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“We can stop.” His voice brought her attention from his broad chest and onto his eyes, now dark pools in the dim of the room. “Emilia, just tell me and we can stop.”
She shook her head, swamped by his willingness to put her first. Words now totally lost, she raised her hands and slid her dress’s thick straps from her shoulders, allowing the outfit to fall to her feet with a light thud.
His fingertips connected with the sides of her waist, and he tugged her in, his heat-stoking gaze stirring an inferno low in her belly.
Her heart thundered, and her ears filled with the loud rush of her blood, her legs weak while she warred between wanting to cry and wanting to leap into action. She hadn’t ever felt so joyfully out of control.
“Kiss me again.” She held his gaze as she spoke, only for her vision to fall to darkness, her eyes slamming shut the moment his lips took hers.
Five years. Five years since she’d been with a man, and that last time had been nothing like this time.
She kissed Blaine back, desperate to get to him, to make him feel her desire. She wanted to lose herself in everything that being with him meant to her. To reclaim their years apart and all they’d been through together.
She pulled at his belt. He kicked off his shoes. She freed him. He unhooked her bra. Neither one stopped the fevered exploration of the other, and soon enough, they both stood bare.
She pressed at his shoulders and sat him on the couch, allowing his gaze to dance over her nakedness, his chest unmoving like maybe he forgot to breathe. Well, that makes two of us.
She stepped in and lowered herself to his lap, his warm and hard surfaces surrounding her in strength. But she could be strong too. She’d survived, hadn’t she? She’d learned to be all she needed. Her strength had brought her here, where she rewrote her story and recovered who she was always meant to be, gathering all that had been stolen from her.
Including Blaine.
She sank over him and guided him into her, taking time to adjust to the hot sting of his length and width. He seemed to notice her physical discomfort and pressed his hands on either side of her ribs, supporting, guiding.
She used the moment to appreciate this man and his quiet confidence, that his strength extended to letting her decide her place with him. That appreciation had her relaxing and luxuriating in the feel of him, had her wanting to weep at the tenderness of it all. At his steady stream of kisses over her neck and his soft touch over her skin.
A force grew within her, urging her to move, to take him—to celebrate her freedom to live and love as she wished. Her heart surged with that need, and she rose and fell over him; his long fingers clenched at her hips, pressing her down and adding to the sumptuous pressure.
Not once did his mouth leave her body, his lips brushing a nipple, his teeth scraping a shoulder. Her hands traveled up the thick muscle of his chest, worshipping his heat until her fingers found the nape of his neck, and she grasped at his short waves there.
She rocked against him, slow at first, then building speed. One moan after another poured from her, each movement taking her closer to a climax that had eluded her for so long. His capable hands held her tight, and she arched back, her moan exploding into a guttural cry, one that held years of grief, and loneliness, and longing.
He took over now, helping her move atop him and drawing out her pleasure until she feared she’d fall apart from the unrestrained bliss. But fall she did. In so many ways, she fell and let go.
He lengthened within her and joined her over the edge, into a valley of pure and heart-stopping connection. For the longest time, she stayed in his lap, her arms locked around him through the silent reverie.
Save for an awareness of his smell, all rational thought escaped her. The leather and wood, his skin’s added musk from their heated love-making. She wanted to stay like this forever. She hoped they would get that chance.
Sometime after midnight, Emilia lay in her bed, unable to sleep, her arm tucked under Blaine’s head. She slid away, leaving him to rest, pausing a moment to sit on the mattress edge because a sense of overwhelming guilt had her tummy churning.
After what they’d shared, there were things she no longer wanted to keep from him, but honesty would come at a cost. He’d have questions, some of which she had no answers to. Not without learning the latest news from LA.
She pressed her feet to the cold wood boards and stood, the years of lies and secrets having caused so much hurt. Another phone call with her father was the least she could do. She’d confront him over pushing Blaine from her life, over stealing her choices and therefore her happiness, then she’d find out if Anthony remained on the loose.
Perhaps there were new leads. Maybe she’d have an easier story to tell if the shambles of her escape included an ending where Anthony sat locked behind bars.
She threw a crocheted blanket over her shoulders and wandered into the living room with her phone, closing the door while the dial tone to her dad’s number rang in her ear.
“Hello, you have reached Vittorio Bonacci. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
The prerecorded message left her frowning into the near darkness.
She redialed, pacing the room.
“Hello, you have re—”
She hung up again, a disconcerting gnawing in her stomach.
Despite the message’s request, she couldn’t leave a message. Not when she’d gone to the extent of using a concealed number. She had to reduce any evidence of her existence. So, she sank back to the couch, one thought bothering her more than the rest.
Her father worked hard. Way too hard. It was midnight in LA, and he wouldn’t be asleep right now. He’d probably be tinkering with a new design, maybe a statement piece for a celebrity red-carpet appearance or a commission for some private client.
In all her years of knowing her dad, with all their differences and misunderstandings, there was one thing she knew about Vittorio Bonacci. The one thing that troubled her most…
He never missed one of her calls.
