Threads That Bind Us (Syndicate of Fate Book 1)

23. Charlie

Gwen sleeps nearly the entire eight-hour flight to Rome. I probably should have too, but I couldn’t stop staring, or muttering stories about my childhood to her, or running my fingers through her hair.

I want to drown in her.

I can’t explain it any other way. It’s a desperation I didn’t know I could feel, a joy bordering on pain. It’s unfathomable that I once believed I could live my entire life with her and not beg to be her entire world. That I once thought fate brought us together to solve mutual problems.

I was wrong. Fate didn’t bring us together. She is my fate.

I wake her when we start our descent into Rome, and the first thing she does when she blinks awake is smile at me. It warms me from the inside out.

We deplane, and another conspicuously dressed security agent meets us at the end of the jet bridge. Gwen’s a little jet lagged, rubbing her eyes as the agent ushers us toward a private lounge.

We have enough time between flights for a quick breakfast. Gwen seems more quiet than usual, but I don’t push her. This weekend must be overwhelming, not only meeting my family, but being so far from Ana. Especially while we’re still waiting for her results to come back.

It feels like everything is happening at once. It’s an effort to bite my tongue, to stop myself from adding one more thing to her plate. I have to remind myself that we have all the time in the world.

The flight from Rome to Bari is mercifully short and almost completely over land, which means Gwen spends most of the time staring out the window, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of the horizon and the bright blue waters of the Tyrrhenian and Adriatic.

We land in Bari, and it’s drier than I remember. The smell of the sea is sharp and soothing, and the afternoon sun feels familiar against my skin.

Once the airport car service takes us to the private lounge, we have a few minutes to spare before our luggage arrives. Gwen disappears into the bathroom with her carry-on.

We won’t see my family until tomorrow, but this afternoon still feels important. I want Gwen to enjoy herself. To feel welcome here, like this is a place she can see herself coming back to, maybe calling a second home. I try to put myself together a bit in the restroom, brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face, shaking off the lack of sleep as I step back into the lounge.

One of my mother’s drivers arrives, and we discuss my plans for the day until I hear the bathroom door swing open behind me.

I can’t help the way my jaw drops. She’s changed, no longer in comfortable clothes suited for a long flight, but into a white sundress covered in small, bright red flowers. They’re embroidered, not printed, making the fabric seem like it’s rippling with the petals. Her hair is tied up, exposing her neck and shoulders, soft tendrils loose and curling around her face. The dress ends mid-thigh, the long legs I’ve knelt in front of, kissed and bit and begged to open, on display.

She clutches her bag in front of her, rocking back and forth on her toes. After a few moments where I struggle to form cohesive thoughts, she blushes. Every inch of exposed skin, from her shoulders to her temples, burns brightly, and I want to follow the path of her flush with my tongue.

“It’s nice out.” She shrugs, still avoiding my gaze. “Is this okay? I brought something more formal for tomorrow, obviously, but I thought since it’s warm and…”

I don’t let her finish the thought. I’m across the room in an instant, pulling her body flush against mine and kissing her like she’ll give me the oxygen I need to function again.

Her lips part so easily for me, letting me in, demanding as much from me as I am from her. Her hands find the back of my neck, fingernails scratching into my scalp as she pulls herself up closer to me, standing on her toes. I can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop gripping the fabric at her hip, or running my fingertips over the exposed skin of her back and neck. I’d spend the rest of my life in this airport lounge if it meant kissing her like this, warm and sun-soaked and beautiful.

She’s the one to pull away, her hands still wrapped around my neck possessively, making my blood hum.

“You like the dress?” she asks, her voice teasing.

I press my lips to hers again.

“I’m buying you a hundred of them,” I say, kissing up the column of her throat while she laughs. “In every color you can find.”

I don’t let Gwen unwrap herself from me as the driver returns from wherever she disappeared to and informs us that the car is ready. I only release her so she can slip into the back of the car, but my hand is on her thigh as soon as possible.

“I thought the airport was close to the city center?” she asks as we get onto the highway, headed north.

“My parents raised us in Bari, but our family home is in Trani,” I say, warmth and contentment spreading through me as I watch her take in the olive trees and grapevines. Her eyes light up, darting around like everything”s moving too fast for her to soak up. We’ll come back, I want to tell her. So you can see everything. “Only about thirty minutes away.”

There isn’t much of a view of the sea on the drive, so when we get to Trani, I have the driver drop us near the port, telling Gwen to leave her bags.

Hand in hand, we walk along the docks, the blue and white boats knocking against their slips, soft waves lapping against the rocky shore. She asks about my family, and growing up somewhere so beautiful, and where else I’ve traveled. I tell her everything, because I can’t help myself. I want her to know every part of me. To know I trust her.

We find a trattoria and sit at one of the little outdoor tables, tucked under an awning so her shoulders don’t burn in the sun. Over fresh seafood and sweet wine, we never stop sharing and touching, our lips and hands and her foot against my leg under the table. All this time we’ve been together, and I’ve never found myself without something to say to her, without a reason to touch her.

We keep eating until we’re full, the wait staff kind and familiar, asking when I got back home and when they’ll see the other Costa troublemakers. The town is small enough that, even in the tourist-heavy summer months, the locals remember each other.

No one asks about my mother. I don’t know if that means we’ve kept our secret well or haven’t at all. I’m not sure it matters here.

The walk to the resort I booked for us is short and pleasant, the cool breeze picking up the strands of hair that have fallen out of their tie. She’s clearly exhausted, but there’s a relaxed smile on her face that feels brand new. I’ve never seen her so at ease.

The stone facade of the building radiates the warmth of the day as the sun sinks behind it. I take Gwen’s hand and press her fingers to my lips, trying to impress even a drop of what I feel for her into the motion. If it takes decades, I don’t mind. I’ll prove to her what we are.

I slip the room key from my pocket and lead Gwen to the central staircase. There are elevators here, but the beauty of the architecture of these buildings cannot be understated, and I’m desperate to admire her against the backdrop of my home.

When we reach our door on the top level, I greet the security guard that my father likely stationed. Trani is safe, but we’d be fools to believe our enemies didn’t know this is our home.

The penthouse is quiet, and despite the measures taken, I feel the need to sweep the suite, ensuring she’s safe while we’re here. When I’m reassured, I turn to find Gwen, but she’s not trailing behind me. The small kitchen and living room are empty, so I slip back into the bedroom. Through the bathroom’s open doors, I see her sitting on the edge of the clawfoot tub big enough to fit both of us with room to spare. Gauzy drapes framing the open window float in the warm breeze. The view is breathtaking; the sky bursts in oranges, pinks, and purples that are reflected in the still sea. Her hair is down, moving gently in the wind, exposing her shoulders to the wash of sunset.

I will prove to her that this is more than an advantageous agreement. Partners, friends, benefits, soulmates. Because I am too selfish to have less than all of her, to allow her to think she owns anything less than my soul.

I could stand here for a lifetime and watch this private painting in front of me, but I cross the room and trail my hand down her back, her smooth skin lighting me on fire from the inside out.

“Your home is beautiful,” she says softly, not taking her eyes off the sea.

She is my home. She is beautiful.

“I’m glad you like it,” I say instead, combing my fingers through her hair slowly.

She turns her face up at me and her smile is so pure and undiluted it”s like drinking straight from the bottle.

“Thank you for bringing me here, trusting me with this,” she says, leaning into my body so her head is resting on my chest. “I hope I don’t screw this up.”

“You’re going to be perfect,” I say, dragging my nails against her scalp like she does for me. She seems to enjoy it, almost burrowing into my body. “You were meant for this.”

She peers up at me, and I beg her with my eyes to hear the words I can’t say yet. You were meant for me.

I cup her face with my hands and press my lips to hers. Softly, like I’m asking her permission, which I am. With deft fingers she untucks my shirt from my pants, trailing her fingers over my stomach, leaving goosebumps across my skin. I lift her against me, my hands under her thighs, her legs wrapped around me. I grip her ass, unable to contain my groan as she slips her tongue in my mouth and her fingers into my hair. Her ankles hook behind my back, digging into my spine as she grinds herself closer to me.

I walk her backward to the bed, unable to separate myself from her, trailing my lips down her throat, over her collarbones, to the neckline of her dress. Her chest heaves, pressing her perfect tits into the hem.

“Can I touch you, Gwen?” I ask against her skin, my fingers brushing over the bodice of her dress, pulling a loose thread from one of the embroidered flowers. I tuck it into my pocket. “Please?”

She grips the comforter above her head, shaking her head no. I pull my hands back, but leave my lips against the swell of her breast, nipping at the edge of her dress.

“Okay, mio filo,” I breathe, grasping my hands behind my back.

She shakes her head again, her eyes pinched shut in determination. I try not to smile, but she must feel the tilt of my lips against her, because she’s suddenly sliding away from me.

“I want to touch you,” she pants, propping herself up on her elbows. Her pretty dress is barely covering her, rucked up around her waist.

My hands strain against my own grip.

“Anything for you,” I swear.

She gets that look in her eyes like it’s a challenge, like I’m daring her to test my resolve. Maybe I am.

She shifts so she’s on her knees, ass against her heels, before reaching for my shirt again. Movements slow and sensual, she rocks her hips back and forth, almost like she’s dancing to the rhythm of the waves on the shore outside. Once my shirt’s completely open, she pushes it over my shoulders, her hands lingering on my collarbones.

“Don’t let go of your hands,” she whispers in my ear as she tugs the shirt all the way down my arms. It bunches on my wrists, and even though I could easily release my grip and free myself, it still feels like a restraint.

My blood is thundering in my veins, my heart pounding so hard I can barely think past it.

“If you want me to stop, just say so, and I will, okay?” she asks, eyes clear and skin flushed.

My whole body is filled with a low, pleasant buzzing feeling as she leans forward and traces the olive branches tattooed on my neck with her tongue.

Her mouth drives me to the edge of sanity. Every lick and kiss and bite across my chest, my throat, my arms, my stomach has my muscles tightening. She’s slow and careful compared to the frantic rise and fall of my chest, leaving teeth marks in her wake. Her fingertips softly run down my back when her teeth skim my bicep. Featherlight kisses torture me as she places them along my hipbones. My cock is painfully hard, demanding to be inside her. I can’t suppress a whimper as she drifts her knuckles over its impression against my zipper.

“Please,” I pant, head thrown toward the ceiling, grip on my own hands white-knuckled. “Don’t stop, please.”

But immediately the heat of her body disappears. When I snap my head down, her lips are puffy and full, but the lust that had filled her eyes has been replaced by something close to fear. She shakes her head a bit.

“Sorry, you said don’t stop,” she says, almost to herself. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, seeming to resettle herself. “I reacted to stop. I didn’t know if it was too much.”

My heart is in my throat, making it nearly impossible to speak.

I was never under the impression that the support Gwen and I exchanged had comparative value. What I gave her was never worth more than what she gave me. But it wasn’t until this moment that I realized she might care about me as much as I care about her.

“I’m okay,” I breathe, trying to calm her anxiety. “I didn’t think, mio filo, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Maybe we should pick another word, though.”

“Lemon.” The word slips from my lips without conscious thought. Gwen raises her eyebrows at me, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “They make me think of French 75s.”

“Okay,” she whispers, trailing a single finger from the hollow of my throat to the waistband of my pants. “Lemon.”

I tell myself I can be good for her. Keep my hands to myself. Even when she loosens the buckle of my belt. Even when she undoes the button and slips her hand into my boxers, making me pant her name over and over.

She touches everywhere she wants, her breaths growing heavier as she works herself up. Her hand disappears under her dress as she takes my cock down her throat, and I can’t help it anymore.

“Please, Gwen,” I beg, my voice breaking on her name. “Please let me make you come. I need you.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to ignore my pleas, but she meets my eyes, her mouth still wrapped around me, and pumps me down her throat a few more strokes before letting go.

“Okay, Charlie,” she says, her voice breathy and eyes glazed.

The blankets rumple around her as she lets herself fall backward, propping her head up on the pillows. My heart tumbles over itself, losing all sense of rhythm as she runs her thumb along her bottom lip, collecting her own saliva and my precum, sucking it off her own finger as her legs fall open.

“Make me come however you want.”

It’s an invitation I would walk through fire to meet. I shuck off my pants and boxers and crawl between her knees.

“Thank you.”

Running my hands down her thighs, I spread her further. Her panties are pale pink lace, complementing the petals on her dress, and she’s going to be the death of me.

She arches the small of her back when my mouth meets her clit over the lace, nearly soaked through already. I grip her thighs so tightly I’d worry I was hurting her if her soft moans of pleasure weren’t filling the entire room. I hook one finger under the fabric and pull her panties to the side.

“So fucking perfect,” I groan, unable to rip my eyes away as I watch two of my fingers disappear into her pussy, hard and fast.

Her gasping breaths chip away at my control as I pump into her, feeling her clench around me as I curl my fingers. Despite how hard I am, the thought of stopping and filling her with my cock barely crosses my mind. I press my hand harder against her thigh so I can see her. She’s moaning my name, cursing and crying out for more, and I can’t deny her anything.

“Charlie, fuck, so good, you’re doing so…” she cuts herself off with a cry, her hand moving to pinch her nipple. “Fuck, it feels like…”

“I know, mio filo,” I soothe, keeping my pace and watching her eyes roll back in her head. “You said to make you come however I want. I want this, if you like how it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants, her hips lifting to meet my thrusts. “Feels so good, Charlie.”

My body’s on fire, sweat dripping down my temples as her whole body shakes and finally breaks. She soaks my hand as she comes, her pussy clenching my fingers as I work her through her orgasm. I don’t stop pumping my fingers into her, even as I take her clit into my mouth. The feeling of her hands in my hair, pulling and pushing, grinding her pussy against my face, causes any lingering control I had to slip. I lick and suck her clit, savoring the taste of her orgasm on my tongue. A state of euphoria takes over as I bury my mouth against her, barely stopping to breathe until she comes on my fingers and mouth again.

As the waves of her orgasm recede, I slow my movements, bringing myself back down to earth with her. She’s breathing hard, her chest and stomach rising and falling, glistening with a sheen of sweat. Even though my body realizes I haven’t come—my dick is painfully hard, pressed against the sheets—the satisfaction of bringing her so much pleasure is a release in itself. All the while, she runs her fingernails through my hair, soothing the places where she pulled. I feel like I’ve been skydiving, the adrenaline of the fall a contrast to the jarring landing back on earth.

“Come here,” she pants, gently pulling at my hair.

I crawl up her body, meeting her lips with mine. A hand travels between us down my chest until she’s teasing my cock with her fingertips. But I tug her hand away, wrapping it around my neck. As much as my body suggests otherwise, I need this more. Her body wrapped around mine, her slow and steady breath against my skin. She breaks the kiss, leaning back with her eyebrows raised, and I’m relieved not to see any hurt or rejection in her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as I lay my head against her sternum, listening to the beat of her heart.

I laugh, kissing her ribs and the underside of her breast, anywhere I can reach without moving.

“I think I should be asking you that,” I reply, my body shaking slightly as I breathe deeply.

“That’s not how this works,” she says, trailing her fingers over my shoulder, her voice a bit chastising. When I look at her, she still has her eyebrows raised, and she pats her chest.

I take it as an invitation and move so I’m holding her, my head tucked under her chin like hers has been under mine so many times. She makes soothing circles on my back and I time my breathing with hers, feeling less and less unmoored with each exhale.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, pressing my lips into the hollow of her throat.

“Incredible,” she says, almost laughing. “A little surprised, too. And my skin feels all tingly. A little selfish, if I’m being honest.” I drag my hand down her side and feel the tiny hairs on her skin stand up under my touch. “Now it’s your turn.”

I consider lying, or only telling her about the euphoria of watching her fall apart for me, of knowing I can make her feel like that. But this weekend is about trust, in all things.

“I don’t feel like you were being selfish,” I promise, nipping at her neck and tasting the salt of her skin. It soothes me a little more. “I am a little shaky. I felt a little like I was having an out-of-body experience. Coming out of it was a little jarring,” I admit.

She doesn’t react at first, just keeps up her soft touches against my skin. After a minute, she exhales.

“It’s felt like that for me before,” she admits, and I roll off her chest so I can look in her eyes. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, avoiding my gaze. But I put my hand on her cheek and find her eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, my chest tightening with guilt that I didn’t notice. She always seemed so elated, like she was floating on a cloud.

“I didn’t really know how to explain it. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just kind of surreal.” She traces the olive branches again, this time with her fingertips. “I looked it up. It’s pretty common.”

I’m not new to this world, but refusing to engage in dominance and submission for over a decade has protected me from the realities of dropping, even if I’ve witnessed it happen.

“Yeah, it is,” I say, swallowing hard. She smiles softly and kisses my forehead, and my muscles uncoil a fraction more. “This helps, though.”

“This?” she asks, kissing my jaw and neck.

I pull her against me, her skin against mine like an anchor in a storm.

“Just holding you. Listening to you.”

She wraps her arms around me and hums, her legs tangling with mine.

“We can do that. It helps me too,” she says, her smile pressed against my chest. The last bits of light through the window look like silver starlight in her hair. “For as long as you want.”

Forever, I think as the sun dips below the horizon. Forever is how long I want.