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CHAPTER 1
The Last Time
MARIALENA
April 2003
“WHAT TIME ARE YOUleaving for Mohegan?” I ask Massimo as I’m stretching my arm into the upper cabinet in search of the coffee beans.
His trip to the Mohegan Sun Casino in Connecticut with the guys is today—a prequel to his bachelor weekend next month. One of his buddies, Dom, is a car collector, and several of the guys usually drive down for the car show and auction.
“At 4:30 p.m. I’m picking Benny up at noon. We’re gonna grab lunch at Umberto’s before driving south,” he responds, yawning while sitting at the kitchen counter. Galleria Umberto’s is a long-time lunch-only place in Boston’s North End best known for its Sicilian-style pizza and arancini.
“Mmm, I’m wicked jealous. You know I love their food.”
“What about the rest of the guys? They’re not having lunch?” I ask as I’m filling the kettle with water. After placing it on the stovetop, I set the timer to ensure it doesn’t boil.
I scoop coffee beans into the grinder, place the lid on but don’t press down as I’m waiting for his response. I glance over the top of my glasses and stare at Massimo. He’s beautiful, especially at this time of day, just woken with sleep in his dark eyes, jet-black hair thick and messy.
My heart pangs because this is the last morning he’ll sit across from me as I’m making coffee. Jesus, what I’m about to do is gonna shatter him. But I can’t think about that right now—not with him inches away from me.
“They’re both working. We’ll pick up Dom from his office, and the others will meet us at Mohegan later tonight,” he tells me as he’s scrubbing his hands over his sexy morning stubble.
I press down on the coffee grinder and pour the grounds into the French press. As I wait for the kettle to finish, I strut over to Massimo. He’s perched on the stool on the other side of the kitchen counter, and I step into him so I can be closer.
He welcomes me by widening his legs and wrapping his arms around my thick waist. Gazing up at me, he purses his lips, something he does on the regular. It’s his way of silently asking for a kiss, and no matter how many times he does it, my belly flutters.
I smirk, take my glasses off, and drop them on the counter, leaning down to kiss him. His lips are warm and soft. As I do, he squeezes his arms around me and pulls me down into his lap, deepening the kiss. “Intoxicating” is the only way I can describe his kisses, his touch, his scent, everything about him.
I break away from our kiss and say, “I’m opening today, so I have to leave by 10:30 a.m.” I hate that I have to work today; I’d rather stay home so I can savor him for our last few hours together. But, if I don’t go to work, he’ll know something is up. My arms tighten around him, taking in his strength—committing it to memory.
His fingers draw circles on my lower back. “Okay, now stop talking.” He resumes kissing me, deep and slow, where we spend a few minutes loving on each other.
The timer beeps and interrupts our morning make out session. Reluctantly, I pull back and replace my glasses, touching my right hand over my swollen lips while sliding off his lap.
He smacks my ass, and with a mischievous grin says, “You know exactly how to get me all worked up, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I sashay away from him, knowing he’s ogling my big ass because I’m still in my tank and panties. He’s right, though, because I’m as worked up as he is. I remove the kettle from the stove, pour water into the French press, and let the coffee brew as I get our mugs ready for us to have breakfast.
After I finish the breakfast cleanup, I head to our bedroom to shower and get ready for work. I expect to find Massimo in the shower or packing. Instead, when I step into the bedroom, he’s sitting on the antique trunk at the foot of the bed, naked, reclining back, stroking himself. It stops me in my tracks, although it shouldn’t because this is typical Massimo—always ready for sex, want and need at the forefront of his voracious sexual appetite.Fuck, I’m gonna miss it, in all its thick glory.
I lean against the entryway and watch him as I’m licking my lips from the longing he creates in me. “Hard at work?”
His eyes, dark and hooded with desire, bore into mine when he says in a low, husky voice, “Come over here. You’re leaving soon, and I won’t get to be inside you until next week.”
My heart squeezes because I know this is the last time I’ll see him.
The last time I’ll feel him inside of me.
The last time he’ll make love to me.
I push off the doorjamb and remove my frames, placing them on the dresser to my right. I stride across the room until I’m standing in front of him.
He puts his hands on my curvy hips and squeezes before moving them over my buttocks. The pressure of his hands heats me. I peer down at him and lick my lips, my curls cascading around my face. We gaze into each other’s eyes as he’s caressing my rounded cheeks.
The love in his eyes burns at their edges, the embers searing me. Can he see right through me? See the sadness seeping from my pores, itching to escape? If he could, he would call me out on it because the significance of what’s about to happen is too great not to.
“Take this off,” he commands, tugging at the bottom of my tank top.
