“You were the only reason I survived it.” I turn back around, my back on his chest, letting him hold me as I cry the memories away.
The silence between us holds everything words can’t. My body is sore, but his touch soothes. My soul feels torn, but his presence keeps it from unraveling completely.
He leans forward and presses his lips to my temple. I nestle closer, my head tucked beneath his chin. “Do you think people like us deserve this kind of love?”
His breath stutters for just a second. “I don’t know what we deserve, but I know I’d burn the world for you. So, if this love is stolen, then I guess I’m a fucking thief.”
I start falling asleep in the water, skin to skin, heartbeats locked like twin clocks in the quiet.
“Let’s get in bed, little lamb.” I slowly open my eyes and sit up in the water. Once he is out of the water, he wraps a towel around him, then holds one for me. I already miss his touch and sink into his body when he wraps the towel around me, then picks me up.
He stands me in front of the bed, and starts drying me, being so gentle I can barely feel his hands on me. Standing back up, he grabs one of his T-shirts and puts it on me like I’m a child who can’t dress herself.
“Get some sleep, little lamb.” I lie down, and he plants a small kiss on my forehead, then puts the covers over me, and I fall asleep in record time.
I feelthe slap hit my face hard, and it jolts me. I can’t be here again, I can’t be. Matteo saved me, he came to the church. I was in his arms again. How did they get me back? My father slaps me again; it jolts me again. I open my eyes and look around the unfamiliar room.
Trying to make sense of the shadows, I finally see him. Matteo, shirtless, sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at me.
“You’ve been tossing and turning all night,” he says.
I sit up slowly, the cool air biting at my damp skin. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”
“You were crying in your sleep.” His voice is gravel now. “I didn’t know if I should wake you.”
I crawl over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind. My cheek rests against his back. His muscles are tight beneath my touch.
“I’m scared,” I say softly.
He turns and draws me into his lap, holding me like I’m the last thing in the world keeping him tethered to sanity.
“Don’t be,” he murmurs into my hair. “They’ll have to come through me first.”
“I know,” I whisper, burying myself in the safety of him.
This isn’t safe in a normal sense. Not peace. It’s fire and rage and shadows, but it’s also home.
Because Matteo Messina is my safe place and wrapped in his arms, finally, I know this is where I belong.
His hand moves up and down my back in long, lazy strokes, warm palm mapping every ridge of my spine, every dip and curve, like he’s memorizing me by touch alone. My fingers slide into his hair, the dark strands thick and slightly damp at the roots, I tug gently, just enough to tilt his face to mine.
I kiss him softly, lips brushing, warm, tentative. But he answers with something deeper, hungrier, his tongue finds mine in a slow, claiming sweep that steals my breath and sends heat pooling low in my belly. This is what I crave from him, not just the fire, but the way he takes me completely, like I’m something precious he refuses to let slip away.
He eases me back so I’m standing between his knees. His hands settle on my waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin of my stomach under the hem of his T-shirt that I’m wearing. When he looks up at me, that small, crooked smile curves his lips. His finger traces a slow line downward, slipping between my thighs to rub lightly over my folds. The touch is feather-soft, barelythere, but it’s enough to make my breath hitch. Pleasure sparks, lazy and bright, building in quiet waves.
I bite my lower lip and reach for the hem of the shirt. I pull it over my head in one motion, cool air kisses my skin, tightening my nipples to aching points.
“Beautiful,” Matteo murmurs, voice low and rough with something that feels like reverence. “You know that, don’t you?” His eyes never leave mine. “I’m never going to stop loving you.”
My heart stumbles. “And I’ll always love you.”
He takes my hand, presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the center of my palm, warm lips, the faint scrape of stubble, the steady thump of his pulse under my fingers. Then he stands, towering over me in that way that always makes me feel small and safe at the same time. His smile spreads, soft and devastating, before he kisses me again, long, deep, tongues sliding together in lazy exploration until my knees feel unsteady and the room tilts.
I break away just enough to trail soft kisses across his cheek, his jaw, down the column of his throat. His skin tastes faintly of salt and him. While my lips wander, his hands move and his boxers slide down. I feel the hard, hot length of him press against my stomach, velvet over steel, pulsing with his heartbeat. A quiet whimper escapes me.
He kisses me again, deeper still, and I part my thighs instinctively, aching for his touch. But instead, he scoops me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, laughing softly against his mouth at the sudden shift. The sound dissolves into a gasp as he lowers me to the bed, the mattress dipping under our combined weight.
He follows me down without hesitation, settling between my thighs. I hook my legs around him again, heels pressing into the small of his back. The broad head of him nudges my entrance and the moment he pushes in, slow and careful, I moan. He’s sobig, stretching me inch by careful inch, filling me until there’s nothing left but him.
