Oh dear God, I had said it, said something that I knew would tear him to pieces on the inside. Asked something of him that would wound him from either side. If he said no, he would be denying me what he knew I couldn’t live without. He’d be leaving me out in the cold once again with only the ghost of him. If he said yes, he would have to bargain with his own demons for as long as he lived.
Maggie Beautiful had once confided in me about the money Luca had for Brando. But he refused to touch it; neither of them wanted it. For whatever reason, Brando refused help from his father. Though the Faustis were, by Maggie Beautiful’s account, one of the wealthiest families in Italy. Perhaps even the world.
His decision came in the span of two blinks.
“Done,” he said, his grip on my arms tightening. “If that’s what it takes. Done. But I get something in return.” He released me, falling to the ground, his knees meeting cold cobblestone. His warm hands found my hips, making me feel slight in his embrace. His eyes searched mine, glossed over with the moment, the heat of passion and the haloing lights of the night. “You’ll marry me, Scarlett Rose.Prendi me, il mio nome e sii mia moglie. Eternamente.”
You’ll marry me. Take me, my name, and be my wife. Eternally.The words seemed to swirl in the cold air. All I had to do was reach out and claim them for mine with one simple but powerful word.
After seconds spent in silence, the pressure on my hips increased. He’d hold his response until my acknowledgment of what he had done came; he never asked. He didn’t have to.
“Qu'est-ce que tu attends?” I lifted my head at the question, shouted in French.What are you waiting for?Six or seven people had gathered around, some of them moving their feet up and down, hands clenched together, trying to keep warm. I hadn’t even noticed their presence. They couldn’t have been there long.
I found my voice, and it belied the fragile glass feelings underneath the surface. “I will.” I nodded, not able to hide the smile. Hot tears that threatened to spill collided with the cold air. “I’ll be your wife, Brando Fausti.”
Applause, whistles, and the occasional hoot from the crowd came in honor of this response.
Brando rested his head against my stomach, his hold on me even tighter than it had been. The small group disbanded after a few congratulatory comments, going in separate directions, and quiet found us once again. I pulled him up by his shirt, bringing his mouth to mine in a mad rush, teeth clacking upon impact.
Kissing our way into a darker corner, his mouth still tasting like the burn from the whiskey he had drunk earlier, we ripped off the clothes barring us from each other; my coat, his coat, my heels, the garter straps pulled and recoiled, two black flashes of delicate silk floating in the breeze with the toss of his hand.
He rucked the hem of my dress above my hips, his hand gliding back and forth against the slickness between my thighs. He covered my mouth with his own, swallowing the volume of my pleasure. I unzipped his pants, exposing him, and then wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He moved us closer to the wall, my back colliding with cement, and a low hiss came from my mouth when the cold made contact with my bare bottom.
The kiss broke off abruptly, almost violently, and he set me down, staggering back a step or two, eyes almost glowing with internal heat.
“I can’t take you here. Not like this. Like an animal.”
Yes,yes, I pleaded silently.You can! We’re both animals…
Later, his faced seemed to answer in response, but not now.
One more kiss and I would have come apart without the friction…
He tucked himself in, zipped his pants, picked up our jackets, and then dusted them off. He helped me into mine before settling into his. He swooped me up, making me gasp, and then hauled ass through the streets of Paris, pace intent on home.
We were barely through the door as our clothes were shed, leaving a telling trail to the bedroom. The seven sets of French doors that framed the front of the apartment reflected our desperate movements as we attempted to claim what had been lost and what still needed to be discovered.
We had been skirting around the edge of desire; now we were soaring over the cliff. But desire seemed like such a simple term. Our love had always been older than the both of us together, and our souls knew and clawed at the inside, savage to reconnect.
He still held me in his arms, refusing to allow an inch of space between us. His mouth found the sensitive skin on my neck, and whichever way he moved me, my body followed without thought. The kisses stopped, but his touch remained, his fingers splayed, caressing the shape of my face, down my neck to my throat. I swayed back and forth, lost to the pace he set.
If the lion, the beast, needed something to sink his teeth into, he had a willing sacrifice.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “Così bella.”
With his words, flashes of the past weaved into the present, somehow connecting us absolutely. The first time he had made love to me he had spoken those same words. Even if he hadn’t, his eyes made me feel more than his mouth could say.
I had been intent on giving him nothing but the stark-naked truth. All of me. I belonged to him. Nothing had changed.
My skin rejoiced at the feel of his naked body against mine, at the freedom and power of touch. The clash of our temperatures, hot against cold, made me shiver, and my hands trembled when I touched him. His heat had started to thaw me.
He made a noise deep in his throat, almost animalistic, so completely lost, when I took him in hand, skin as soft as silk, and as hard as a rock.
He didn’t allow me to linger for long. In that magical way of lovers, my back was pressed to the bed, and he stood over me, watching me squirm, the need to have him inside of me visceral. The look in his eyes held both command and plea, equaling an unbreakable promise—your body will remember, your heart will never forget, and your soul will forever be one with mine.
He lifted me up just to pull me closer, his knees braced against the tall bed. Without him having to urge, my legs parted, and he entered me with a thrust so swift and so deep that it stole my breath. A guttural mix between a groan and growl vibrated from his chest, reverberating through blood and bone. “Tell me that I didn't miss you.” His eyes were lowered but not closed, and though he seemed lost to the haze of ecstasy, his intent was so focused that it burned deeper than the depth he reached with each stroke. “Tell me that I didn't carve my heart out and give it to you to take. Tell me!”
When I didn’t respond, he rode me harder, a shock sparking deep inside my womb before a filling pressure bloomed, long and heavy, but then he cupped my bottom, my back arched, and his penetration went even deeper and the lines of pleasure and pain became blurred.
