“Yes,” she whispered, coming in closer. “Look at methatway.”
She made love to my mouth, then moved down to my neck, my throat, her hair falling over me in a veil, smelling of melon, roses, and strawberry champagne. Her movements were slow, her mouth even slower. The inside of her lip was like warm silk as she drifted down, leaving a cool trail in her wake.
“You taste so good,” she said, her hands fluttering along my ribs. “You have the kind of body that demands to belicked.”
She looked up, eyes not so innocent anymore, watching me. Her eyes turned darker when I made a noise that she seemed to like.
“Scarlett.” I lifted her up by the arms, turning her over with awhoop!of surprise. Her body—mine—was bare before me, open and willing, responding to my command.
She made quiet noises, sweet noises that seemed to go straight to my cock. She reached forward and cupped me in a knowing way. I knew she could feel the throbbing, the tightness.
“You’re ready,” she whispered. “I am too.Voglio sbiadirti dentro di te.” I want to fade into you.She said the words with a velvet tongue—slow and soft.
I was. Her mouth on me had brought me to the edge. We hadn’t made love since the morning of Livio’s wedding. It was a long time for us. I took her in, all of her, with slow-moving eyes. The iron chandelier above us flickered with golden light, candles short and close to burning out, illuminating her skin. “You are dangerous to me, woman.Tu. All of you.”
“No,” she almost panted. “One. Choose one part of me.”
I came closer to her, and our eyes held for what seemed like a lifetime, before I licked a trail from her throat, along her sternum— the bones underneath her skin were close to the surface, the candlelight dancing over their shadows, and I could feel the pulse of her blood against my tongue—over and under her breasts.
I placed a kiss over her heart, leaving my mouth there to feel the echoes of her life that beat in time to mine. “Là,” my voice came out low, hoarse.“Vorrei tatuare l'eco del tuo cuore sulla mia pelle, non solo dipingerle.Ma lo farei anche se potrei, mia moglie.”There. I would tattoo the echoes of your heart on my skin, not just paint them. I would do that, too, if I could, my wife.
I rose above her, taking her arms and setting them beside her head, and then I slid my hands up, nice and easy, before I took her small wrists and pinned them down on the bed. She squirmed under me, ready to answer my call. My body pulled to hers like an arrow pulls to a bow.
She made a frustrated noise and her hips came up to meet mine.“Non fermatevi. Non fermatevi!”she cried.Don’t stop. Don’t stop! “Per favore non fermatevi di toccarmi.” Please don’t stop touching me.
“Is that all you want? Is for me to touch you?” I slid a hand between her thighs. Her skin was slick with want.
She was so soft, her hair as black as night in this light, and the rest of her a delicate pink that bordered on rose. She smelled of roses—the oil she used on her skin before bed and a subtle sweet smell that was desire. She was soaking wet and slippery, but at this time of the night, her body had dissolved into sleep and made her as rich as cream. My fingers found her warmth, and she welcomed me in. Her round ass rose up, seeking and needing more, her tongue speaking languages that I didn’t understand. Though I understood—I always understood the language of us. She whimpered when I stopped, frustration and mania plain on her face.
“Sono così arrabbiato per te, Scarlett Fausti,”I said, rage coming out like a cold whip.I am so angry with you.
“I know,” she breathed. Her hands, still above her head, pressed further into the bed, and her body arched up in surrender. “Please.”
Show me,her body demanded.Take me hard and be relentless, release your rage on me. Settle the score. Win this war between our bodies.
I shook my head, entering her in a slow, long stroke. Her body welcomed me in, stretching around me.I’ll take my pleasure the way I want it.
Her body responded to mine in a way that spoke to me, that shared all of her secrets.My heart beats in time toyours, the pulse of my blood runs parallel toyours, the sound ofyourvoice echoes deep inside of my bone, to the marrow, and I carryyourlife within me, someplace deep inside my womb, where I find my soul.I was created foryou.
Mine.
As we lay connected, my heart beating against hers, sharing my own secrets, I whispered,“Quando vengo a te, mio amore, c'è un tempo che morisco. Il mio cuore si ferma. E sono in paradiso.”When I come to you, my love, there is a time I die. My heart stops. And I am in heaven.
“Finché tu torni a me,Brando Fausti,”she whispered, gently placing a kiss on my lips, her eyes solid on mine. “Perché tu sei il mio paradiso.”As long as you come back to me, because you are my paradise.
Chapter Nine
Scarlett
Curiosity killed the cat. Or so the aphorism goes. But this cat was determined to be curiousandsmart. I would use the information I would obtain for the greater good of my family, then prepare for life to come—ifsuch a thing was possible.
In Maja’s letter, she mentioned that there really was no preparation for life, just a lot of improvisation. As she had so elegantly stated, no situation happens the exact same way twice. It was through her words, though, that she could prepare me for what was to come—ifsomething were to come. And she felt it would.History repeats itself, vnukinja. It is a foolish soul that does not heed the warning of one who has touched it with a careless hand. You do not have to learn the hard way when I have already paved the way.
I felt it too—that same hand. I wouldn’t be careless.
I was prepared to do whatever it took to protect my family from danger. And if nothing ever came of it, no harm done.Better safe than sorry.
Brando had insisted that I read him the letter. He was on edge because he couldn’t. Even after the night we had together, he was still cold and distant. The letters, along with Maja and Matteo’s sudden presence, started to unravel him further. He thought that perhaps I had left things out of the letter so he wouldn’t worry, but I had given him my word that I hadn’t.
