Chapter 26 Rafael
RAFAEL
Black dots explode behind my eyes as Aisling tightens around me with astonishing force.
God, she feels incredible. And when she comes, it’s as close as I’m ever going to get to god.
Knowing how close I came to losing her only intensifies the moment, and I’m entirely unprepared to process the emotions that realization triggers. I acted as quickly as I did to protect her because the thought of losing her terrified me.
And being with her now, like this, only proves the intensity of my feelings for her.
I need Aisling more than I need my next breath. I don’t think I could stay away from her now if I tried.
But after nearly watching her be ripped from my fingers, it’s all I can do not to lose myself in her entirely.
Yes, I’m betraying Genevieve. Just having these feelings for Aisling is unforgivable. But I don’t know how to stop it.
Aisling is the one woman I’ve never been able to forget.
Those three nights with her five years ago have haunted me ever since, and now that she’s back in my life, it’s like she’s set the rest of my memories on fire until all I have are the ashes of my time with other women.
And from those ashes, my desire for Aisling has risen like a phoenix.
She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman—smart, passionate, witty, outspoken. She’s not afraid to speak her mind, doesn’t shy away from putting me in my place, and I love her for it.
God, I love her—and it took coming that close to losing her for me to realize it.
“Raf!” she gasps, her walls spasming around my cock, urging me deeper inside her as her orgasm sweeps over me like a tsunami, rocking me to my very core.
I’m so close to losing myself inside her.
But I can’t seem to stop myself, and I keep rocking into her, urging every last aftershock of pleasure from her body as I claim her pleasure like a battle cry.
She’s quivering uncontrollably, her legs too weak to hold her up, so I scoop her into my arms, keeping my cock buried inside her as I step out of the shower and carry her into the bedroom.
I couldn’t care less that we’re still dripping water as we tumble onto the bed. And I smother her with my body, chasing away the chill by lending her my heat as I plunge into her without pausing.
Aisling’s legs wrap around my hips, her heels pressing into the base of my spine as she urges me onward—harder, deeper. “Don’t stop!” she gasps, her hips rolling beneath me as she meets each thrust with enthusiasm.
Our skin slaps together with a carnal sound, driving my arousal until my cock feels so hard, it almost hurts.
I don’t just want to fuck Aisling into oblivion.
I want to make her come so hard, she forgets her own name. I want to claim her so completely that by the time we’re finished, she’ll never be able to leave me.
It’s a desperate, hopeless desire—one that’s sure to ruin me.
But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to give it my best shot.
Because if tonight has confirmed one thing for me, it’s that I never want to let this woman go.
Aisling whimpers, her back arching until her pert nipples chafe against my bare chest, and I lean in to capture her lips as I palm her full breast.
She cries out, and I greedily swallow the sound, chasing it with my hips as I pound inside her.
Our love has never been a soft, sweet one.
It’s molten, all-consuming, and I can feel my soul searing beneath the heat of it.
But I don’t care.
All I want is to hold her for as long and as hard as I can.
With each penetrating thrust, I can feel her throbbing around me, her perfect pussy swelling as her next climax builds.
She feels like heaven wrapped around my cock, her body made just for mine. And I know I’m not going to last much longer.
I’ve wanted her too desperately for far too long.
“Come for me, focosa,” I growl—because I’m dangerously close to my own release.
And I’m not wearing a condom, but I refuse to come before I feel her fall apart around me once more.
Aisling moans, the low, sultry sound so painfully sexy, it nearly undoes me, and when I thrust deep, I can feel the wet gush of her climax pouring out around me.
Christ, but she’s captivating.
She ripples along my length, milking my cock as if begging me to spill me seed inside her.
And for one dark, villainous moment, I seriously consider it.
Because if I got her pregnant, I would have an excuse to never let her go.
But I could never do that to her—I would never trap her in a marriage she doesn’t want. No matter how desperately I need her.
I thrust until I can feel the last of her aftershocks subside.
Then, with relief, I plunge deep one more time and jerk back, pulling out of her in one go.
I barely have time to grip my slick shaft and aim before hot ropes of cum are splashing across her belly, painting her soft skin.
It’s far too satisfying to see my mark on her, knowing that she wanted my cock inside her and I’m responsible for the gorgeous flush in her cheeks.
Her legs fall open around me, her eyelids growing heavy with relief, and when she gives a soft, satisfied moan, my cock twitches against my palm.
With a deep sigh, I lean forward to press a chaste kiss to her swollen lips.
Then I rock back off the bed to get a washcloth to clean her up with.
She watches me lazily as I run the damp cloth between her thighs, cleaning her perfect pink pussy before I wipe the cum off her flat stomach.
Then I toss the washcloth into the hamper and help her slip beneath the covers.
Tonight, there’s no space separating us as I join her, pulling her into my arms.
She hums contentedly, snuggling closer to rest her cheek against my shoulder.
“Raf?” she murmurs sleepily after a heartbeat.
God, but I love the way she says my name. “Hmm?” I ask, brushing a silky lock of red hair away from her face.
Her blue eyes peer up at me through thick, dark lashes, innocent and alluring all at once. “What does focosa mean?”
I chuckle, surprised she would ask now, when she’s never seemed curious before. “It means… fiery. Spirited.”
Her full, pouting lips curve into a soft smile, and her eyes drift closed. “Hmm. I always thought it was an insult.”
I snort, my amusement gently jostling her, and I pull her closer so she can’t move away. “Well, I mean it as a compliment.”
She hums her approval, seeming halfway to sleep already, but her lips hold that delicate upward curve of contentment, making my heart clench.
And I can’t help but stare down at her, studying her striking face, even as her breaths grow steady and she slowly drifts to sleep.
I stay like that for a long time, savoring just how good it feels to hold Aisling in my arms. But as the heat of our passion cools, the familiar sense of guilt and sadness starts to creep in once more.
How selfish can one man get? I wonder.
Here I lie, enjoying the warmth and comfort of a woman I don’t deserve, while Genevieve will never have the opportunity to live her life, to enjoy the pleasures it might bring or chase her dreams.
It makes my chest tight to think of everything that was stolen from her.
All because of me.
And here I am, getting everything I’ve ever wanted.
Moving on like none of it mattered.
I’m a sick, greedy man.
Closing my eyes against the wave of guilt, I swallow hard. But the sinking feeling in my stomach just won’t subside.
I don’t regret being with Aisling—nothing on this earth could make me regret her.
But I don’t know how to reconcile the debt I owe Genevieve.
And Aisling deserves a man who isn’t shackled by the ghosts of his past, the remorse from his mistakes.
Too restless to sleep, I carefully ease out from under Aisling, gently replacing my chest with a pillow so as not to disturb her.
Then I pull on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt and head downstairs in search of a drink.
I find Sandro in the kitchen as I enter, and I stop short, surprised to find my brother anywhere but in bed with his wife since I gave him the night off.
“Evi had a craving for ice cream,” he says by way of explanation, lifting the carton and spoon when I stop in the doorway. Then his head tilts as he takes me in, seeing far too much with just a glance. “Want to talk about it?”
Sighing, I cross the kitchen to go for the open bottle of wine on the counter. “Not really,” I admit. “But I don’t know what else might help.”
Setting the ice cream on the counter, Sandro turns to give me his full attention, crossing his arms over his chest. I lift the bottle of wine, silently offering him some, and when he shakes his head, I take one glass from the cabinet and pour myself a generous amount.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” I confess. “I…”
Well, I can’t tell Sandro that I slept with Aisling tonight, as if that’s anything new. Because he can’t know that our relationship has been anything but genuine from the start.
So I search for an explanation that will be honest without giving too much away.
“When Genevieve died, I vowed I would never love another woman,” I say finally. “And being with Aisling…” I shake my head and swallow a mouthful of wine before continuing. “That complicates things.”
Sandro frowns, his dark eyes looking troubled.
“Genevieve wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable and alone for the rest of your life, Raf.
You know that. You were forced into a relationship too quickly after her death, and circumstances haven’t allowed you a reasonable amount of time to grieve, but what you’ve done is in large part to avenge Genevieve—so don’t be so hard on yourself.
Besides, it has been ten months. Knowing your appetite, that might as well be a lifetime.
You can’t expect yourself to stay celibate forever, right? ”
I smile sardonically. “I guess not.” But until now, sex and emotion were entirely separate questions for me.
It’s Aisling specifically who’s calling into question my loyalty to Genevieve, and in that regard, I just can’t seem to help myself.
If I were blind, deaf, and dumb, I would want her as soon as she entered the same room as me.
“You shouldn’t feel bad for developing feelings for Aisling,” Sandro says, as if reading my mind—an uncanny ability he’s had since we were kids. “She’s a good, beautiful person. And if she’s who you want, you deserve to find happiness with her. Genevieve would want that for you.”
Sandro might not have a lot to say, but when he does, it always resonates. And for the first time since Aisling walked back into my life, I feel a sense of relief.
God, I hope he’s right.
Because I don’t know how else I’m going to live with myself.
I huff in disbelief at the insightful stuff that can come out of my brother’s mouth sometimes.
Staring down at my nearly full glass of wine, I find I’m not so interested in drinking it.
My lips curve into an ironic grin, because while conversation wasn’t what I came looking for, it turns out that’s exactly what I needed.
Suddenly impatient to get back to my sleeping wife, I pour the crimson liquid down the sink. “Thanks, Fratello,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
He returns my smile, then retrieves the pint of mint chip ice cream. “Anytime.”
We part ways at the stairs, and as I head back to bed, I feel surprisingly lighter, as though a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted from my shoulders.
I still have a lot to consider, but Sandro’s words have brought me a sense of peace I wasn’t sure I would ever find again.