“I missed this,” I whispered, closing my eyes to the sensation. My hand touched his face, and he kissed my palm. “I missed this so much. I missed you so much. I’m not me without you. I don’t know where I’ve gone, but wherever it is, it’s always with you. If you don’t take care of yourself, you don’t take care of me.” I touched his arm. “So reckless. I even hate the word.”
“You are here with me, my wife,” he spoke in Italian, placing my palm he had kissed against his heart. “You are here. No one can touch you. Not even if they steal my heart.”
He pushed into me harder, and my hair caught the threads of the bedding, pulling as we tangled ourselves in the bed we’d made together. My fingers curled around his, and we moved in tandem, him giving, me taking, me giving, him taking. Our breaths intertwined, as did every fiber of our beings. My legs wrapped around his waist as he went even deeper inside of me, deeper but never deep enough to hurt—he knew what was at stake. He was still reaching me, though, reaching me so far inside, I felt him in a place only he knew how to find.
“I feel you there,” I barely got out. “I feel you there.”
Our tongues reached out, touching, then tangling, and then going as deep as he was inside of me.
Lost.
I was so lost.
At the same time…
Found.
I was where I always needed to be.
In my own world, with my husband, his breath tangling with mine, feeding my lungs all they needed to survive.
He pulled out, came back, and as he did, his mouth covered mine, so we could both release a breath at the same time, breathing each other in. Doing as I knew we both needed.
“I do not understand how this is possible.” He stilled again, closed his eyes, and when he moved, his eyes were somehow even more intense on mine. The green almost drowned out by the black. “Tell me how this is possible, my wife, my Amora. How is it that when I leave you, I am not myself. I am not whole any longer. I never was without you. When I return to you, I am complete—I am the man I always longed to be.”
“Ahh,” I breathed out, but then the sound came harder, faster, when my orgasm had taken over and felt like it was about to make my lungs burst from the constant burn.
“Come to me, Amora,” he ordered. “Come to me now.”
I did, and he came to me, and together…
All night.
All day.
Until one evening, we dressed and headed out for a family dinner. We were going to eat food, but I was full, all I ever needed…my husband beside me to keep me breathing.
The weather was so beautiful, even if we were in limbo. It was the time right before spring gives over to summer, and even if the days are warm, the nights still too chilly, evening was the perfect spot—a little leftover warmth from the day, but not too chilled by the night.
I closed my eyes to a sweet-smelling breeze— feeling it in the air. The lightness of the women having their men home, and the contentment of the men having their women safe and close.
I could tell that was the biggest struggle. These men having to leave us to keep us safe.
The Russians were after them, but most of us knew…the Fausti family all knew what it meant to love, and if any of the women were taken from any of these men…they wouldn’t have to touch their chests to carve their hearts out. If felt so underhanded and low.
Rocco turned my face toward his, situating me on his lap, and kissed my lips. “No worrying this evening, ah?”
“When are you leaving again?” The fresh air was waking me up from the magical time we always had in the bedroom, where it felt like time stopped altogether, and it was only us, forever. My mind was turning, and it was flinging out questions I hadn’t thought to ask when we were wrapped in each other’s arms.
His eyes searched mine. “When it is time.”
I shook my head. “That’s not good enough for me. I want specifics.”
“When it is time,” he repeated, and he never repeated himself for anyone. By magic, it seemed another glass of whiskey was set before him, and he downed it. “We acknowledge time, it comes as it wishes, but if we do not give it a specific time and date,perhaps it does not come as fast, as we pray it does not.” He looked away from me then, and I knew he wasn’t going to give me more than that.
He knew I’d obsess over the next goodbye, and he didn’t want me to. He wanted me rooted in the moment with him. I wasn’t sure if obsessing over time was a woman trait or not, but…I noticed the look on the other wives’ faces. They were wondering too about the next goodbye.
Brando and Rocco were staring at each other. Scarlett and I found each other’s eyes. Brando had looked away from her, same as Rocco had done to me, and our eyes found each other.
