The ground beneath me seemed to disappear as he sprinted toward wherever he was taking me.
After a minute or two, I had an idea. Butterflies flitted in my stomach at the thought of the old log cabin in the woods.
In the mornings, sunlight fell over it and bathed it in its glow. From its many windows, the glow entered the cabin and always made me feel as if I was taking a walk in heaven. At night, it was a shelter from all the wildness of the land. It was almost as if it was situated on its own island. A world away from the rest of the world.
My favorite time of the year to visit was during winter.
The snow would fall in drifts, packing the house up tight, and the entire area would turn white with pristine ice. Herds of bison would pass through, and from the window, I would watch these spectacular beasts roam. Keeping close. Coats frozen. Some of them even playful with each other. The sound of their hooveson the frozen ground. A black tongue sticking out. Glittering onyx eyes that I found to be full of animal wisdom. The puffs of smoke from their nostrils and mouths as they made their trek to wherever. Even the smell of bitter feral mixed in with the frozen clean of winter.
A tender wind blew past, and it brought me back to the moment we were in.
Fall.
The leaves were changing on the trees, and it was as if the bonfire had toasted them, bringing out brilliant colors. Auburn, pumpkin, and gold. The turn of seasons was thick in the air. So thick, I knew it was going to linger on our clothes once we were inside of the cabin.
Part of that lingering smokiness could have been the actual bonfire. The glow of it seeming to follow us as well—although it was too far to literally touch us. There was something about being with Mariano that made me feel this way. As if whatever I was feeling inside was able to manifest itself between us.
Was all love like this?
I was not sure.
I had seen it before. Between Hannah and Clay. Bianca and Bear. Atta and Angelo. Some of the Fausti couples that would come through. Particularly Luca and his wife,Margherita, Scarlett and Brando, Dario and Carmen, Romeo and Juliette. Even Nazzareno and his wife Ava. When the Fausti men loved, they seemed to love forever and beyond when they fully committed.
Mariano was no exception.
He had turned from the Casanova Prince intoMyPrince.
No frogs needed to be kissed.
Suddenly, I was righted, and I found my legs around his waist, my hands locked behind his neck, my arms resting on his shoulders, my lips a breath away from his. He wasn’t evenpanting, but I felt the coolness of his breaths touch my skin. He’d had a beer earlier, and I could smell it on his breath. I wanted to inhale it. Get high off his essence.
“Annie,” he whispered.
“Mariano,” I whispered back.
He kissed me.
Kissed me until my hands couldn’t stay locked around his neck. My handsneededto feel him. To touch. To explore. To never forget an inch of him. To store him someplace deep inside of me where he would live forever.
“You are my bull,” I whispered when our lips separated for a second while he opened the door to the cabin. “You are my mustang.Mylion. You have challenged all other suitors and won my love,amore mio. Take me to bed. Make me yours forever.” With anyone else, I would have felt ridiculous saying those words, even if I was an Italian speaking to another Italian. With Mariano, his passion ran as high as the romance in his veins, and if I did not say those things,Iwould have felt lacking as his woman.
For a woman to fall for a Fausti man, fully, without constraints, she had to be willing to give in to her urges to be a woman, allowing him to be her man. To take the lead in the dance once she gave him permission to.
I was a willing partner.
He said romantic things to me.
I said romantic things to him.
None of it sounded like nonsense or cause for laughter.
Not when he looked straight past my irises and hit my soul with an intensity so strong, it could have made glass shatter.
If the eyes were the windows to the soul…
His passion felt the same as fire barely touching my skin. It felt as if it was candlewax dripping over my most sensitive areas. It started in my toes and raced up to my chest, blinding my mindfrom anyone or anything but him. The heat was concentrated between my legs, and an ache that had never beat before him pulsed with a need so great, I could not catch my breath.
The door shut behind him with a softclick. He locked the door with me in his arms, and after, he carried me to the master bedroom. The room glowed with tender light from lamps set on each side of the bed. A fireplace made of antique brick rose up to the ceiling but was not lit. Did not seem as if it had been for years. A white fur rug was spread out in front of it.
