“Please,” she said, the inside of her bottom lip skimming my cheek. “Go deeper, Brando. Deeper.”
“Wrap your legs around me.” I lifted her, meeting the pulse, silencing it with my own. She was so damn flexible. My hands went to her soft breasts, and she met my pace, thrusting back fiercely, both of our bodies sweat-drenched and sticky despite the cold. Her hand tucked under, cool and tender, cupping my balls as they contracted and I swelled with release.
She didn’t have to summon me to come to her. The look in her eyes told me she knew my body as well as I knew hers, as if it were my own. She wouldn’t feel alone tonight or ever, if I could protect her from it.
Her cry penetrated my flesh, shook my bones, raced through my blood, a command to free my restrained lawlessness. I poured myself into her, and she accepted me deep inside; a warm shelter from the cold, a place of safety and comfort, a steady heartbeat in the shadows, the remedy to every sickness and fear, a place to call home.
Mine.
* * *
“Repeat that.” I stroked her back, our bodies pressed together, covered under the blankets.
She sniffed. “I want you to take me away.”
I looked down at her, but she kept her head tucked underneath my chin, her fingers like little legs moving against my chest.
“Where?”
She started to cry again. Her tears slipped down my skin, warm and then cool. I pulled her even closer. She muttered words about going far, just the two of us, disappearing on an island somewhere. I wondered if she was still jealous or if she was just exhausted. My muscles strained against skin, the hate for myself running deep. I should’ve let her sleep. “We’ll go wherever you want to go.”
“Promise?” She started to tremble in my arms.
I kissed her forehead. Not hot, just not normal. The fever ran right below the surface, not enough to cause her to drift with it, but enough that I knew she wasn’t feeling like herself. “Tell me when,” I said.
“Tomorrow. The next day. Soon.”
I sat up, careful to disturb her as little as possible. I made her look up at me. “What about your performance?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. I want to be with you. Only you.”
Once she was committed to something, rarely did she cancel. Even when she was sick, she still went to practice.Sickness be damned, I’ll show it who’s the boss. That was her attitude.
Somehow I got the feeling this sudden urge to leave had nothing to do with her feeling sick or wanting to be alone with me. A prickle of intuition skittered up my neck. It had been happening ever since that night she went to the opera. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, baby. It’s late. We haven’t slept much.”
“Promise?” She came in closer, and I settled down with her again, keeping her tight to my body.
“You have my word.” I kissed her lips softly. She closed her eyes, muttering to herself, before she became quiet. She had fallen asleep, her breath drifting soft and slow from her parted mouth, though a tremble ran through her, fast and sharp every so often.
She needs clothes.
Finding my bag, I took out an old sweater, another pair of warm pants, and socks. So familiar with me dressing and undressing her, she hardly stirred. But she surprised me by taking my hand and putting it to her mouth. Her eyes were still closed.
“Grazie, mio angelo,” she said.
I put a hand to her head, smoothing her hair back. I cleared my throat. “You are more precious than rubies. Out all of the things you are, you have always been faithful to me. I’d love you no matter what. You are mine to protect—”
“Stop,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I know all of the words you don’t say. I feel you. I was jealous earlier.”
“Yeah,” I said.Me too. With a rage so strong I almost killed a man over a fucking shoe.
She settled in again, more peaceful than before, and I tucked her in. By habit, she’d be up in another hour or two. Rarely did she enjoy a full night’s sleep—and it wasn’t entirely my fault; some nights she woke me up—but mostly it was because she was wired that way. When performance season was in full swing, she made herself go to sleep by eight, but it was broken. Her mind was too curious to even allow the needs of her body to take control.
My own insomnia was born from the dream.
I found my sweatpants on the floor and decided to take another breather out on the balcony. The mist had thickened, almost impenetrable, its last hoorah before the sun rose and burned through its shallow presence.
Across the way, a figure moved behind lace curtains, shadowed by darkness but highlighted by the swaying flames of candles. I narrowed my eyes. It moved closer. Gabriel Roberts opened his balcony door and raised a hand in acknowledgment. I raised mine in return, and then he pointed down.
