“No.” He stopped me. “I refuse to just fuck. It’s all of you or nothing.”
We were not celibate after the “accident,” but it had been different. Too afraid that he’d see me as lacking in my own light, I had hidden in the darkest parts of him, instead of giving myself to him as I once had.
So that was what it had become in his eyes—fucking.
Brando was the only man I knew in that way, and even though he was, I knew the difference between having sex and making love. We had been married long enough that we had done plenty of both.
The times when it was all about need and nothing else. The other times when something deeper had to be reached, something that kept us linked beyond the flesh.
I understood exactly was he was saying.
Our connection was much stronger than just having sex. It went much deeper, always had for us. But he knew when I hid from him. I had never done that before, not to such a degree.
“I don’t want that either,” I said, flinging myself against him. “I—Oh God! I’ve missed you so much! I want…I need you too!”
His nose came into my hair, and he inhaled. “Tell me,” he whispered.
“I didn’t want you to look at me and see someone less, Brando. Not your wife but the woman left behind. That woman doesn’t feel like she’s enough. I would’ve rather died than lose that! Not die in the real sense—I know the kids need me. But let you go so that I didn’t have to face something I could never recover from. I’ve come to…I don’t know even know how to say this!”
“Provare,” he said.Try.
Taking a moment to clear my thoughts, I attempted to set my feelings straight, so that maybe I could explain it to him.
I held on to him tighter. “If the light in your eyes is no longer there when you look at me, it means that who I’ve become is not enough. That terrifies me, Brando. I can recover from losing the ability, but I could never recover from losing the gift. You. You’ve always been the real gift. And I want an entire man, not half. We both know that will become my reality if you only stay out of pity. And you would stay. Only because of a sense of obligation.”
A look of incredulity spread over his face, like he couldn’t believe that was even on my mind and had made it to my mouth. “I made vows to you because I know who you are to me, what I want and need—where the air in my lungs comes from,” he said. “Just because the temperature changes doesn’t mean that I stop breathing. It means that I adjust and wait out the fucking storm, more appreciative afterward that my life is still mine.”
He swooped me up from the floor, carrying me over to the bed. Putting me down gently, he took his pants off while he stared at me. The intensity in his eyes hadn’t changed, but it had wavered to something different. No less feral, but the ache in them seemed to dilute some of the rage.
The need came from him like the heat from his skin.
I reached out and put my hand against his stomach; the muscles there were taut with tension. He couldn’t deny the want, even if he wanted to. The bulge in his pants had been evident, and without the layers between us, he moved my hand lower, demanding that I touch him.
He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and hissed out a breath. “Tell me if I look like half of a man to you.” His voice came out gruff.
God no, I wanted to say, but shook my head instead. Words were slow to come, and my mouth refused to work anyhow, as I ran my hand down the length of him, softly, slowly, and then dipped between his legs, feeling the heaviness of his testicles.
Touching him was like tracing a powerfully built Roman god with a mere mortal hand.
“There’s nothing lacking about you,mio marito,” I whispered.
“There hasn’t been,” he said, moving toward me. His advancement forced me further onto the bed, and he came over me, hovering.
His hair fell on each side of his face, framing the sharpness of his features. His mouth was wide, lips created to fit his face perfectly, and they were over mine, moving with his tongue in a way that made me moan into his mouth.
Releasing me from his magnetic pull, his mouth roved until it found the pulse in my neck. “There hasn’t been,” he repeated, “since the moment you were born.Mine.”
“Did you…” I started to speak but stopped—my eyes rolled up when he took my nipple in his mouth and sucked.
His tongue slid to the other side, and I started to squirm, my legs fighting to open and give him entrance.
Holding me in place, he offered no mercy.
“Talk to me,” he said, doing things with his hand and mouth that made me feel as though magic flowed through his veins.
“Did you even miss me?” I breathed out.
His eyes came up, crashing with mine. The impact felt as life-changing as when Nemours had crashed us into the tree. The color of his eyes gave me the impression of polished onyx glittering in the darkness. And there it was…the light in the pitch-black night.Me.
