The day he had to leave me came back, and although he was here, nothing had warmed between us.
He ran his fingertip up and down my arm. “You are laughing,” he said in Italian, so soft, it made goosebumps pebble on my arms. “You are enjoying life. Away from me.” He rolled histeeth over his bottom lip. “A woman glows when a man lights the candle inside of her.”
My mouth fell before I closed it on a snap. “Are you saying I am having a great time without you? This, this, ah, situation is truly what I wanted?”
“You are glowing.” It was an accusation.
“Screw you, Fausti!” I snapped at him. He had just showed up. When I was not sleeping, or working, or trying to keep my life together, my pillow could attest to how many tears it had collected since the day he left me in hell!
It was not his fault. This was the price of our love, because of who we were in the world, but in the end, I knew it was all going to be worth it.
“This is why I’m here.” He laughed, and goosebumps rose along my arms again, this time, from the chill of his mood.
“Get out!” I whispered, pointing to the door. I did not want him to ruin this—this time apart was to prove to the world, perhaps even to us, that Fate had directed our steps.
“Make me,” he said, taking a seat on my bed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his gorgeous chin up.
I realized he was doing it to mock me. I had assumed the same position.
“Man—child!” I whispered at him.
“Look who’s talking.” He gestured at me. “The one kicking her legs against the bed.” He copied me.
“Ahhh!” I went for him, my hands ready to strangle him. He was going to accuse me of being flirty, or whatever the fuck he was getting at, but he was the one having a dirty scene with my sister?
I did not say this.
I did not have time.
He took my mouth in a punishing kiss that my body had no recourse against. I instantly melted into him, and…I was atraitor to my own system. Whatever moves he made, I made with him. I had lost all control. He held it all. I did not even realize he had picked me up and set me against the wall until his hands came between my thighs. My hands were already down his pants.
The connection was starved between us, and it seemed to rule us both. We were angry at each other, saying things that were mean, that we could never take back. At the same time, our hands pulled and shoved, ripped and tore, but also… mending somehow.
“Fuck,” he said as he pushed into me.
We both stilled.
A break in our battle.
The war was not over.
Far from it.
He stared into my eyes, in a way the Kama Sutra would never be able to replicate, while his thrusts were punishing.
The moans from my mouth garbled against his. We were not kissing, but our mouths were close, open, stealing each other’s breaths, our tongues reaching out to fight. This side of him was cold, but when I started to cry out, the pain too much, he would slow, a warm stretch of thrusts making me feel as if I was high.
“Say my name,” he ordered me.
“Mmmmasgag,” was all I could get out. His cock was sliding against every sensitive nerve, and my body was in that delicious position where it could not outrun him. He had me imprisoned—he was inside of me so far, there was no place for me to run.
He slowed, and I whimpered in his mouth.
“Say my name,” he ordered again, and this time, it was a sharper command.
“Mariano,” I barely got out.
He slid out, came back with a thrust so hard, I was rocked up, and when I came back down, my hair caught on the wall, the tiny flowers falling at his feet. “The name you fucking gave me.”
