails of chocolate lines she had created.
“You.” She swiped up. “Taste.” She went around in a circle. “So good.”
She made quick work of my pants and boxer briefs, the coolness of the air touching my overheated skin before the warmth of her came forward again. Her mouth wasn’t giving me a chance to recover. I came to moments later, when I realized that the guttural noises echoing were coming from me.
I picked her up from underneath her arms and pressed my body against her. My dick felt hot against the coolness of her stomach.
“My turn.” I grinned. I had to keep a firm grip on her for a minute because her knees knocked and her palms flattened against the counter, trying to keep steady.
I dipped my finger in the temperate chocolate and then spread it over her lips. She went to lick my finger, but I pulled it back. Her eyes narrowed.
“This is mine,” I said, and refused to take my eyes from hers, until she whimpered and her mouth parted. I used my tongue to remove every bit of chocolate, sucking and biting her bottom lip, and then touched her tongue with my own, kissing her slow, deep, and long.
I broke the kiss, and she gazed up at me, eyes hooded.
“Thirty-five hundred years ago, in a Sanskrit text, the first romantic kiss was recorded,” she whispered, almost breathless. “Inhaling each others’ souls was how it was described.”
“Cosabella,” I said, and she gasped when I turned her to face the mirror, the movement more abrupt, more forceful, more demanding than the kiss had been.
My hands were stained, sticky and gritty, and each touch made an imprint. Too bad I couldn’t send her out into the world with the same prints. But it wasn’t enough. I went back for more, trailing a finger up from her ankle, over the perfect soft slope of one cheek. In the glow of the flame, I could see the lingering trail of my mouth along her skin.
“You can do whatever you want, baby,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I had said it then—maybe it had been stirring inside of my mind ever since our talk at the studio. It was hard for me to watch her let it go.
“Hush,” she said, her back arching, asking for more. “Don’t talk to me about it now. I’ll jump off a bridge if you ask me to.”
Conversation ceased after that. Things became messy. Chocolate in our hair, on our faces, smeared on tile, handprints on the wall and on each other. Black lace was strewn all over the floor, shredded pieces of what was. I hated fucking layers between us, and she knew it. Therefore, it had to be destroyed.
After the entire bathroom was smeared and clothes were everywhere, we sat in the deep tub together, scrubbing each other clean.
Her eyes focused on the shreds of lace on the floor. “I liked that—”
I dunked her head under the water in the tub before she could go on abouthow much she liked that one.
“Hush,” I said when she came up. Soapsuds slid down her face. “Don’t talk to me about it now. I’ll have to buy you another one if you ask me to. Then I’ll just ruin it again.”
“Smart ass.” She grinned, flicking soap bubbles at me.
I leaned in and kissed her, and then we were fucking at it again.
We went to bed not long before sunrise.
Scarlett collapsed as though she had taken a drug. She moved closer to me, intertwining our legs together. She inhaled my skin, and a second later, her mouth parted, and the rhythm of her breathing made me relax.
It helped put me to sleep at night, even if I woke up every so often to check on her.
After a few minutes, I turned to face her, keeping her wrapped in my arms. Golden rays snuck through the blinds, coating our room in a warm haze. Small particles twirled in a thicker patch of heat, but the day was not going to be hot. Cool, damp air drifted from the wooden floors.
Birds started to chirp outside of the window. Early risers drove by. Mitch had either fallen asleep with the television on, or he was still at it. Muffled voices came from the other side of the house.
I stroked her skin until the motion put me to sleep. What felt like a second later, my eyes opened to the sound of banging on the front door. Jet hissed from someplace in the room. She was an ink spot on the furry cream window bed Scarlett had placed there for her.
The television shut off, and new murmurs filled the space. Then a thump resounded from the front of the house. I hoped Mitch didn’t lose his balance or someone hadn’t knocked him down.
“Hah?” Scarlett said, still asleep. Then she made an angry noise, tossing over hard.
