So just stay away, Marchetti.
Go back to how you had lived your life in the past sixteen months, and all you had then were dreams of her.
Forget she ever existed, for both your sake.
But this was easier said than done, and when work brought Giancarlo back to the same office building where Sarica was kept hidden in a basement suite, the temptation proved too strong to resist.
Just one look.
He promised himself that was all he'd allow. One glimpse to satiate the need that clawed at his chest day and night. His fingers found the light switch outside her door, hesitating for just a moment. Total darkness would be safer. Would let him see without being seen. Would let him maintain the control that seemed to slip through his fingers whenever she was near.
The lock disengaged with a soft click, and he entered silently, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The sound reached him first—quiet, broken sounds that made his heart clench. Moonlight filtered through the high windows, casting just enough light to show him her silhouette.
She was crying.
The realization shattered his resolve like glass. Before he could stop himself, he was moving toward her, drawn by an instinct deeper than reason or duty or obligation. His feet carried him across the Persian carpet, past the untouched dinner tray on the marble coffee table, through the shadows that seemed to mock his attempt at restraint.
Sarica threw herself at him the moment he was close enough to touch, her arms wrapping around his neck, her legs locked around his waist.
"Gotcha."
One breathlessly spoken word, and he realized that this was all a trap.
Tears had been her bait, and he had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
But before he could pull away, she was already rubbing herself against him, and he hungered for her far too much to even think of denying himself.
He had her up against the wall in moments, her dress bunched around her waist, his pants unzipped, in another. While it took everything in him not to groan Sarica's name as he sank his length inside of her, the same constraints did not apply to her. She moaned his name with complete abandon—-
Giancarlo.
Please...
Please don't stop...
Would she still be this vocal if she realized that the guards stationed by the elevator could likely hear her?
A fierce rush of satisfaction filled Giancarlo at the thought of people knowing how much his Sarica wanted him, and his thrusts took on a roughness that had Sarica clawing his back.
Yes, yes, yes.
Her desire for him was his undoing.
I'm so close, Giancarlo.
I'm so—-
Aaaaaah.
They came at the same time, Sarica crying out as he suckled hard on her neck.
If only.
If only this moment could last forever.
If only.
But time was unstoppable, and Sarica's tremulous words were the first to break the silence between them.
