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I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be scared of me or her feelings. How can I when I’m scared, too? She’s already changed me more than I ever imagined any woman could.
CHAPTER 9
Ruby
I wake the following day with a head filled with Luca. I realize I’m hugging a pillow, almost as if imagining it’s his body pressed against mine, except his body would be firm and muscular. His body would fill me with a reassuring heat, convincing me that everything will always be okay.
When the sleepiness disappears, I snatch my hand from the covers and grab my cell phone. After my message to Luca about being scared, I expected something more than this. I’m not sure what exactly, but when I read his message, a sense of anticlimax touches me.
It’s done. You don’t need to worry anymore.
This is good news, I tell myself—exactly what I wanted when I reached out to him. It’s not like I have the right to expect anything more. It’s not like the car ride last night was a date or anything. What do I want? What do I think I deserve?
Oh, that’s good, I reply. Immediately, the status message goes from sent to read.
When those three dots appear, my heart hammers harder than last night or when I was getting myself ready to be once again thrown into the mayhem of a Mom and Dad cycle: make up, argue, break up, repeat.
Yet no message comes. It just stays on read. I guess that means we’re over—over. God, that’s so dramatic, considering we never even started.
Sitting up, I decide to put this behind me, ignoring the tightness in my gut at the thought, almost like there’s something in me that refuses to let him go. Something in me says I need to fight for this, that all my future happiness depends on it—on us.
“Right.”
Leaping to my feet, I forcibly smooth my hair out of my face. It’s a miracle I don’t give myself a concussion.
“Enough of this.”
I grab some clothes and a towel and walk quickly through the house toward the bathroom. I’ll take a steaming hot shower and do my best to forget about Luca.
Yet, as the water drips down my body, it’s impossible to forget about him, especially the heat I felt the first time I saw him or sat next to him in the car. I can feel his hand against my forehead, brushing my hair out of place. He doesn’t want me to hide. He thinks I’m too beautiful for that.
I lean against the shower wall, biting down as the lust grips me. Suddenly, he’s in the shower with me. However, my eyes are closed. I’m not going completely crazy, but it feels like he’s right here, his shirtless body pressed against mine, trailing his hand up my inner thigh.
“You belong to the mafia prince,” he groans in my sparkling imagination. “You always will. Nobody else.”
I imagine him grinding his hand against my clit, rubbing hard as his panting, hungry breaths overpower even the blasting noise of the shower. It’s difficult to know what to think and where to let my fantasy go. It’s not like I’ve got a blueprint. I want his heat, his attention, the burning he instills in me that tells me I’m beautiful. I’ve never believed that before.
I grab the showerhead, turn up the pressure, guide it to my sex, and let it blast against my clit. In the waking dream, Luca is on his knees, his mouth buried between my legs, groaning as he lavishes me with attention. It’s all I want, all I need. I grind my hips, letting the water pulse against the searing point of pleasure. I make believe I’m grinding against his face instead.
I don’t let myself think about the fact it’s over. I don’t allow myself to project into the future because there’s nothing: a few texts, a car ride. I’m trying to grasp onto smoke, but it’s drifting through my fingertips meaninglessly.
No, think about him. Luca. His mouth against my sex. His hands sink greedily into my legs like he can’t get enough of me. I move the showerhead, guiding it this way and that, enhancing the pleasure until my toes curl, and I have to lean heavily against the wall so I don’t slip. I bite down at the end. If I let this release become a scream, I’d bring the whole house down.
When it’s over, I open my eyes. The water blurs my vision. For a crazy second, I can see Luca, a shimmering shape made of water, smirking at me like he’s starving for more steaminess.
“I think she wants us to throw her a party or something,” Lexi says grimly the next day when we’re browsing the bookstore. She’s talking about how forcibly upbeat and cheery Mom was this morning. “It’s like she wants us to forget how many times we’ve done this crap.”
