This was my only tell with her. I never forgot which language I spoke, but with her, she made me forget the world outside of our doors existed.
“This is your final answer, ah? ‘No’ from the woman who has always said yes to me only.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I set my hand over hers and pushed against my chest how she had. “You did.”
She looked away from me for a second before she shook her head and met my eyes. “I’m saying no to this challenge.”
“Then you do not see me for who I am.”
“Not much of a choice then.” She gently touched my neck and stared at my lips. “I’m sticking with it—my answer.”
Her eyes roamed over my face, then she met my eyes, and the entire world stilled. Not even when I picked her up, carried her to the wall, and set her down on her feet did it move. I ran my hand up her leg, and when I reached herculo, she hiked her leg up around my waist. She gasped into my mouth when I claimed hers. Our tongues touched, and swirled, and when I surged in deep, I could feel her soul surrender to the coaxing of mine. Her body followed, and even before I buried myself deep inside of her, we were already one.
My hands ventured over every dangerous curve, my mouth obsessed with every inch of her skin. When she clawed me as I sucked over her pulse, a growl vibrated deep in my throat. I wanted her heart to feel it, how claimed she was, and her veins to dance to it, rushing through her body to the sound of it.
“You will feel how I did when you left me,” I whispered. “You will feel it deep inside.”
She whimpered, and when I stood back and removed every item of her clothing, her entire body trembled. She rarely wore all black, but she had been sending me a message.
She was already grieving for me.
Fuck that.
I was standing in front of her, a man with a pounding heart and an aching cock—ready to fill my woman,mywife, and make her lose control. To touch her in places I could only.
My jacket came off and I rolled my sleeves up to my elbows.
Her eyes snapped to my forearms. Each side had a matching tattoo. A prowling lioness with wings. It matched the wings on my back. Underneath each side carried one of her names: Ava Fausti.
Mine.
Her breathing picked up when I pulled out my cock and stroked it. She reached out for me, to undress me, but I shook my head.
Before she could fight me, I set my hand underneath her hair and kissed her. With one arm, I situated her and entered her in a hard thrust.
The feel of being inside of her was like nothing I had ever felt before. Warm, slick, and tight but giving. She had come to me with a dangerous obsession, and she had inflicted one on me—her.
I could not control my heart, my breaths, my pulse when I was buried deep inside of her. My body took over, and she had all power over me, her body demanding pleasure from mine, as my hips drove into her—harder and harder, faster and faster, until her body gave me the order.
“Come to me now,” I ordered in Italian, and it proved that no matter what language was spoken out loud, love has its own between two souls.
She started to tighten around me, panting and shivering.
All the blood rushed to my cock, and together, we met in a secret place.
She rested her head on my neck after, her soft breath fanning over my skin, and she kissed over my pulse. She sniffed, though she was not crying. “I missed the feel of your skin.”
She was talking about that moment.
Seconds or centuries, it all felt the same to me without her.
“I missed breathing,” I whispered, my voice strangled.
She set her head back and looked me in the eyes. I leaned down and kissed her, until she could no longer breathe. She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me hard enough that I felt her touch below my bones. I set her down, made sure she was steady on her feet, then I took a step back. I fixed my suit, rolling my sleeves down, and grabbed my jacket. I slipped it on, flexed my shoulders, and turned to leave.
“Nazzareno!”
