Page 32 of The Mobster’s Nurse

She sinks her hands fiercely into my neck and pulls herself in for another kiss.

There's fierce desperation in it, in the press of her hands against me. As if melting into each other means we don't have to think about the messy realities swirling around us. Not the Irish, the horses, Daryl, the future, nor anything else.

Never stopping the kissing, I pick her up and carry her into the bathroom. She wraps her legs around me. Holds on tight.

When I put her down, she stares up at me, breathing fast, cheeks flushed. Steam rises from the bathwater, whispering around her and misting the whole room.

"Don't you want your bath anymore?" I ask with a light teasing note in my voice.

She takes a step back. Smiles — not nervously, flirtatiously. And starts to strip.

I watch, captivated, as she peels her hoodie then her T-shirt away. She yanks her sweatpants down, standing there in just her underwear. Pale green lace. She holds my gaze the entire time she reaches behind her and unclips her bra. When her breasts spill free, I move forward, push them together, cup her jaw, and gently kiss her lips.

I suck one of her nipples, then the other, watching them flush pink under my attention. At the same time, I reach down and press gently against her clit through her panties. She moans.

I pick her up, cradling her against me carefully, and lower her into the tub. I kneel beside her.

She's ready. Completely, unmistakably ready — and not just her body. Her eyes are clear.

I palm her softly, rubbing her clit so that she feels the warm water flowing through her slick folds. She shifts in time with me. Bites her lip.

Leaning forward, I kiss her neck, tasting her skin.

She inclines her head so I have better access, baring herself to me willingly, a small but deliberate offering. I feel her pulse quicken against my lips.

I slide two fingers into her slowly, watching her face the whole time.

"Feels good?" I ask.

"Very," she breathes.

I finger her gently; she rides my rhythm, whimpering in the softest way. Every inch of me burns. My cock is harder than I've ever known.

She comes with a broken moan, eyes fluttering open and closed. There's no confusion or doubt in the orgasm. Just pure, hungry desire. Certainty that this is the right thing.

"I don't want to be rude," she moans when it's over. "But I think I may have to waste this bath …"

I sigh. "Are you saying what I think you are?"

She nods. "Everything else might be complicated, Luca. But not this. Not us. Not when we're alone."

I need to be sure. Not because I doubt her — but because she deserves to be asked clearly.

"You're saying you want me. Tonight. All of it."

She meets my eyes. "Yes. That's what I'm saying."

"Then come here," I say quietly.

I help her out of the tub, wrapping a towel around her with more gentleness than I knew I had in me. She watches me do it with an expression I can't fully read — something soft, something a little undone.

"The bag," she says. "The handcuffs. Do you still want to …"

"Only if you do," I tell her. "Genuinely. We don't need any of it."

She considers this with the same seriousness she gives everything. It's one of the things I'm already addicted to — the way she actually thinks before she speaks. Doesn't say what she imagines I want to hear.

"I want to try," she says finally. "I liked — in the stable — I liked not being in control. I liked trusting you with that." A pause. "I trust you with this."