12. 12 – Caterina
12 – Caterina
I wake up with a gasp.
The room is dark, the low buzz of an air conditioning unit the only noise as I stare at the ceiling. My chest lifts up and down as if I’ve been running.
Not there.
I’m not there.
Swallowing, I scrunch my eyes closed and force out a breath before I turn to my right.
My body goes rigid.
Not the same.
This is not the same.
But I can’t look away from the bare expanse of skin that greets me.
A black canopy.
A bare back.
The noise that slips from my lips sounds more animal than human. Nausea surges, and I scramble off the bed, backing up until I hit the wall and slide down.
On the bed, Dom shifts, his hand reaching out to the empty space as he turns to face my direction. I hold my breath, waiting until he settles.
He doesn’t need my nightmares to add to his own. Not tonight.
My head thumps against the wall as I look to the window. I slept for a few hours, at least – more than I’ve slept since we left for Sicily, the darkness outside telling me that we probably missed dinner.
I fight my own breathing, fight to calm down, but the dizziness in my head only grows until I’m shaking.
I need air.
I stumble for the door, only stopping to scoop my daggers off the floor before darting blindly down the hall.
The world outside is silent in that way that you can only hear at night. The witching hour, some call it. I invade that quiet space, my breathing ragged and harsh as I head outside. The warmth of the Italian air kisses my face, brushes away the stickiness of those panicked minutes as the nausea clutching my stomach begins to recede.
I take a few more steps out into the courtyard, looking around at the view that stretches for miles in front of me.
The ocean greets me on one side, dark and glittering beneath the few stars that dot the clear night sky. On the other, rows of trees stretch as far as my eyes can see, perfectly planted in patterns and blooming with the small white flowers that will eventually turn to olives, ready to be harvested late in the autumn.
I start walking in that direction, gripping my knives tightly as I weave in and out, losing myself in the familiar dry, woody scent. It smells like memories – like long, hot summers spent running through the groves at our own estate, several hours to the South in Ragusa.
A lifetime ago.
I start to pick up speed, my feet padding against the hard ground until I’m running, flying over twigs and leaves that scratch the soles of my feet. I race through the grove, zigzagging between lines of trees until I have to stop, my lungs screaming for air.
I wait only as long as I need to before I take off again, my hair catching on low-hanging branches. My energy is sapped far too soon, and I slow to a walk, panting.
The trees rustle, and my hand tightens around my knives. Slowly, I slide one into my palm.
I spin, my arm shooting out, and the edge of my dagger barely misses Luc’s face as he slips out of reach as smoothly as he used to on the practice mats.
I yank it back, breathing heavily. “ Testa di cazzo , Luciano. I could have killed you! What are you even doing out here?”
He only slips his hands into his pockets, looking utterly unconcerned. But his eyes glitter. “Hardly. You’re out of practice, little crow. And you set off every security measure around the villa with your little evening run.”
Irritated at the truth in his words, I turn my back on him. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Spar with me.”
Turning slowly, I glare at him. “What?”
He gestures to the space around us. “You and me. Like old times. Right here.”
I scoff, but something flickers in my chest. “It’s the middle of the night, Luc.”
He only steps closer, his voice a low murmur as he lifts my hair in his hand, winding it around his finger before letting it slip away. “So? You’re here. I’m here. And you seem to have some excess energy to burn.”
He pauses. “Unless you want to do something else, of course. I’m equally happy with either.”
There’s no heat in his words. His gaze sweeps over me, assessing. Searching. And his lips tighten at whatever expression crosses my face.
Luciano Morelli doesn’t miss a thing.
“Sparring it is, then,” he says – a little too gently. “Or we could talk about whatever sent you flying out here as if the hounds of hell were snapping at your heels.”
I toss him a dagger instead, and he snatches it from mid-air.
Show off.
I spring, but he’s ready, pushing me back and going for a low sweep that I can see a mile away. Sliding out, I give him a filthy look. “Don’t take it easy on me.”
“I happen to like you in one piece.” He easily dodges the flurry of movement, the slash of knives as he dances back. “And whatever you tell yourself, you need the practice.”
“Ass.” I launch myself at that, speeding up until our knives smash together with a metallic clang. He only smirks, our faces a few inches together.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers. “I’ve missed fighting with you, Caterina.”
His words send my stomach flipping, but I push him back anyway. “Flattery will still get you on your back.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Promise?”
And the laugh bubbles up my throat before I can stop it. “At least dance with me first.”
He more than meets my challenge. We move, up and down the path as I try to catch him. But… he’s right. I am out of practice.
He slips beneath my guard, and I pause as his hand slips around my throat. “My win, I believe. In a real fight, you’d be dead.”
I swallow as his breath heats my neck. And his lips brush against my exposed skin, the shirt I’m wearing oversized enough to give him easy access. “ Luc .”
Heat. So much heat, as his palms rest on my shoulder. Slowly, he draws them down my arms, pressing against my back.
I let myself relax into him as he lifts my right hand. “Your guard is too high here.”
I nod wordlessly, inhaling as his hand slips to my stomach. “And this arm – it’s too tense. Keep it more relaxed, and you’ll have more fluidity.”
“Back to basics,” I whisper.
He turns me then, my body shifting against his. “We all have to go back to basics sometimes, little crow.”
I stare up at him. “You weren’t sleeping either, were you?”
Silently, he shakes his head.
I take his hand in mine, lift it to my face. The scarring remains, a permanent memory of the night he dug me out of the ground. “You never gave up.”
I’m not talking about that, and he knows it. His throat bobs. “I keep my promises.”
He doesn’t move as my hands slip to his shirt, and I push it up. My throat closes up at the sight of the two vivid red scars. “I thought—,”
Hands close over mine. Cover up those scars, those memories of him on the ground, crawling toward me, toward Alessia.
“It will take more than a little cut,” Luc says softly, “to take me away from you, Caterina.”
The dampness in my eyes spills over onto my cheeks. “You never gave up. You got her out.”
I cup his cheeks when he tries to look away. “I had help, in the end.”
Amie. He walked away, left her there to save Alessia.
The guilt is plastered over his face, and I swallow down that sudden, irrational fear.
I know how it feels to be locked in an impossible situation. How easily feelings can develop. And even the thought of it feels unbearable, the thought of losing him in that way—
I suck in a breath to ask, but warm lips cover mine. Luc kisses me gently, reverently, before he pulls back, reading my mind as he always has. “No. There is only one woman I love, and she’s standing in front of me right now.”
“Luc—.”
“I love you ,” he says fiercely. “And I will keep loving you. On all of your good days, your bad days, and every day in between. I love your shadows and your lines and every single fucking part of you, little crow.”
He brushes my tears away. “Every single piece of this jagged heart of mine is yours.”
And then he grins at me. “My condolences.”
I choke out a laugh, and then his lips are on mine again. There is nothing invasive about his touch – it’s almost inquisitive. A gentle question, rather than a forceful push.
I’m the one who pushes. I kiss him back, softly at first, relishing in the feel of him against me as my hands slip to his face and I pull him closer, my arm winding around his neck. Luc’s arms slip around my back, fingers wrapping into my tangled hair, and I push him back, blindly searching until his back hits the closest tree.
When I tear my lips away, pressing them to his cheek – lower – his hands grip my hips. “Cat. We don’t have to—,”
My voice is firm. “He does not get to take this from us.”
This connection, this sensation—
They have already taken too much.
No more.
Luc’s grip tightens at my words. He opens his mouth, but I slam my lips against his, my fingers moving to the buttons on his shirt before I pull back to take a breath. “Keep this on?”
He only nods, his eyes following the path of my fingers as I flick the buttons open on my own shirt and shrug it off, letting it fall to the ground.
He says nothing, as I stand there, bared before him under the stars. His hazel gaze sweeps over me, lingers on the white scar marring my breastbone.
My hand raises instinctively but he catches it. “We all have scars. Yours are part of your story, Cat. Every part of you is beautiful to me.”
He traces his fingers over it, follows the trail with his lips as I sink into him. He swaps our positions, nudging me back against the tree as his lips move lower.
Lower.
His hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me up, my legs hooking over his shoulders. I’m already wet, trembling with need as he brushes his lips against my pussy. And my hands tangle in his hair, holding him against me, my mouth opening in a silent cry as he swipes his tongue against my center.
Once, twice. Again, and again. He flicks over my clit in rapid motions, his teeth grazing over the sensitive nub and his hands sinking into my hips, holding me still.
Our breathing is the only sound, the small, trembling noises he pulls from me the melody he works with as he devours me. “Luc, I want—,”
My words cut off, body convulsing, as he gently bites down around my clit.
“ You . Now.”
He pulls his head back, his lips and chin shining. His eyes glitter at me. “I haven’t tasted you in months. I’m not nearly done.”
It takes more effort than I have in my shaking body to push against him. To push him down, until he’s laying on his back and I’m crawling over him, flicking open the buttons on his pants as he lifts his hips and I pull them off.
I run my fingers up the underside of his velvet shaft, already solid and heavy, and he hisses as I play with the metal rungs lining his cock. “This will be over very quickly if you keep doing that, little crow.”
I run my tongue over the head of his cock, leisurely tasting him as his hips buck and he swears. “Patience is a virtue, Luciano.”
But it’s been months . Months without him, without this. So I don’t tease any more, shifting my hips up until I’m hovering over him, my pussy brushing against his head with excruciating sensitivity as I sink down – inch by inch, thick and hard, pushing up and filling me until I have to rock my hips to get him deeper.
He watches every movement, his eyes on my face as I throw my head back on a moan and he bottoms out inside me. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place. “Wait.”
Panting, I glance down at him. His hands run up my thighs, brush my aching nipples, and I lean forward to capture his lips before starting to rock.
Our breathing mingles, hot and damp as we move together in fluid motion, my hips rolling over him. Luc touches me everywhere – my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach – touches me as if reminding me where I am.
I do not forget.
His fingers find my clit, plucking and flicking, and my release rushes upon me almost by surprise as my back bows and I clench on him. Luc follows me over the edge with my name on his lips and his hips pushing up, filling me with heat and him.
We use my shirt to clean up, before he lays back on the cool ground and I lay down on him . We lay quietly, both of us looking up at the sky.
He doesn’t say anything. He just… waits.
And the words come. Quietly, at first. And then more – until I’m almost tripping over them, his hand stroking up and down my back, wiping my face when the memories become too much.
And when I’m done, the energy leeching from my body, Luc only holds me closer. He presses my palm against his chest so I can feel his heartbeat.
Real.
And slowly, I drift off into sleep.