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It was a private little sense of pride, honestly. Even if it was making the walk less pleasant than usual.
I would take sex-sore muscles over non-sex-sore muscles any day of the week. Especially if Silvano had been the one causing the soreness.
God, just the memory of him over me, inside me, and behind me, had my face and chest flushing, my clothes feeling scratchy and uncomfortable against my overheated skin.
All I wanted was to get home, to feel him strip me bare, to run his lips, tongue, and scruff over every inch of me before he slid inside of me again, his thickness making me his, inch by inch.
Stopped at a crosswalk, I had to press my thighs together to ease the ache growing there.
I must have been fantasizing long enough to miss the people crossing around me.
It was Storm’s impatient woof that had me shaking the thoughts off and finally moving across the busy street.
“My mind is somewhere else tonight,” I told him, even though he was busy with his nose in the air, smelling the scent of a hotdog vendor a half of a block up.
We’d been walking for forever.
Mostly because I just didn’t want to sit around in the apartment, watching the clock, wondering how long it would be until Silvano got back.
I mean, yeah, I was still constantly checking the time. And, yes, wondering if Silvano would be back by the time we made it to the apartment.
But at least it felt mildly less pathetic when we were getting a good workout in while doing all the pining.
Besides, I actually did love just walking this city. There was always something going on, something to see, new window displays to check out, new food places to take note of for our next outing.
I’d always adored the people-watching aspect of living in a city, but New York took that to a whole new level.
I was loving it here.
I didn’t want to leave.
That thought came barreling out of nowhere, kicking me hard in the stomach, knocking my wind out of me.
There was no denying it, though.
Even if, objectively, I knew I would have to keep moving, would need to settle somewhere until, I don’t know, Neeley died.
But my heart was aching to stay here, to be with Silvano, to take walks with Storm together, to investigate new restaurants, to meet his family—for real this time—and find a sense of home and community here.
The thoughts were swirling, making me stand there in the middle of the street, people side-eyeing me as they squeezed past, Storm watching me with his head cocked to the side.
It felt like an eternity before I could shake the thoughts free, trying not to get lost in the future when I could be enjoying the present.
It was that distraction, though, that might have very well saved my life.
Because if I’d been walking at my usual pace, I would have already been in the apartment building, in the elevator, or even inside the apartment.
Trapped.
Unable to escape.
The little emotional crisis bought me an essential few moments.
So that I was at the edge of the street.
Watching as a car double-parked for a moment.
Until the back door opened.
