Page 125 of Ricardo

I press my face closer to his throat and breathe him in.

There is no checklist in my head. No dread. No shame waiting to crawl back in.

Only heat. Skin. Breath.

Only him.

Only me, still here in my own body.

I close my eyes, and the certainty settles deep inside me.

Something has changed.

Something I cannot tuck away again.

And whatever happens after this, I know one thing with terrifying clarity:

I will never be able to unknow what it feels like to be loved by Ricardo Conti.

Chapter Sixteen

Ricardo

The storm has lightened now.

Rain still taps against the windows, steady and persistent, but the violence has gone out of it. The thunder has moved farther away, rolling low in the distance instead of cracking over the roof. The fire has burned down to a deep orange glow, throwing light across Julia’s skin, across the curve of her shoulder, across the red of her hair where it spills over my arm.

She is boneless against me. Completely spent.

Her cheek rests against my chest, her breath warm against my skin, one hand curled loosely near my heart. Her body is draped over mine as if this is where she landed, and she is unable to move.

This, I do not mind.

I do not move.

I do not even breathe too deeply.

I am content to lie here with her on the blankets in front of my fire, my arms around her, my body still feeling exactly what just happened. There are pillows beneath my shoulders, a blanket half-tangled around our legs, her hair across my mouth, and I have no desire to change a single thing about it.

For the first time in longer than I care to admit, I am content where I am.

No phone in my hand. No numbers running through my head. No deals. No threats. No family business. No invisible line of risk and consequence I am measuring three moves ahead.

Only Julia.

Warm and soft in my arms.

I look down at her face. Her eyes are closed, lashes dark against her cheeks. Her lips are swollen from my mouth. There is a faint flush still lingering across her skin, softer now, but unmistakable. I remember the way she looked above me. The way she took what she wanted because I told her she could, and then because she believed it herself.

My hand moves slowly over her back, stroking her creamy skin softly.

Her breathing stays even, and I think she may have fallen asleep.

The thought brings a smile to my mouth.

Let her sleep.

Let her body learn that pleasure does not have to be followed by withdrawal. Let her sleep with a man’s arms around her and wake without regret. Let her have this, even if she does not yet understand what it means to me.