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“Jesus. Gianna. Fuck! Never. Felt. So good.”
Neither of them moved as the last vestiges of their climaxes rumbled through them. Even after they’d faded completely away, they remained there, locked in place, the only sounds in the room the crackle of the fire and their gasping breaths.
Gianna stirred first; her strength completely gone as she fell facedown into the pillow, their bodies disconnecting. She missed the feeling of him inside her in an instant.
She expected Elio to join her—God, he had to be exhausted too—but he remained where he was, kneeling between her legs.
“Gianna,” he said, his voice low.
“Mmm,” she hummed.
“Are you on the pill?”
It took a second before her brain engaged enough to understand the question and form an answer. “I was getting the shot. Was due for one in October, but after all the shit that went down with Sam, I didn’t bother.”
He was quiet.
“El, if you’re still worried about before, you were only inside me a few seconds and you didn’t come. I’m sure it’s fi—”
“The condom broke.”
Gianna lay still, trying to let the words sink in. As she did so, she noticed something she hadn’t before…the sticky dampness between her legs.
“Oh.”
Two minutes earlier, she didn’t have enough energy to lift her head, certain she was on the brink of twelve exhausted hours of dreamless sleep. Now, her heart was racing, and she suspected she could run a marathon if asked to.
She pushed herself up, climbing off the mattress. “I’m going to go to the bathroom to clean up,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded. Her gaze was locked on the edge of the bed because she was too afraid to look at him, to see Elio’s expression. “I might jump up and down a couple thousand times too. Just for good measure.” It was a weak joke at best, but God, what could she say?
She grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser next to the bed, pulling it over her head, too aware of her nakedness all of a sudden. She started to walk toward the bathroom, but she didn’t manage more than two steps before Elio’s hand snaked into view. Before she realized his intent, he’d grasped her wrist, stopping her.
She looked at his hand, wrapped around hers, recalling the way he’d done the same thing when he’d guided hers to his cock.
“Gianna, look at me.”
She closed her eyes briefly, his request harder than he realized.
“Look at me,” he said again, slowly, almost sternly.
She lifted her eyes to his.
“Go do what you need to do, then come right back here.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Don’t hide in there,” he added. “And don’t start scrubbing anything.”
She barked out a loud, unexpected laugh. “I can’t make any promises.”
“I’m giving you five minutes. If you’re not back, I’m coming to get you.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He released her and she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door. She cleaned herself up as best she could, waiting for the panic attack that should be coming.
It didn’t make an appearance.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, but she didn’t recognize the woman looking back. It wasn’t that she looked different. It was that she felt different.
