He kicks the door shut as I strip off my robe, leaving it dumped on the floor as he takes me in his arms again. Somehow we make it to the bed, a tangle of limbs. Raffi rolls me onto my back, his hand sliding under my pajama shirt, teasing over my nipple, just like he used to do, just the way I love. I gasp, arching into his touch.
"Still sensitive," he sighs happily, moving to kiss down my neck, my chest, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. Then his mouth is on me, tongue flicking over my nipples, and I gasp at the sensation that rockets through me.
I fist my hands in his hair, desperate for more. He trails lower, lower, until he's tugging at the waist of my pajama bottoms. I lift my hips and he pulls them off in one smooth motion, then pushes my knees apart.
"Raffi," I pant, trembling in anticipation. He looks up at me, making sure I still want it, waiting until I nod. Then he bends his head and takes me into his mouth.
The heat and suction nearly undo me. I jerk under him, but he pins my hips in place, keeping me from thrusting too deep, as he teases me with lips and tongue. The bliss is almost unbearable, building and building?—
"Raffi, please, I'm going to?—"
He lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight of him, swollen-lipped and disheveled, is nearly enough to finish me off.
"Not yet," he says, voice rough. He crawls up my body and kisses me again, the faint taste of myself in his mouth maddeningly erotic. I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against the hard ridge of his erection still trapped in his pants.
"Please," I beg against his lips. "I need…"
"I know, sweets. I know just what you need." He pulls back just enough to shuck off his pants before pulling me over and settling me to lie on top of him. Our bodies grind together, the friction sending sparks dancing up my spine. He lets me control the speed, and I slow it down so I can enjoy every moment, kissing him just as deeply as he always kisses me.
"God, sweets, you feel so good," he murmurs. I move with a relentless rhythm, his hard, silky cock rubbing up and down mine as he encourages me with gaspingYessesandLike thats. The erotic buzz grows stronger and stronger—but it's still not enough.
I let out a frustrated groan and Raffi seems to understand. His hand slides between our bodies, grasping both of us firmly. He begins to stroke us in unison, his movements expert and sure. I moan into his neck, overwhelmed by the sensations.
"Raffi," I gasp, my damp forehead pressed against his shoulder.
"Come on," he says roughly. "Let go with me."
The dam breaks. I cry out, surrendering to the crash of orgasm, and a moment later I hear his long, gasping sigh in my ear as he shudders underneath me.
Afterward, he keeps holding me close, pulling the covers over us and kissing the top of my head. "So," he says after a long period of quiet. "Hi."
I laugh. More of a giggle, really. I'm too caught up in the afterglow still for any awkwardness or shyness. I shuffle around in his arms and look into his face. "Hi."
The fondness of his smile makes my eyes sting. "I missed you," he tells me. "I missed you, sweets."
"I missed you too. I'm so sorry, Raffi—so sorry—" All at once I'm shaking all over, the afterglow flying away in the force of all thisemotion.
"Hey," he says, hugging me tight. "It's okay, it's okay."
"It's not okay," I say miserably. "I lied, and I hurt you, and I—I?—"
"Stop. Please." He presses his lips to my forehead. "Please don't be upset, D. I don't want you to be sad, not when you're here with me like this."
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "Raffi, I need to say this. I've beenawfulto you. And you've been protecting me, even after how I treated you this whole time. I just...I'm so sorry." I look down at our chests, pressed together, hearts beating in time. "I miss you. I miss how things used to be before the parley."
Raffi strokes his fingers over my face, and I look at him, really look into those deep brown eyes, faithful and warm, waiting for his response. He seems to be searching for the right words, so I continue before he can speak.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Why didn't you tell Don Castellani about my argument with Tony Clemenza?"
Raffi's answer is straightforward and heartfelt. "Because my feelings for you mattered more than my duty. I care about you, Darian. A lot. And if telling the truth meant you would be in danger, I decided I'd rather keep it quiet."
I'm stunned by his confession. "You cared about me?"
"Care," he corrects me. "Still care. I can't...I can't just forget what we had. It was special to me. Always will be."
