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The razor-sharp metal cleaver plummets through the air and connects with a violent clang against the wooden surface, splitting it. Panic courses through my veins, and I scream. My lungs burn with the effort, blurring my vision, but there is no sound emerging.
I sit up abruptly, the cold sweat dripping down my face and seeping into the fabric of my shirt. I pant as the dream fades away slowly in the frantic beat of my heart. Shit. I haven’t had this nightmare for months now.
“Mila.” Gio knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”
No.
My disoriented mind, still lingering in the darkness of my sleep, can’t form an answer. Is this a dream as well? “I’m okay.” I think I say that, but Gio knocks again.
“Mila, I’m coming in.”
The door squeaks. I lean forward, dropping my head between my sheet-covered legs.
“You screamed.”
My mind is still fighting the fog, and the bitter aftertaste.
“Mila, you’re scaring me. Can I come closer?”
“Yes, please.”
My sob rolls through the air and Gio is by my side immediately, wrapping his arms around me. I try to fight the tears, but they rake my body anyway. I don’t know how long it takes before I finally fully register the situation.
Gio runs his hand up and down my back, his palm warm and safe. He murmurs soft words of consolation into my hair.
“I haven’t had that nightmare in a long time.”
He loosens his grip and leans back to look at me. I’m a mess, my face wet with tears and more.
“It wasn’t about the helicopter free fall?”
I shake my head. “Half a year ago, Massi’s business rival threatened me and Gina. He wanted to cut my fingers off with a meat cleaver.” Another broken sob shudders through me.
I flinch as Gio’s fingers dig into my arms for a moment. Something dark passes through his face before his eyes soften, focusing on me with so much care that the terror melts away slowly.
He pulls me back into his arms. “Fucking hell. Massi mentioned something, but I didn’t realize it was this serious.”
His masculine scent surrounds me, awakening butterflies in my stomach. Cradled in his solid arms, I feel safe. It’s a strange concept after years of worrying to please someone and then worrying about taking care of someone. And failing mostly.
“I’m sorry. I’m usually not such a mess. It’s just—”
“Stop it, Princess, you have every right to be a mess. You’re a beautiful mess, in any case.”
We both tense at his words, boundaries blurring, need and want coursing between us.
“Sorry. I-I—”
“Gio, stop, let’s apply the winesty to the rest of this night.” I don’t even know what I’m asking of him, but before I can stop myself, I kiss him.
It’s a chaste kiss, soft on his lips, but I don’t break it immediately, just lingering against his warm breath, waiting. The air of anticipation mingles between us. We both tense, but he doesn’t move away.
Our faces are only an inch apart, and in the shadows of the room I can’t see his face, but I can feel the war in him. I hesitate and hope. Is he going to pull away or lean in?
I’m about to collapse back and hide under the pillow when he groans, and oh my…
His hands rake through my hair, pulling me closer and angling me for better access. He takes over with such confidence that I let go of all inhibition, allowing him to savor me. This kiss is different than the first one. It’s still urgent and desperate, but it’s also decadent, like a dark chocolate with a sweet but bold promise.
I moan and Gio lets out a deep, masculine guttural sound. If sin had a musical score, it would be this sound. He thrusts his tongue, deepening the connection, and I swear I feel lightheaded again.
