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Carmine whispered into her neck, his voice gritty. “Just feel it, hummingbird. Enjoy the flutters.”
The buildup intensified, growing stronger and stronger as Haven moved her hips, seeking more friction. Her body craved it, cried out for it, begging for more.
Groaning, Carmine pulled his mouth from her neck, his lips meeting hers as her body seized up before erupting in pleasure. Shockwaves went off inside her, shooting down her legs and up through her stomach as she convulsed with her first orgasm. She stammered, trying to call his name, but nothing coherent passed between their connected lips. The feeling faded as quickly as it came, the tension receding from her muscles like a wave.
o;It’s not your fault,” she replied, her voice scratchy. “I’m the one who’s sorry for being so weak.”
“You aren’t weak,” he said. “You have every right to be shaken up. Fuck, I’m shaken up. No one touches my girl unless she wants to be touched. That’s something my mom made sure we understood—a woman’s body is a temple, and you should never enter it without an invitation.”
He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. It was difficult to talk about, but he wanted to share this with her. “I don’t know details, but my mom was raped when she was young. She spent time volunteering as an advocate after that. My father still donates money to the center in Chicago where she worked.”
Haven scooted closer to him. “Wow.”
“That’s the reason I don’t want you to feel like we have to do anything. Your body is your temple, and I won’t come in it unless you want me to.” The moment the words left his lips he laughed to himself. “That sounds so fucking wrong. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Haven lifted her head to look at him. “What’s wrong about what you said?”
Of course she wouldn’t get the perverted connotation. “I don’t think now is the time to explain.”
She shrugged and laid her head back down.
The room was quiet except for the air whistling as it blew from the vent in the ceiling. Haven took one of Carmine’s hands and linked their fingers together, resting them at her chest. He felt her breath as her lips brushed across his swelling knuckles.
He smiled at the feel of her kiss. “What are you thinking, tesoro?”
“I’m wondering if, uh . . . It’s stupid.”
His curiosity grew. “Nothing you think is stupid.”
“Well, do you think . . .” She paused to take a deep breath. “Do you think you could ever love someone like me?” She whispered the question, and he froze. Before he could gather his thoughts and answer, Haven cut in again. “I told you it was stupid.”
Devastation shook her voice as she took his hesitation as rejection. She found the nerve to bring up a subject he wasn’t brave enough to broach, to utter the word love that terrified him so much, and instead of reassuring her he clammed up. “Haven, I could never love someone like you, because there isn’t anyone else like you. You’re one of a kind.”
* * *
The haunting melody filtered into Carmine’s subconscious, taunting him, as he watched his mom under the flickering streetlight of the vacant alley. Her words filtered past the gloomy song, her voice soft. “My sole,” she whispered. Her sun. She called him sole because he shined so brightly.
She laughed, drowning out the tortuous notes. It was such a beautiful night that she wanted to walk home, and Carmine trusted her so he didn’t argue. His mom was infallible. He would always believe in her.
It came out of nowhere, the chaos and mayhem. Images flashed before him, so fast and frenzied he could barely keep up. Tires screeching. The terror on her face. Voices cold, their words brutal.
“Run, Carmine!” she yelled. “Run, baby, and don’t stop!”
Her screams were loud in the night, but no one was around to help. Carmine stayed frozen, because he couldn’t leave without her. He didn’t want to go alone. He was her sole, her sun . . . He couldn’t bear to leave her in the dark.
“If you love me, Carmine Marcello, you’ll run,” she said as tears spilled from her eyes. He hesitated, terrified, but at the last second he fled.
“Shut her up!” a man yelled. “Do it quick!”
The petrifying, bone-chilling scream rang through the alley. Carmine’s steps waned, and he turned back around. They were hurting his mom. She needed him.
The men were shrouded in black, but in the flicker of the streetlight, he saw the flash of a face. It was a blur, a mosaic of scar tissue and hate as the loud bang of the gunshot ricocheted in his mind.
Startled, Carmine sat upright and clutched his chest as he tried to get his heart to slow down. Glancing beside him in the dim room, he saw Haven’s eyes were wide-open, her expression layered with concern.
Falling back onto the bed, he ran his hands down his face. Sweating and shaking, his breathing erratic, he half expected Haven to run when he reached out to her. She didn’t, though. Instead, she allowed him to squeeze her in a hug.
Tears built up as he cleared his throat. “I was eight, and it was my first piano recital. It was late when it was over, and my mom wanted to walk home. She didn’t want to wait for a car to pick us up. We took a shortcut through an alley, and a car pulled up—a black car with dark windows.”
