"Everything about us is dangerous."
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. His fingers trace absent patterns on my shoulder through my sleep shirt. The simple touch sends warmth spreading through me. This is comfort. Safety. Something I haven't felt since before Mom got sick.
"Thank you," I whisper against his skin.
"For what?"
"For letting me in. Even just this much."
His arm tightens around me. "Go to sleep, piccola."
The endearment wraps around me like a blanket. My eyes grow heavy, body melting into his warmth. For the first time in three years—since that horrible day the doctor said "cancer"—I feel something besides grief and fear.
I feel hope.
My lips curve into a smile as sleep pulls me under. Here, in the arms of a man who claims he'll ruin me, I've never felt more whole. The irony doesn't escape me, but I'm too content to care.
Lorenzo's breathing evens out beneath me, his body relaxing by degrees. Even in sleep, his arm stays wrapped around me, keeping me close. Keeping me safe.
For tonight, that's enough.
Sleep takes me completely, deep and dreamless, with a smile still playing at my lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lorenzo
Dawn creeps through my windows, painting Sophia's skin gold where she lies against my chest. Her breath warms my skin, each exhale a whisper of trust I don't deserve.
I should move. Should put distance between us before she wakes.
Instead, my arm tightens around her.
She shifts in her sleep, leg sliding higher across mine. The innocent movement sends heat straight through me. My jaw clenches as I fight the urge to roll her beneath me, to wake her with my mouth on her neck, my hands learning every curve.
Fuck.
Her hair spills across my chest like silk. I breathe her in. Her scent goes straight to my cock, already hard from having her pressed against me all night.
This is torture. Sweet, perfect torture.
She makes a soft sound, burrowing deeper into my side. Her hand flexes against my ribs, fingers spreading like she's trying to hold onto me even in sleep.
I want to keep her here forever. Want to wake up like this every morning until I'm dead. Want to be inside her so deep she forgets where she ends and I begin.
But she's a virgin.
My rule has always been simple. I don't touch virgins. Too much responsibility. Too many complications. They want promises I can't make, build fantasies around something that should just be physical.
Except nothing about Sophia is just physical.
She's worked her way under my skin, into my blood. I think about her constantly. Dream about her when I manage to sleep. The sound of her laugh makes my chest tight. Her tears feel like knife wounds.
What the hell has she done to me?
Her body shifts again, breast pressing against my side through her thin shirt. I bite back a groan. My control hangs by a thread, and she's not even awake.
The bigger problem isn't my rule about virgins. It's that I'm not sure she actually wants this—wants me. She trusts me because I protected her. Maybe she's confused that feeling of safety with desire. Maybe she just likes the idea of me because I'm the first man who hasn't tried to use her.
