She couldn't be more wrong.
I want to prove to her how much she means to me. Show her that she's the only woman I see, the only one I want, the only one who's ever made me feel like my chest might crack open from the weight of it.
Even as I plan the deep, thorough punishment she'll receive if she's not in my bed tonight.
The contradiction doesn't escape me, punishing her while trying to prove I love her. But that's what we are. That's what we've always been. Fire and gasoline. Need and defiance. Love wrapped in control and surrender, in dominance and submission, in the beautiful violence of two people who were never supposed to fit but somehow do.
I head back to my room, stripping off my shirt and pants, leaving just my boxers.
I climb into bed, and it feels wrong immediately.
Too empty.
The sheets smell like her, which makes it worse, being surrounded by her scent without her body pressed against mine.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but all I can think about is her. The little gasp she makes when I first push inside her. The way she fits perfectly in the curve of my body, like she was made for me. The sound of her breathing when she finally surrendersto sleep, soft and even and trusting in a way that makes something primal in me roar with satisfaction.
Sleeping next to someone I care about this much has never happened before. I've shared beds with countless women. But I never wanted them to stay. Never craved their presence the way I crave hers. Never felt this fucking hollow when they weren't there.
She’s like a drug I can't quit. And I'm an addict going through withdrawal, shaking and desperate and willing to do anything for my next fix.
I'm just starting to drift off, exhaustion finally winning, when I feel it.
A dip in the mattress.
A shift of weight beside me.
My heart fucking stops.
Then her head is on my arm, her hair spilling across my chest, her body pressed against my side, and everything that was wrong suddenly clicks into place. The world rights itself.
She came.
My arm comes around her automatically, pulling her closer, she doesn't resist. Just melts into me, knowing she belongs there.
"I was looking forward to punishing you," I murmur into her hair, my voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
"So was I," she whispers back, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"No safe word."
"I know."
"Salvatore?" Her voice is soft, sleepy.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Do you really love me?"
“Yes, Valentina, I love you.”
She takes a soft breath, and then she’s snoring.
How can I not love this woman?
* * *
Valentina is awake and out of my room before the sun comes up. She's still upset with me, but she knows the truth. Maybe she just needs a reason to hate the monster.
