“Are you on the pill?”
“Of course, I am. I’m not stupid enough—” My words fall away before they catapult us to the past. “Just do it already.”
His chin dips, and his hands tighten around my hips, guiding me over his throbbing head. I’m wet and aching, desperate to take all of him. He presses at my entrance and raw pleasure streaks through my veins.
I arch against him as he thrusts into me, and he catches my gasp with his mouth. The rhythm finds us, urgent and ruthless, a fierce storm of its own, and the room blurs. Springs complain and the old couch rocks as he drives into me, harder, faster. Rain ticks the windows like it’s keeping time.
“Cat,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine, eyes blown wide. “Look at me.”
I do, and it wrecks me. I move with him, against him, into him, the need spiking so fast my vision whitens at the edges. He holds my hips like he’s both anchoring me and letting me burn. We stop pretending to be quiet.
Moans fill the living room, a perfect symphony to the battering storm outside. It’s wild and ravenous, my hips buckingagainst each thrust. He pushes long and deep, then fast, and a fire burns in my core. He reaches between us, his thumb pressing against my clit and my entire body tightens.
Shite, I’m going to come.
The orgasm hits hard, bright and shattering. I break around his name groaning, “Matteo…”
He follows me over the edge, a rough sound torn from his throat. His hands lock on me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. For a long moment after, all I can hear is rain and the drum of our hearts refusing to remember how to slow.
Then he kisses my cheek, my temple, and then the hinge of my jaw. He’s soft where everything else was brutal. His mouth slips lower, and I jolt, catching his face, steering him away from the place above my heart. “Hey,” I murmur, smiling and shaking, “stay with me.” He does, obedient for once. His forehead drops against mine, breaths hot and uneven.
We fold together on the ruined couch, my thighs still trembling and his hand splayed wide over my ribs like he’s counting my breaths. The house creaks and the storm pounds. Somewhere, a buoy bell rings across the sea like it knows our secret.
“This changes nothing,” I murmur the lie into the curve of his shoulder.
“I know.” He kisses my hair. His voice is wrecked and tender all at once. “Nothing.”
I pull the damp sweatshirt close again, fingers covering the hidden blossom and the name that should never be a target. He doesn’t see because I don’t let him.
Outside, the rain keeps writing the same story. Inside, we pretend we don’t know how it ends.
CHAPTER 30
PUNISHMENT
Matteo
I wake to rain and the familiar weight of her across my body. Her scent pervades, seeping into every part of me. Gray dawn presses against the blinds, the room a soft-washed watercolor of damp and quiet. We’re a knot on Noel’s old couch. Our legs are tangled, my back wedged into a tattered cushion, and her cheek on my chest like this is a world where we actually get to sleep like this on a regular basis.
We’re both naked except for her shirt.
I hazard a peek at the gold necklace peeking out from under her collar. Was that what she didn’t want me to see? I thought it was strange last night the way she kept tugging the hem up and the neckline high, but I didn’t press. Not after the storm we made of each other. Not when every sane part of me said don’t spook her, don’t take more than what she’s willing to offer. I owe her that much.
Her breath warms the skin over my heart. I watch the pulse at her throat and try not to want the impossible.
What would our baby have looked like?
The thought has teeth. It’s been chewing at me for years. In the Sicilian mornings, I saw copper hair and eyes like fresh moss, a mouth that would slay me and a temper that matched mine. After I walked out like an asshole and I couldn’t find her, I searched everywhere. I scoured Taormina, Belfast, every corner of the internet a man like me can pry open, then I called Noel. I didn’t know what to ask without asking everything. I wasn’t sure if Cat had ever confided in her about the pregnancy, but Noel never mentioned it. I told myself that meant the worst had already happened. I told myself I’d missed the chance to ruin three lives instead of two.
I tilt my chin and breathe in the splay of her hair. It’s still rain and a sweetness that never leaves me alone. I should wake her and ask. No, I should let it rot me from the inside a little longer. Both feel like losing.
She stirs finally. A faint flicker of lashes, a small frown smoothing when she realizes where she is, then returning when she realizeswhoshe’s on. We look at each other in the weak light, and the room fills with words we don’t trust.
“Morning,” I manage.
“Don’t,” she whispers with a humorless almost-laugh. She lifts off my chest like it burns, palms skimming my ribs, and reaches for her clothes. Her shirt stays put while she grabs her underwear, jeans, and the sweatshirt she peeled off. The couch complains as she shifts. The spell breaks.
I sit up and reach for my pants, eyes on her, but I keep my hands busy so I don’t touch what I’m not allowed to hold in the daylight.
