"It already has."
"No." She shakes her head. "What's compromised is your ability to pretend you don't feel things. That's not the same as being weakened. You're sharper since I started helping. Aurelio sees it. The twins see it. The only person who doesn't see it is you."
I stare at her. She stares back. And then she does something I don't expect.
She stands up from the desk, takes my hand, and leads me to the bed.
Not aggressively. Not urgently. She walks backward, her fingers laced through mine, her eyes locked on my face, and the slow deliberateness of it is worse than if she'd thrown me against the wall. Because this isn't heat. This isn't the frantic collision of two people who can't control themselves. This is a choice. Conscious. Measured. She's choosing me with her eyes wide open.
She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me between her knees. Her hands find my belt, and I catch them.
"Alexandra."
"Don't tell me to stop."
"I wasn't going to." I bring her hands to my mouth. Kiss each knuckle. Watch her pupils dilate. "I was going to say you should know what you're starting."
"I know exactly what I'm starting."
"Because once I get in that bed with you tonight, I'm not sleeping. And I'm not being quick. And I'm not being gentle." I lean down, my mouth beside her ear. "I'm going to take my time with you. Every inch of you. And you're going to let me."
Her breath shudders out of her. I feel it against my neck. Hot and uneven.
"Promise?" she whispers.
I push her back onto the mattress and cover her body with mine.
"Promise."
Chapter Ten: Alexandra
Hismouthfindsminebefore my back hits the mattress.
The kiss is different from the first time. That was a collision. Desperate, frantic, two people crashing into each other because the alternative was combustion. This is slower. Hungrier. He kisses me like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth, his tongue sliding against mine in long, deliberate strokes that make my toes curl into the sheets.
His weight settles over me, and the sheer size of him steals my breath. Chest to chest, hip to hip, his thigh pressing between mine. I can feel him, hard and thick against my stomach through the fabric of his pants, and the pressure sends a jolt of heat straight through my core.
I reach for his shirt. He catches my wrists, pins them above my head with one hand, and pulls back to look at me.
"I said I'm taking my time." His voice is gravel. Low and rough and vibrating through me like a bass note. "That means you don't get to rush."
"I'm not rushing. I'm helping."
"You're impatient." His free hand finds the hem of the shirt I'm wearing, his shirt, and pushes it up slowly. Inch by inch. His knuckles graze my stomach and my muscles clench. Higher. Over my ribs, each one a ridge beneath his fingers. Higher. Until the fabric bunches above my breasts and cool air hits my skin and his eyes go dark.
"Fuuuuuck," he breathes. The word drops out of him like it was dragged against his will.
He releases my wrists long enough to pull the shirt over my head, and then his hands are on me. Both of them. Wide palms and rough fingers spreading across my ribcage, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. Not touching where I want him to touch. Not yet. mapping the terrain, tracing the shape of me like a blind man reading something sacred.
"Leone." His name comes out strained.
"Patience."
"I don't have any."
"Then learn."
His mouth drops to my collarbone. Open, hot, his tongue tracing a slow line from shoulder to throat. I arch into him, my fingers twisting in the sheets, but he holds me down with his body, pinning my hips to the mattress so I can't move. Can't grind against him. Can't do anything except lie there and feel.
