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“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I appreciate it very much.”
“None of that now,” he said, quirking a small smile. “You kept me out of prison, we’ll keep you out of danger.”
I knew then that they’d never accept anything in return for this, and I didn’t have the energy to insist. I smiled back.
“Well, I do like limited amounts of danger,” I joked. Mrs. Marino snorted, but Richard beamed.
“There’s my girl,” he said, sounding so relieved and, dare I say, proud. I felt my cheeks heat.
The three of them sat with me as I ate. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the first spoonful was in my mouth—it was almost eight o’clock at night, and I’d finished lunch at 12:30.
Mr. Marino started updating me as Richard brewed us all tea.
“I’m sure you’re ready for some peace and quiet, so we won’t keep you long. We told Selene and Fabri to give you space tonight,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll want to say hello tomorrow, but feel free to beg off if it becomes overwhelming, they won’t give you trouble.”
“Thank you,” I said, realizing that, of course, the whole family lived in this house together. That didn’t make the house any less excessively large, but making it a generational home made it a bit more understandable. Weren’t Italian families known for being large? If all the kids stayed and raised their own children here, then I was sure it would be a lot more crowded.
I also realized that I really wasn’t in the mood for pretending to be okay and trading small talk with virtual strangers, so I appreciated the foresight of keeping it to just the four of us for the moment.
“All of the kids have their own hallway of the house,” Mr. Marino said, “and we’ve aired out Rich’s guest room for you. The lock is internal, and we won’t take offense if you use it. The bathroom is ensuite, and there are fresh towels in the closet. Um, anything else?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“Just to tell us if you need anything,” Mrs. Marino said. “Our house is yours as long as you’re here, so don’t be shy, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I smiled weakly. I was absolutely not going to ask them for anything.
“Rich, honey,” Mrs. Marino called, “I think our guest has hit the wall. Lauren, follow Rich and go get some sleep, okay? We’ll see you in the morning. You’re safe here. Sweet dreams.”
I stood up, running on automatic, and let Richard lead me through the house. I didn't look at the halls, the paintings, the ceilings, or the windows—I just stared blankly ahead, leaning heavily on himas the last of my adrenaline drained away. I couldn't stop thinking about how many things I'd have missed out on if I had died.
Perhaps that is why, when Rich showed me the room, I didn't look at it. All I did was turn around and curl into him, feeling his large hands cover my back as he responded instinctively. I glanced up at him from his chest, breathing in his scent, and said“Help me relax?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
LAUREN
Icould feel the way Richard’s breath hitched in his chest and could almost hear his internal monologue. It was so obvious in his eyes: Is she asking what I think she is? Is she sure? Not after the day she’s had, surely? But I just kept my eyes on him, looking into those beautiful browns, and didn’t waver. He needed to see that I was serious, so I showed him. I knew what I was asking, and so did he.
“Are you sure about that, Lauren?” he asked, letting his hands fan out across my back. They were large and warm, seeming to cover my whole back like armor, and I felt my muscles unwind just a little more. “I’m not gonna turn you down, but I don’t want you regretting it either.”
What a good man. What a good, sweet man. I smiled up at him just a little.
“I’m sure,” I told him. “I’m tired, but I need this. I’m so tense. Please, help me?”
The gratitude I felt when Rich smiled down at me so gently and stepped us backward into the room was enough to cut the strings of tension holding me up. I sagged into him in quiet relief, and he clicked the door closed behind us. I trusted that he knew what I needed, and I trusted him to give it to me.
His voice dipped lower as he told me, “I know you’re tired, baby. I’ll take care of you, just do what I say, okay?” I shivered. I was so desperate to let go, to not think, to just feel—to be taken care of, just like Rich said. Despite the tired state of my body, I nodded.
Rich lifted my head up, fingers under my chin, and devoured me in slowintensity. Our tongues danced in a languidwaltz, and I forgot about everything else. It was just us. Rich was right here, in front of me, body real and solid as our chests pressed together. He was here; he knew I was in trouble and came to get me, and even though I was trying not to think about what may have happened if he hadn't, I knew it was a good thing he did.
He took me back to the bed unhurriedly, and I followed. I usually relished the back-and-forth of pushback, the game of wills, but in the end, right now I just wanted to followorders. There was something so comforting about being steered, knowing that I was exactly where my partner wanted me because he had placed me there himself, and I needed that. I didn’t want to play fight first, and Richard seemed to both understand and agree with me.
My knees hit the bed first, and Richard lowered me down gently. His lips finally met mine, and I wanted to whine when he removed them, immediately wanting them back, but he was standing between my spread legs now. I instantly missed the warmth and pressure of him on top of me, but something in his eyes stopped me from demanding his return. He stared at me like he was looking at one of the great masterpieces. He wanted to look at me, and I relaxed into it. He’d come back when he’d had his fill.
“Unbutton your blouse,” he eventually said, voice deep and husky, and my hands followed his command without a thought. I just wanted to give him what he wanted, to be a good girl, because good girls get praise and touch and comfort. And yes, I could have that if I just asked, but I’d been raised in a place where every act had to be repaid. If I did it like this, I’d earned it. There was no debt to fulfill later, and in some ways, it healed something in me—a clean ledger.
“And now my belt,” Richard husked, eyes fixated on the line of skin I’d bared by unbuttoning my shirt. Oh, yes, this was what I wanted. I reached out to him quickly, and it didn’t matter that I had to sit up just a little bit to do it. The pull of my muscles as I held position just felt like a badge.
Richard didn't help me with his belt, but he did smooth his fingertips along my breastbone, opening my shirt further. He glided his hands over my stomach, collarbone, and up and down my sides, and everything he touched felt grounded back into my body as he moved over it. I was straining with the belt buckle, but he didn't reprimand me, instead cupping my breasts through my bra until I could finally flop back, mission completed.
