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I stop in the doorway. Gio sheds his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and my core tingles at the sight of his abs. God, I’ve missed that body, but I can’t survive another hate fuck.
Not with this man. I might question my love for him because of the last few months, but I definitely don’t hate him.
At that moment, I need him so much. And while unable to find the words, I decide I need to take back control.
I remove the distance between us and startle him when I yank the shirt off his shoulders. Gio observes me with raised eyebrows. While I fiddle with his belt, I nuzzle his neck and kiss him gently.
He lets out a sharp breath and leans down. Finding the hem of my dress, he steps back and pulls it over my head. His eyes roam my body as if he’s seeing me for the first time. I finally figure out the belt buckle and yank down his pants.
We both stand in our underwear, staring at each other with anticipation and hesitation. His eyes drop to the butterfly pendant between my breasts.
I touch the fine jewel. “Thank you,” I croak, the tiny stones burning under my fingertips. What a fitting symbol of our relationship. It grew from ugly to beautiful, and very tragically short-lived.
I pull him to me and brush my lips over his. A moan of frustration finds its way from his throat, and he deepens the kiss. The sensation that explodes in my body and heart has lethal properties. There is no way I can survive him.
I move toward the bed, and Gio follows without breaking the kiss. His hands are everywhere, a rough caress that bruises and vindicates. That makes me feel all the feels.
Tears prickle my eyes, and my heart hammers against my ribcage as I try to reconcile what this means. Can we forge a new connection?
Gio pushes me to the bed and lowers himself onto me. For a moment I relish in the solidity of his muscles above me, but then I take him by surprise and flip us. I straddle him, knowing this is the only way I can control the tempo and make love to him.
Gio rips off my underwear, and I lift to allow him to enter me. He fills me to the hilt and I still, because… Jesus.
“Fuck.” The word is strangled on his lips, and it encourages me to rock my hips. Gio throws his head back. A beautiful man.
I move slowly, relishing the sensations attacking my body, looking down at him. At the man who has made me the happiest and hurt me the most. He squeezes my breasts, playing with them, drinking my body in, but never reaching my face.
Tears blur my vision as I ride him slowly, hoping to find the lost intimacy between us, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
I stop moving, forcing him to snap his eyes to me. We engage in a silent duel of pain, hurt, betrayal.
The L word is on my lips, but before I muster the courage to risk my poor heart, Gio’s nostrils flare and he turns us over, and then rolls me on to my stomach and hoists my hips up.
He plunges into me and sets a punishing tempo. I can’t see his eyes and tell him with mine what I want to say. He took control, and I lose mine completely as my orgasm builds up.
My limbs go liquid as I see stars, and Gio follows me shortly. He rides me through our orgasms, and then collapses on top of me.
Still in me, he kisses my shoulder and then lowers his forehead there and exhales. His sigh is loaded with regret, and tears trail down my cheeks.
We stay like this for I don’t know how long. I can barely breathe under his weight, but I don’t dare complain because having him this close, this much mine, is the most intimate we’ve been since January. Even though he fought hard to avoid it.
Nothing has been resolved tonight. Nothing has changed, but so much has. When he finally pulls out of me, I mourn his loss immediately.
Gio stands up, leaving me exposed and conflicted.
I don’t want him to see my tears. I have to be strong for this. I roughly wipe them away, and as I try to stand up, he appears and stops me, turning me on to my back. He hands me a washcloth. I stare at the warm fabric, my hands shaking.
Did we just take one step closer to possible reconciliation? I clean myself, strangely self-conscious as he watches me intently. He opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it.
He takes the cloth from me and covers me with the duvet. “I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms.”
Something dies inside me. Was this just a quick fuck for him again?
“Stay,” I croak.
Our eyes meet. The dark brown abyss. Full of conflict.
Minutes tick by as we stare at each other. I squeeze the duvet and pull it closer to my neck, protecting myself. But no million-thread count fabric can save me from his words.
