“Did he…” Raffaele’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist against his thigh. “Did my father rape you?”
Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision as the memories threatened to surface. “No,” I whispered. “He didn’t.” I drew in a shaky breath, my chest tight. “But he was about to. You saved me from that horror.”
Raffaele’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. The bond flared with a mix of relief and self-loathing so intense it nearly overwhelmed me. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as his shadows shifted faintly around him, restless and alive.
“I hate myself,” he hissed. “I hate that I didn’t get there sooner. That I didn’t stop him before he could…” He trailed off and stared into the fire. “I should have been faster. Better.”
“Raffaele.” I put my hand on his arm. His gaze snapped to mine, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that stole my breath. “You saved me.”
He shook his head. “Not soon enough.”
“You saved me,” I repeated, my voice steady despite the tears streaking down my cheeks. “I don’t care how long it took. You got there. You stopped him. I’m here because of you.”
His eyes softened, the guilt in his expression giving way to something raw and unguarded. The bond thrummed with relief, protectiveness, and a fierce, unrelenting devotion that left me breathless.
We stared at each other in the flickering firelight, the air between us charged. I didn’t know when it had happened—when this man, who I’d once feared and resented, had become everything. But he had. I was obsessed with him, drawn to him in a way I couldn’t explain, couldn’t fight.
And I didn’t want to fight it anymore.
“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice breaking as I let the walls I’d built around myself crumble. “Thank you for saving me.”
He didn’t respond with words. He didn’t need to. I felt it all through the bond. His guilt, his anger, but also his relief and an overwhelming need to protect me.
Without thinking, I leaned toward him, my hand sliding down to rest over his. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he laced his fingers through mine.
I saw it in his eyes, felt it in the bond. He felt the same pull, the same maddening need.
“I’m not going to fight this anymore,” I said.
His hand tightened around mine. “Vivian…”
“I mean it, Raffaele. Whatever this is between us… I’m not fighting it. Not anymore.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt. When he found none, his expression softened, something like hope crossing his face.
“Neither am I,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a promise.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Shadows danced across the walls, the low light wrapping us in a cocoon that felt safe, almost unreal. I sat on the couch, my knees tucked up to my chest, watching as Raffaele stared at me as if he could see into my soul.
He took my hand in his, and the breath caught in my throat. He didn’t look away, didn’t hide the intensity in his gaze as his lips parted. His presence was overwhelming, as always, but this time, it didn’t feel like a threat. Tonight, it felt like gravity—inevitable and impossible to resist. I needed him. I needed to feel something besides the raw ache of the darkness now residing in my soul.
Unlacing our fingers, I ran my hand through his hair. I moved to sit on his lap, but he stopped me. “Vivian, darling, it’s too soon. You’ve been through too much.”
I ignored his protests and straddled his legs, pressing my body against his chest. I wanted to feel him everywhere. I needed his care to consume me—heart, mind, and soul. Resting my chin on his shoulder, I whispered, “Please, Raffaele. Make me feel good like only you can.”
The first touch of his hands on my waist sent a trail of fire down my spine. He was careful, reverent, as though I might break beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over the sweatshirt, the heat of his palms seeping into my skin.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Vivian.”
“I’m not.”
He nodded, his expression pained, and for a moment, I thought he might let me go. But then he touched my cheek, his fingers featherlight against my skin as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness in the gesture undid me.
“Are you sure this is what you want? I can just hold you?—”
“Please, Raffaele.Please.”My words came out with more desperation than I intended. I knew sex wasn’t a good copingmechanism for trauma, but I felt safe. Cared for. And I needed more.
My pleas resulted in Raffaele’s mouth on my skin. My neck. My chest. His hands trailing up my bare sides.
