“Keep me inside you,” he rasps, peering up at me.
I bite my lips and nod, tears threatening again. “Then I need you to give me something, too.”
“Tell me what you need,” he rasps.
“If this is where our story ends, kiss me like it’s the last time you might ever get the chance.”
He stands slowly and draws me to him. I can feel every carved ridge of his body as he does exactly that. I expect it to be bruising like that day a few weeks ago. But instead, it’s tender and passionate. Slow and unhurried. Our tongues glide and move together like they were always meant to meet. It lasts a few minutes, neither of us wanting to end it first, and my heart swells knowing he’s trying to savor this moment as much as I am. And it breaks with the knowledge that the promise of how good we could be is totally in our grasp, but he’s too stubborn to reach out and take it for keeps.
So I keep my promise. I slip out of the shower, dry off, and put back on the clothes Evie brought for me, then go in search of caffeine, mask fully in place, giving Raf the time and space to compose himself and fix his own.
I’m standing by Raf’s fancy coffee machine in his state-of-the-art kitchen when he finally joins me, looking every bit as sexy as he did moments earlier, albeit wearing far more clothes.
“Hello, Mr. Tom Ford,” I say before lazily roving my eyes over his tousled hair and meticulously groomed dark beard, the caramel cashmere sweater hugging his chest, sleeves pushed up to reveal his corded forearms, and right down his dark-denim clad jeans to his designer trainers.
He clears his throat and looks at me expectantly, the merest of smiles tugging on his lips as he walks towards me.
“Chiara, if you’re hungry, there’s cereal in the panty right behind you,” he deadpans.
“Wow! Amazing what a few orgasms can do for your sense of humor,” I lob back. “Maybe you should try it more often.”
“You promised, Chiara,” he says with an authoritative edge. Naturally my mind wanders back to when he was wearing far less, and heat flashes through me because Daddy Raf Princi was the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life—and I’ve enjoyed some good sex.
He’s standing by me now, and his expensive cologne, which I also happen to know is Tom Ford, fills my nostrils.
I bite my lip at the images replaying of him totally owning me, filling me, consuming me. I move to the side so he can make a coffee. I watch him over the rim of my own espresso cup, tossing up how I should respond. If we’re going to go back to how things were before we broke all the rules and crossed all the lines, I’m bringing the brat back.
“Raf, I’m sorry to say, but I think we need to address the tall, dark, handsome daddy with the big swinging dick in the room.”
He splutters, and I look at him in mock confusion.
“What? Isn’t that the saying when there’s a thing that everyone in the room is thinking but not talking about?”
“Ah. So the brat is back then?” he says, taking a sip.
“I dunno. Will Daddy Raf spank me again?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he hesitates before he speaks, so I, in true brat fashion, bulldozer on.
“What choice do I have? As you’ve so aptly pointed out, last night was a one-time thing, and this morning, well, that was the encore. But now the ring master—that’s you, if you’re having trouble following at the ripe old age of thirty-four—is retiring,” I say in a mock whisper. “And his circus animal—that’s me, because you know you commanded me and I did all the dirty things you asked of me—is being put out to pasture, probably soon to be replaced.”
He tenses his jaw at my absurdity, and I can tell he’s forming the argument he thinks he should give me. The one that suits the character of the uptight, untouchable lawyer. Except he’s forgetting I know exactly how much feeling courses through his veins. Felt in me, on me, and around me.
Growing more serious, Raf squares up but is careful not to touch me, and I want to scream at the absurdity of his restraint.
“Chiara, last night was…” He trails off, like he’s trying to decide what degree ofeat shithe’s going to serve. “It was very out of character for me. Emotions were high for us both, and I should have known better. I should have stopped us from crossing that line.”
“That’s bullshit,” I state plainly, because fuck it, what have I got to lose anyway. “That’s not the problem. You wanna know what your problem is?” I toss out, like his dismissiveness hasn’tmade my stomach sink to my feet for an entirely different reason than when we were in the throes of passion.
“Please. Go right ahead. Tell me in all your twenty-four years of infinite wisdom what my problem is.”
“You’re fucking scared of people seeing the real you. The one who gives a shit, who feels big and makes grand gestures. Being loved and giving it in return petrifies you, and I just wish I knew what made you this way, because let me tell you, Raf, I’ve lost so much, yet I won’t stop letting myself believe that love exists, as imperfect and as hard as I am to love.”
“We’re all flawed, Chiara. You know exactly what you want from a partner, and you should have that, but like I said to you last night, it can’t be me, and you shouldn’t compromise.”
I exhale when I really want to throttle him.
“Honestly, it’s my own fault,” I say softly. “I thought if you saw how good we could be…” I trail off.
