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Olivia
"I’m coming. Oh god, Massimo."
"Via," he growls. His shoulders roll forward. His chest heaves. He throws back his head, his gaze not leaving mine. His body grows rigid, every muscle coiled, the planes of his chest stretch the shirt he wears, and then, with a groan, he comes.
So do I. My entire body snaps back as the climax crashes over me. Moisture fills the space between my legs as sensations coalesce, collide, zing up my spine and explode. I see sparks of darkness and of light that dot my vision. Still, I don’t close my eyes. I collapse, panting, holding his gaze as spurts of white stream from his cock and all over his shirt and his hands. And still, he continues to milk himself. It’s the hottest thing I have ever seen—this man, falling apart, without breaking our connection.
The gray in his eyes bleeds out, leaving a clear, mirrored surface that reflects everything I’m feeling—love, lust, hope, want, need… I need him. I have to have him. Be with him. Within me. Inside me. In my heart. My soul. In my thoughts. I yearn for him. Can’t live without him.
He cuts the call and I sink back into the sheets. My fingers tremble. I switch off the vibration, then drop it to the bed. My breath comes in puffs. My vision wavers as I float down from the aftermath of the climax. Every pore in my body seems to have opened. Exhaustion laces my limbs, even as adrenaline laces my blood.
This. This is what I’ve been missing my whole life. A calm at the end of the storm. The treasure at the end of the rainbow. The applause that greets me when I kill a performance. When I stand there on the stage, sweaty and breathless, with the spotlight in my eyes, blinding me so I can’t see the audience, but sense them, their excitement, their euphoria, their adrenaline pumping as they jump to their feet and scream in delight. This...is how I felt right now, as I watched him come apart. As he revealed that vulnerable part of himself that I’ve always known he has at his core. This… oneness with him… I have never felt with anyone else. Will never feel with anyone else again. Only with him. Him. And it’s all for me. Mine. For he belongs to me, the way an audience never can. They’ll applaud me, and love me, and worship me when I have a big hit at the box office, and then they’ll go home to their families. And me? I’ll have him. As he has me.
We belong together in a way nothing else—not fame, not the satisfaction of a career—can replace. Not that this can replace that. I need that, too. But I need him as much. No, more. Penny was right. I need them both to balance me. Forcing myself to choose one over the other would mean I could never be complete.
Then I reach out my hand, toward the mirror. "I need you, Massimo."
"I’m here."
"Eh?" I jerk my head in the direction of the voice to find him framed in the doorway.
"What the—?" I gape. "How did you?" Understanding dawns. "You were never far away, were you? You have a flat in this building. Maybe on this very floor."
"Next door, actually." He prowls toward me. I rake my gaze down his broad shoulders that stretch the T-shirt he’s wearing.
He’s wearing a T-shirt?
And jeans?
I’ve never seen Massimo in such a casual getup before. With every step he takes, his jeans mold to his powerful thighs and pull tight across his crotch. His crotch, which is tented, with the bulge of his cock clearly outlined against the fabric. And he came just a few minutes ago. I know, because I saw it on the screen of my phone. Yet here he is, in real life, and completely aroused all over again. Is that even possible? Do men revive that quickly? Apparently, Massimo does. He halts next to the bed. I tilt my head all the way back to meet his gaze, those almost colorless eyes that eat me up with their intensity.
"You couldn’t give me this one thing? You couldn’t give me space?"
"I did."
”You were in a flat right next door to mine!” I set my jaw. “How is that giving me space?"
"I didn’t see you. More importantly, you didn’t see me. I didn’t put myself in your path.” He widens his stance. “Surely, that was enough to allow you to think things through without interference?”
I hesitate, then bite the inside of my cheek. "You had cameras on me in this flat, and I bet you had someone following me around."
"I did," he admits. "But I didn’t call you, did I?"
"Big deal. You had access to everything I did. My movements, who I spoke to—" I start. "Did you bug my phone?"
He has the grace to look sheepish.
"You did bug my phone." I stare at him. Seriously, I can’t even— I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I raise my hands. "I don’t know what to say."
He sits down on the bed next to me. "Don’t say anything." He takes my hands in his. "Did you expect me to stay away?"
"Umm, yes?"
He glares at me, and my stomach flip-flops. This… stern, unyielding exterior of his? It’s so damn hot. It gets me every time. And he knows it, too. He knows when to play the role of the dominant alphahole to a T. He knows just what it does to me. He runs his thumb across my wrist, and my pulse rate speeds up.
"You’re such a liar, Via," he says in that dark, gravelly, thirst-trap voice of his. If I were to record it and sell it, I’d make millions. On the other hand, no way do I want any other woman listening to him. The timbre of his tone alone is enough to bring anyone to orgasm.
"I’m not a liar," I protest, but my voice emerges shaky.
