“No,” I whisper. “Keep going.”
“I’m going to remove your panties.” He looks to me for permission, and I nod, willing my pounding heart to calm the hell down. Lifting my hips, I breathe heavily as he slowly removes my underwear, tossing it aside. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, staring at my most intimate parts, and the urge to clamp my thighs shut is riding me hard. Thankfully, he doesn’t stare for too long, understanding it makes me uncomfortable. Crawling up my body, he kisses me softly, over and over, until I’m sinking into the bed, a veritable puddle of lust. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” He peppers kisses along my jawline and my neck. “Now lie back, but keep your eyes on me, and let me give you pleasure.”
Prickles of anxiety sprout on my skin as he returns to between my legs, but I fight it off.
I want this.
His touch leaves hot shivers in its wake.
He doesn’t make my skin crawl like—
Nope. I’m not going there. Working hard to blank my mind of hideous thoughts, I focus on the gorgeous man brushing his fingers lightly up and down my slit and the pleasurable sensations coursing through my body at his touch.
“I’m going to move my finger inside you. Just one to start. Okay?” His eyes look to me for approval again, and I’m close to tears for the umpteenth time.
How am I here with him? What did I do to deserve this sweet, patient, loving man who automatically knows what I need and how I have to be treated? I don’t even have to say it for Alesso to know what I need. I don’t want to mess this up. I want to be able to do this with him. “Do it,” I say. “I want your fingers inside me.”
He slowly works one finger inside me, and my inner walls clench around him. He moves his finger in and out while his free hand moves to my clit and he rubs me gently. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes,” I pant, resisting the urge to squirm as his finger glides in and out of me.
I work hard to stay in the moment, but my head is fighting my body for supremacy. Ignoring the screaming pressure gathering momentum in my head, I inhale and exhale and concentrate on the feel of his fingers moving in and on me. He adds a second digit into my vagina, stretching me a little, and I arch my hips. “I’ll go nice and slow until you tell me to speed up.” My eyes drift to the bulge in his pants, and the fact he’s so aroused should make me happy, but it conjures unpleasant images. I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the incoming barrage.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, slowing down.
“No!” I almost shout it. “Keep going.” Uncertainty flashes across his face, and I can tell he’s considering stopping. “Please, Alesso. Don’t stop.” I can’t tell him I want him to keep going because I need to do this. I need to let him touch me and coax an orgasm from me to know I’m normal. That the desire I have for him is normal and I can relax at his touch and my body will finally concede to pleasure the way it’s supposed to. He can’t know I have never climaxed at anyone’s touch but my own and how much of a freak that makes me feel. “Go faster,” I plead, bucking my hips up in what I hope is an encouraging motion.
Indecision crests his face again, but whatever pleading he sees on my face is enough to spur him on. He picks up his pace, thrusting his fingers into me faster and a little harder while he rubs my clit with a little more pressure.
My heart careens around my tight chest as I watch Alesso’s hands work between my legs. Sweat beads down my spine, and my pulse vibrates in alarm, pounding steadily in my neck. I grab the covers, internally talking myself off a ledge, fighting the sea of memories resurrecting in my mind, but it’s no good. I’m not strong enough to resist, and they break free, raining havoc.
Alesso’s elegant, skillful fingers are replaced with Alfredo’s thick, stubby fingers as he forces his way into my dry body like he has the right.
Instead of Alesso’s handsome young face, I’m accosted by the wrinkled, overly tanned face of my husband.
Losing my grasp on reality, I thrash about on the bed, clamping my legs shut and shoving at my husband, screaming at him to leave me alone, to not touch me, telling him I hate him, how his skin makes me crawl, and I wish he was dead.
I have succumbed to the darkness, drowning in the nightmares of my past, as a succession of memories lays siege to my mind until it feels like I’m going mad.
I’m sobbing and shaking with my knees tucked into my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs as the sound of someone repeatedly calling my name tickles my eardrums, and I slowly start to come to.
“Serena. Please come back to me,” Alesso pleads, raw anguish threading through his tone. A sob sticks in my throat as I lift my head, staring into the room with blurry eyes. I glance down at myself, discovering a blanket draped around my panty-less bottom half. “Serena?” he says, and I’m vaguely aware of him shifting on the bed. “It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe.”
I swipe at the hot tears continuing to trek down my cheeks. “What happened?” Slowly, my vision comes into focus, and my stomach knots painfully when I see the tormented expression on his face.
“You didn’t seem to see me,” he croaks. “You thought I was Alfredo. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’m sorry.” I pierce him with remorseful eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be apologizing. You weren’t ready. I shouldn’t—”
“The kids!” I exclaim, my voice rising in concern. If my episode has woken Elisa and Romeo, I will only hate myself more.
“They are still sleeping. They don’t know anything.”
Relief descends, but it’s minor. Everything that happened crashes into me, and I’m so embarrassed. “I’m really sorry, Alesso.” What must he think of me? I know he must be experienced with women. Most Italian American men of his age are. So how embarrassing is it for him to have a woman fall apart when he’s barely even touching her? “This is all my fault. Not yours.”
“Don’t do that. I—" He exhales heavily as he tentatively reaches out to me. Indecision radiates from his eyes, and I hate how upset and confused he looks.
