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I tilt my head. “Not surprised at you. More surprised at myself.”
“Why? Never thought you’d score a catch like me who can cook and make your toes curl at the same time?”
I swat at his arm. “While that’s definitely a feat, it’s more about me opening up. I don’t do that. And I don’t do parents, either. But somehow you got me to do both. In one day. The worst day of every year.” I shrug. “It’s odd. For me.”
“Do you feel better?” His dark eyes are so warm, so concerned, so…invested. He cares. Somebody actually cares.
I take a deep breath. Physically, hell yes! Delicious aftershocks rocked me to sleep last night, and the memories of Rocco’s body, his hands, his mouth all over me…good God, it was every fantasy turned reality.
But emotionally?
The pain never goes away. I’ll always carry the loss and everything that goes along with it. And being rejected by my father? Yeah, that still hurts like a bitch, too.
Yet something new has taken over my heart…something that, for the first time, can blunt the anguish.
The pain is still there, but there’s less of it weighing me down. I feel lighter, like the burden of what I’ve carried with me for so long isn’t quite as heavy.
Or dark.
And now there is a sliver of hope cutting through the murk. A hint of what my future can become. A glimpse of who I want to be part of it.
“Yes.” I grin and pick up a strawberry. “I do.”
“Oh,” he muses. “Okay, then.”
“Why do you sound disappointed?” I pop the strawberry into my mouth.
Rocco shrugs and leans back on his elbows, the muscles in his chest tightening. “If you’re feeling better, my job is done. You don’t need me anymore.”
I move the tray aside and drop the sheet before climbing on top of him. “You think that’s all I wanted from you? Just some sex therapy?”
“You used me for the spicy Italian sausage, and now you don’t need it anymore.” He gives me the puppy dog eyes, and I let out a loud snicker.
“Don’t you worry. I am in no way finished with it.” I drop little kisses down the front of his abdomen and spread his legs. “I’m starving, too. And I’d rather have you than anything else on that tray.”
I drag my fingernails down his sides, and he jumps, letting out a loud shriek. My eyes widen. “Jesus, did that noise come out of you?”
“I’m ticklish,” he says.
“You’re serious?”
He nods. “Yep.”
“And you scream like a bitch every time it happens?”
“Not something I’m proud of, but we all have our crosses to bear.”
I look at him hard for a few seconds. “You know, the more I get to know you, the less I think of you as a mafia thug.”
He chuckles. “Thanks. Except it doesn’t really sound like much of a compliment.”
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
“You’re still turned on. Admit it.”
“I am.” I grin, wiggling my fingernails in front of his face. “But if you shatter a window with those squeals, I’m outta here.” I take his hand and slide it down the front of my torso. “Mm, I think I know what I want for breakfast.”
He jumps on the bed and pulls me to a sitting position, the bed sheet falling around me. I pull off his t-shirt, and he shoves his sweatpants to his ankles, flinging them off foot by foot.
