“Yeah. Pretty close in Spanish,” she says, her fingers skimming my hips, light and teasing. She shifts, her belly brushes my hardening cock, sending a sharp jolt of heat through me.
But I don’t move.
Because her eyes have me trapped.
The way she watches me—half-defiant,half-vulnerable. The way her lips curve, teasing but sweet.
And the way she feels in my hands—delicate but untamed.
I tighten my grip on her waist, voice low. “Vita mia. My life.”
Seeing her willing to fight anyone or anything forme, her yelling and furious because I promised I’d live, and now this soft expression. I want to see everything in between, everything except the flat confusion she first looked at me with when she woke up like she didn’t know who I was.
“You’re never allowed to forget who I am again,” I say, backing her against the wall of the shower.
“If I do?” she sasses me.
“Then I’ll have to shake some memories back into you.”
“There are better ways to do that,” she says, still touching me, guiding me closer. “If you don’t kiss me right now, Angelo, I’m going to get sweet with you.”
I groan and kiss her, parting her lips with my tongue, holding onto her as tightly as I can without hurting her. I’ll live to keep protecting her, to take care of her, to make sureshe knows that she’s more than just some cop to me. She’s ...
No words come to mind as I kiss her. She nips at my tongue, but always pulls me closer, touching me, digging her nails into me, working me up untilnotfucking her isn’t an option. But I don’t want to do it in a shower. I don’t want her to slip.
So I finish cleaning her, pull her out of the shower, and take my time toweling her off until she moans. “You’re torturing me.”
“Am I?”
“I want you, Angelo. I want to have sex with you. I want to stay here with you. I want to kiss you every day. Stop making me wait. My head is good enough for all of that,” she says. “Stop treating me like I’m broken.”
“You want some action, vita mia?”
“No. I want you,” she clarifies, her voice steady, sure.
Then she shoves me.
I stumble back, my smirk growing. She shoves me again—harder this time, her dark eyes locked onto mine, daring me.
One more push, and I let it happen. My back hits the bed, and I look up at her—amused, wrecked for her, fucking starving.
She straddles me, pinning me with her body, her breath hot against my lips.
“You fight me on everything, but you never fight this,” she murmurs.
I grip her hips, grinding up against her. “Why would I fight something I want just as bad?”
She leans in, brushing her lips over mine—light, teasing. “Then shut up and take it, Rossi.”
And fuck, I do.
TWELVE
Luisa
My memory might not beperfect, but I remember being with Angelo. He’s never let me take control, not like this. He’s always been growly, rough, commanding. But now? He’s watching me. He’s sweet.
“I’m not broken,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
