“Who’s playing dangerous games now?” I ask, trying to tamp down my desire. I have to remain patient and let her initiate contact.
She’s too skittish, and I refuse to undo the progress we’ve made just because I am dying to get close to her again.
She bites her lip, and I can see the battle of wills between wanting to be taken and wanting to wait a little longer.
We have all the time in the world. Since she showed up in Chicago after our first fight, I knew we would be inevitable—that she would give in, even if she knew she shouldn’t.
A love like ours can remain hidden but never forgotten. That’s why I need to love this version of her, so the part that pushed me away stays dormant.
She takes my hand, and I follow her upstairs to her bedroom. Neutral colors have replaced the once-vivid room with dozens of pillows and streams of light hanging from every corner. Hardwood floors have replaced the plush carpet. No traceof browns, yellows, and greens—her color scheme—no comfy sitting spots, and no vases of white roses.
I’ve been in her bedroom so many times, but it looks nothing like before. A vision of our younger selves giving in to desperation plays before my eyes from happier days—until the carnage ensued.
Her memory loss is a blessing and a curse.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to escape the clutches of that nightmare lying in wait, ready to pounce and devour every bit of ease.
“What is it?” she whispers as if not to scare me.
I shake my head to distance myself from that fucking time. “Nothing. Just savoring being in your bedroom.”
She licks her lips, trying but failing to remain strong. “Hmm, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you say so,” I challenge.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll take a shower first,” she says over her shoulder and enters the bathroom, but she doesn’t close the door, leaving me at an impasse. Not even when we made love for the first time was I this nervous, this undecided about the right thing to do: follow her or stay in place.
I walk toward the window and see the men patrolling the perimeter.
It’s beyond me how the human brain functions. Smarter people haven’t figured it out. This place is her refuge, yet it chills me. The compound turned into a bloody mess, dead bodies scattered everywhere before I set it on fire, painting a picture of hell unbound.
Her own father used her to get to me, allying with another family in Chicago. Many men perished that day, including my father, proving that alliances are weak in the Mafia.
If he had asked, I would have helped him. He made an unfortunate deal that nearly bankrupted him, not realizing he’d been played.
Trapped and bound in a warehouse on this compound, my former enemy crouched before me and told me what he intended to do to her. I snapped, butting him so fucking hard I cracked his forehead. What happened afterward is a blur. High on adrenaline and the need to save her, I escaped my bindings, killing everyone in my way, stealthy as the reaper. Dripping with blood, I stormed the house and shot her father in his office, not realizing she was at his side.
She took off, yelling that she hated me, hopped into her car, and crashed into a fucking tree. The car looked like a damn pretzel. It’s a wonder she survived.
The shower stops running, but it’s the sound of her soft footsteps padding toward me that yanks me from the past.
She looks breathtaking in a black negligee with lace at the hem and around the décolleté. The two thin straps taunt me to slip it off and uncover her. I drag in a lungful of air, but it doesn’t help tame my longing because her floral scent infuses the air.
Her presence alone threatens my control like nothing else. I wish so badly to be the gentleman, but something savage thrashes beneath my skin, roaring with the need to claim and mark.
She bites her lip, trying to hide her satisfied smile, fanning my restraint to ash.
“Shower. Me.” I stumble past her, half blind with desire.
Her chuckle reaches me, and I realize how idiotic I sounded.
I undress with jerky movements, my cock springing out and hitting my abdomen. It’s like all my blood has rushed toward my groin, unbalancing me.
Inside the shower, I throw my head back, the lukewarm water doing nothing to soothe the pressure.
I can still smell her shower gel, and even though she has some manly ones, the same products I use back home, it’s hers I squirt into my palm and wrap around my steel length. If I go to her in this state, I’ll nail her to the damn bed and fuck her raw.
Bracing an arm on the shower stall, I squeeze my eyes shut, chasing my mad pleasure. I imagine her––groaning her name like a wish in the night.
