She giggled again and rolled her eyes at me.“Why would you even leave this?”she asked, sounding utterly perplexed.“If I lived here,” she informed me, “I'd never leave.”
I laughed and quickly corrected her.“Francesca, you do live here.”
Then she turned fully to me.“Seriously, though.Why do you ever leave?”
Fuck.
This woman was so fucking perfect for me.I cupped her cheek, and she leaned into it.“I cry every time I leave.To go back to Chicago,” I admitted something to her that I'd never told another human being.“And every time I come back.”I felt my eyes water.
She noticed—because her eyes started doing the same thing.
“It calls to you, Stefan.Right?This place—” she glanced back out at the view, “it's special.I can tell.”
Fuck me.
I'd just admitted to the woman I loved that I fuckin' cried every time I traveled away from my home.Or came back.
And she fucking understood.
No.
Not only did she understand—she explained it to me.
“Whatever calls to me here.”I kissed her lips.“It's stronger now that you're here, too.”
I watched her physically melt right in front of me.
Yeah.
I was one lucky bastard.
I took her mouth and kissed those beautiful pink lips.
11
Francesca
His movements were slower.But not any less effective.
Not in the least.
Stefan's body put just the right amount of pressure—everywhere.
And he kissed me more.Not only on my mouth.He spent long moments kissing and licking my neck.Drawing tiny circles with the tip of his tongue that drove me wild.
Then he moved down to my breasts—kissing them in much the same way.
Slowly.
But with thoughtful intent.
As if he had days and days to do this.
It all felt so—wonderful.
And yet, so, so, so different from what he normally did when we were having sex.
I mean, yes, of course I was new to this whole thing.But we'd done it enough times for me to understand that this time was definitely different.And yet, I didn't know exactly why.
