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I had come determined to remain stern, to defend myself, to show him how poorly he treated me, but one look at him and all my resolve dissolved into an insignificant puddle at my feet.
“Blue,” he rasped.
My heart hammered against my chest with a strange score of drums that echoed in my mind. All rational thought evaporated at the realization that however much I’d been hurting, seeing him suffer inflicted a new level of pain that skinned me raw and left me exposed to agony.
“I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time.
Guided by pure instinct, Massi reached and pulled me in and our mouths fused. We stumbled inside, and he kicked the door closed then pushed me against the wall. Our tongues and lips danced in a frantic choreography of pain, lust, desire, suffering and torture, communicating all our feelings. The suppressed ones, and those that we had shouted at each other so many times.
The kiss was desperate, unforgiving and redeeming at the same time. I found the hem of his T-shirt, and when my hands touched his pecs a sound escaped me somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Coming from the deep, hidden part of my broken soul, the sound reverberated through both of us. A cry of our love. Of our desire.
I had come to talk, but my body overrode that goal immediately. I didn’t even realize when or how my dress ended up on the floor, but when Massi raised my arms above my head and gripped my wrists with one of his large hands, the skin-on-skin contact sent all sort of signals into my center. Burning desire. Desperate need. Consuming obsession.
I was completely helpless when it came to this man. The love of my life.
Pinned by his solid body, my back cooled by the wall, I could not move, was absolutely dominated by the man who took so much from me. He grazed my jaw with his teeth, nipping and teasing and my breath hitched.
“Blue, baby, I can’t live without you,” he whispered against my skin, and this time I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks. He kissed them all away, whispering gentle words that were breaking my heart and gluing the pieces together at the same time.
My mind was blank, my body overcome by a need so strong I feared it would break me. But all the time the touch, the voice, the scent of Massimo Cassinetti, my husband, kept pulling me away from fear, closer to peace.
“I need you, my love,” I whimpered, wiggling beneath his firm hold, grinding against him, desperate for a deeper connection.
He groaned. “Blue, my beautiful Blue.” Our haunted eyes locked, and for a moment complete stillness descended, interrupted only by our heaving chests and thumping hearts.
He dropped his forehead to mine, and when I saw his tears something broke inside me. Something that tied me closer to him, for eternity, while at the same time warned me to run and save us both.
“Take me, Massi. I’m yours,” I said, half-aware it was a mistake.
He stiffened, his dark eyes baring me to the last sliver of my soul, to its darkest corner. And while I didn’t want to accept it yet, I could sense it, and he could probably feel the end of us there.
The shift in the energy palpable, I shook with lust and desire, with grief and fear, with love and agony.
“Blue,” he groaned, and let go of any restraint. He ripped off my panties with his free hand, spread me with his knee, and I couldn’t wait to find myself in him. He let go of my wrists to lift me and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
Fueled by the misery of the past weeks or months and by the feeling of finality, I guided his erection to my entrance and Massi impaled me with an urgent, almost violent thrust. And I met him with equal anguish.
We chased our release, bodies slapping against each other, skin covered with perspiration, the wall chafing my back, but none of it mattered. It was just me and him.
Me and the love of my life connecting on the deepest level. On the level where we had always created the most meaningful connection. Just not a lasting one.
Synced to the last fiber in our bodies, we went over the precipice together. The intensity of my orgasm shocked me to the core. I had never experienced such a tornado. A perfect storm and a blissful paradise in one.
Spent, I clung to Massi, my body wobbly. His breath on my shoulder was uneven, but so wonderfully familiar I wished we could just stay like this forever. I wanted to say something, but my mind was void of logic.
Massi stepped back slightly and scooped me up. He carried me to our bed and placed me down like precious, fragile cargo. He watched me for a moment, perhaps equally lacking words, or just not wanting to say them.
“You’re beautiful,” he said finally, and a wave of self-consciousness surprised me. I reached for the cover, suddenly feeling exposed.
“Don’t.” He stopped me and lay beside me. Turning me so my back molded into his chest, he held me tight.
We stayed like that for long moments, maybe centuries, unable to advance forward, unwilling to revisit the past, just suspended in the brittle cocoon of love that was threatening to burst if we moved.
“I’m going to LA. Frederick offered me a position at his new restaurant there.” I finally said what I’d come to say. I braced for the storm, for yelling and a fight. But none came.
Massi’s body went rigid against mine. His breathing hastened and I could feel his heartbeat pulsing against my shoulder blade almost as fast as mine. But outwardly he didn’t react, which scared me more than any of his outbursts.
I felt like the last five years of my life since I had first lain my eyes on him led to this moment. A moment of destruction.
