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“Vincenzo —”

“I want to watch you take what you want.”

She sits up.

She is a curve of cinnamon skin and full breasts and dark curls against the white of my sheets. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Mine.

She lifts her hips. Sinks down.

I put my hands on her hips and let her set the pace.

She takes her time. Learning me. Watching my face. Her breath catches at the angle. She rocks. Adjusts. Finds the spot she wants.

Then she rides.

I watch her breasts bounce up and down and her belly clench with the effort. Watch her curls sway forward every time she rolls her hips down onto me. Every time she takes me all the way she makes a small satisfied sound.

Her eyes on mine, and I am so far gone, when she comes with her head thrown back and my thumbs pressed into the flare of her hips, I follow her again with her name in my mouth.

She collapses onto my chest.

I put my arms around her.

When our breaths have slowed, I sense her trace the ink on my forearm and up my bicep.

“Vince.”

My chest constricts. I’ve never liked it when others tried to call me that. From her though, it’s an endearment that makes me want to give her the world.

“Yes.”

“Can I bring one of the plants up here?”

I laugh. Again. That startled, unfamiliar thing.

“Anything you want.”

I’m looking forward to seeing the warmth she’ll bring into this room. “I’ll bring your clothes over in a little while.”

“Oh.”

“You’re my woman, Rosalie. We sleep in the same room.”

She burrows her face into my throat.

Two minutes later her breathing has evened out.

She is asleep against my chest, her black curls spread across my shoulder. She’s as gorgeous in repose as when she’s awake and her dark brown eyes are challenging me.

I frown at the ceiling. An emotion I learned to suppress twenty-nine years ago, breaks through my barriers. It’s fear. I crave her body and yearn for the warmth and care she brings into my life. The need is so strong, I’m terrified she’ll become a vital part of my whole world. The last time I felt this afraid, I was ten years old.

7

Rosalie

The last two days were a blur.