13. Mia
13
MIA
“ M ia,” Brando's voice cuts through my thoughts, rich and smooth, pulling me back from the edge of my contemplation. He stands in the doorway, his dark hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. I take in the state of his disheveled suit, look him up and down from my place on the terrace. “What are you doing out here?”
It’s dark and it’s late and it’s cold. But I stand in the faded light of the interior, seemingly immune to the elements, my mind numb as I look out over the city.
“Just thinking.” I force a smile.
“About?” He steps closer, concern etched on his handsome face. “Talk to me.”
I turn to face him, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. “It’s complicated, Brando.”
The weight of my sisters’ absence. The lack of information leading us towards them. The responsibility I feel towards him, and what his involvement in my problems could mean for him. I know that Brando has established himself as a force to be reckoned with, but he’s a busy man. And this thing with my sisters is time consuming. It’s heavy. It’s debilitating.
He shrugs. “So, break it down for me.” He reaches for me, his fingers brushing against my arm, sending a shiver through me. “What’s on your mind, Mia?”
The intensity of his gaze threatens to unravel my resolve. I know that to distract him, to keep him from prying too deeply, I have to go beyond mere words. I need to create a moment, a memory that will linger long after this night. I need to. I want to. This could very well be the only time I will ever be with Brando Gatti the way I’ve always wanted to be with him. My childhood friend. My childhood crush. The one that got away. If it’s the only time I get to feel his touch, I want something to remember him by, something that will linger long after all our words have been spoken and all our memories are a distant relic of the past.
“Maybe I just need to feel something real,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. The vulnerability in my tone seems to reach him, because his expression softens as he closes the distance between us.
Before I can second-guess myself, I step into him, capturing his lips with my own. The kiss is tentative at first, a gentle exploration that quickly deepens as desire surges between us. Brando responds by winding his hands around my waist, pulling me against him.
In his arms, I feel like I’ve come home. I feel like this is where I was always meant to be, right here by his side.
We stumble back into the room, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The world outside fades away as we lose ourselves in each other, the urgency of our actions fueled by the culmination of years of desire-what could’ve been but never was.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as our bodies meet with a heated intensity. I feel alive in a way I haven’t in months; knowing that we may never have this moment again fuels me. This could be a mistake in the making. This could be what finally drives us apart. But this has to happen.
Brando’s hands roam over my body, igniting every nerve ending as he explores my curves, his touch both possessive and tender.
He murmurs against my skin, saying my name, his breath warm and inviting as he makes sure this is what I want. “Is this happening?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. It’s Brando. It was always meant to be Brando. Ever since we were kids, and that first day we met as he was coming out of the pizzeria and he saw me walking my dog. It was always him. And if this is the only chance I’m ever going to feel this close to him, skin to skin and heart against soul, then I’m going to take this chance, and I’m going to run with it.
“It’s happening,” I reply, my voice trembling. “But I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” he says, his lips trailing down my neck, sending electric shocks through my body. Finally, we’re in the same room and we’re on the same page; this has been a long time coming.
“Just don’t let me go,” I whisper, even as I know with all certainty that this will probably ruin any possible chance of us ever being on solid ground again. I don’t trust my own judgment right now, knowing that this could destroy us. “Not tonight.”
Each touch, each kiss is a silent fury between us as he carries me across his chest to his bedroom. It breaks my heart slowly, but it’s telling that he took me to his own bed, not the guest bedroom where I’m staying. His decision to do so reeks of some sense of permanency, of him wanting the smell of me in his space, on his linen.
A silent promise passes between us, even if it’s only in the confines of my own wounded heart. It’s a promise that we will hold onto this moment, even as the world around us crumbles and threatens to tear us apart.
“Beautiful Mia.” Brando buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling like my scent is the air he needs to breathe.
I want to tell him it was always meant to be him. I want him to know I would have gone to the ends of the world to make him mine. I refrain from telling him that I had always wished it was him, instead of Frank. I don’t even want to think about that pariah, let alone mention his name in this sweetest of moments.
My fingers tremble as they trace the contours of Brando's jawline, my touch light, reverent, as if I am mapping a sacred path only I am allowed to navigate. His skin is warm under my fingertips, alive with a pulsating energy that mirrors the racing of my own heart.
Brando's hand gently cups my face, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone in a feather-light caress that sends shivers rushing down my spine. The intensity of his gaze holds me captive, those piercing blue eyes delving deep into my soul, searching for something I feel is both vulnerable and invincible at the same time.
“My Mia.” His voice is a husky timbre that resonates within the very core of my being as his breath strokes against my skin. He leans in closer, reducing the space between us until his breath mingles with mine, sharing the same air, the same moment.
His hands roam over my back, pulling me closer until every curve of my body melds into his. I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his dark hair. The kiss grows more urgent, more impassioned, as if we are trying to make up for lost time.
A low growl escapes from Brando’s throat as he presses me into the bed, looking down at me quietly as he starts to remove my clothes. He bites his tongue between his teeth, hungry for the next step in this passionate dance between two uniting bodies. His kisses travel from my lips down to my neck, marking a trail of fire that leaves me gasping for air but wanting more—always more.
I finally lay before him, naked and wanting, an offering of things to come. His eyes flick across my body, as though seeing me for the first time, his pupils dilated. A lock of hair falls into his eyes, and I reach up, pushing it away. It’s all in his eyes; every precious little glance he shoots me, every beautiful blink I don’t want to miss.
I watch him quietly as he moves from the bed and starts to undress, never taking his eyes off me. It’s as though even in this most intimate of acts, he puts on a show for me, removing layer after layer until he stands before me, in all his naked glory, his cock twitching as it reaches up across his navel.
He takes it in his hand, his eyes still on me, and strokes up and down until a bead or pre-cum escapes the tip. I watch in fascination as he swipes his finger across the liquid, then brings it up to my mouth, painting my lips with his essence. I lick my lips, tasting him on my tongue, my own wetness pooling between my legs. More than anything, I want this man in all the ways that I can have him.
I can feel his desire in every deliberate touch and every passionate kiss—declarations written on my skin for eternity.
Skin against skin, we explore each other with an urgency born from a mixture of fear and desire—fear of losing this moment and desire to never let go.
We move together rhythmically; slow and deep strokes that fill the room with quiet breaths and whispers of each other’s names. Brando worships my body with every touch; every kiss laid bare on my skin feels like a vow.
As we reach the peak together—a crescendo of emotions both raw and beautiful—the world outside refuses to exist. There is only this bubble that we currently reside in. There is only me and him and the undeniable truth that this isn’t just physical. This is a soul-deep yearning; a connection forged in the past and carried to the present.
Panting softly as we cling to one another in the aftermath, Brando presses his forehead against mine, breathes new life into me, and tells me that he’ll never let me go.
Brando’s hands are everywhere, igniting my skin with every touch, each caress a reminder that I am human. I hadn’t realized how much I was craving that elusive human connection until he worshipped me, his lips trailing down my body, igniting sparks of pleasure that leave me breathless.
I surrender myself completely as the night wears on, losing myself in him. I pour every ounce of emotion I’m feeling into these moments. My love, my fears, and my sorrow, knowing that this is a homecoming wrapped in the one passionate embrace I’d been waiting my whole life for.
His phone rings as dawn approaches, the silence broken by the blaring of his ringtone. We lay in bed, his arm twisted around my waist, and I’m unable to move, despite efforts I’ve made to extricate myself. I want to stay beside him forever, but the reality of my situation claws at my insides like a feral beast. Eventually, my sisters will be found and we’ll be on a plane headed out of here. The thought of leaving him severs the last thread of control inside me.
Brando answers the phone, his voice groggy with the remnants of sleep. He sits up suddenly, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he rubs a hand down his face and fumbles for his clothes. My heart is heavy as he slips out of bed. My eyes follow him as he wanders around the room, as though in a daze.
“Allegra’s having the baby,” he says, and he seems a little scattered as he dresses, anxiety overwhelming him. “I have to get to the hospital.”
Sadness sweeps over me as I mentally document every last detail of his movements, committing to memory the smell of his presence and the touch of his skin. He leans one knee on the bed, putting him closer to me, before he lifts my chin to meet his eyes and presses his lips to mine in a punishing kiss. This is the way I will always remember him. This is the memory of him that I want to hold closest to my heart. This is how I will always see him in my mind’s eye as he walks away from him…taking my heart with him.
It was always meant to be him.