Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
CITI
It’s official. I hate science, and there’s a good chance I’ll hate math too. At one point, I wanted to pick up the laptop Capone brought for me and thump him over the head with it. I refrained, of course, but only just.
Once we were done for the day, I could have cried tears of joy.
And then when we went to see what Star and Ambros were up to, I nearly cried for a whole different reason.
Seeing them curled up together did painful things to my already battered heart.
I didn’t realize I was rubbing my chest until Capone gently tugged my hand free.
“He’s a good guy, Citi, and he clearly thinks the world of you and Star. But he has his own wounds, which have barely begun to heal.”
“Are you warning me away?”
“No, the opposite actually. He’s bound to fuck up, have moments when he gets caught up in the past, and maybe isn’t as careful with you as he should be—and I’m not talking about physically,” he rushes to say.
“It’s not his job to pander to me, Capone.”
“It is. You don’t realize it yet, but you deserve someone who will make you their whole world and treat you like a treasure others covet.
He knows this. I know this. Harry, the homeless guy from down the road, knows this.
My worry is that if he’s still dealing with losing his sister, missing the job he once loved, and dealing with the stress at the gym, he might decide you’re better off without him.
My advice is to hold on tighter, because he deserves you as much as you deserve him. ”
I look up at Capone and swallow. “Are all of you like this?”
“What, nosy?”
“Sweet. Kind. Supportive.”
He looks around before stepping closer. I manage to stop myself from taking a step back.
“Don’t let that get around, okay? If anyone asks, I’m a badass motherfucker. Got it?”
I huff out a laugh and shake my head. “Got it.”
“Good. Now I’m gonna head out. I’ll be back at the same time next week to pick up where we left off. Next time, I’ll bring Chinese food.”
“I can cook—”
“Soon. Chinese first. Though I won’t say no to cookies.”
“Deal.”
I see him out before heading back to the living room. I watch them for a moment while the credits roll on whatever movie they watched, and bask in the glimpse of what my life could be like if I can just be brave enough to take a leap of faith.
“Easier said than done,” I mutter. But that doesn’t stop me from taking out my cell phone and snapping a photo of them. I slip it back into my pocket before reaching for Star. I try to extract her without waking either of them, but Ambros jolts awake when he feels her move.
“Capone is gone. I’m just putting her to bed,” I whisper before heading upstairs with Star.
I strip her and slip a nightie over her head, with her barely stirring, before I lay her down and tuck her unicorn under her arm.
I tug the blanket up under her chin and press a kiss to her forehead before I head out.
I flick the nightlight on as I pass it, so the room’s not too dark, and leave the door open a little so I’ll hear her if she has a nightmare.
I head to my room and glance around, feeling a weird sort of anticipation fill me. Without giving myself a chance to question my newfound confidence, I strip out of my clothes and head to the bathroom to freshen up. Once I’m done, I run a brush through my hair and glance at my reflection.
I take in my pale skin and wary eyes before I straighten my shoulders and glare at my reflection.
No. I’m done focusing on the negatives. I let Jasper tear me down for years, in an effort to rebuild me in the image he wanted.
I fought tooth and nail to hold on to any semblance of myself, so why the fuck am I so eager to finish off the mental assassination now?
He’s dead, and I’m alive. It’s time I remembered that.
I blow out a steady breath and head back into my room, my heart beating so wildly I swear I can feel my ribs rattle.
As I move to the door, I spy Ambros’s hoodie hanging on the back of it, the one he gave me the day he rescued me.
I wear it when I need to pretend it’s his arms wrapped around me, so it feels fitting that I wear it now.
I tug it over my head and slide it down.
It hits me mid-thigh, covering everything it needs to, but leaving very little to the imagination.
“Here goes nothing,” I murmur before I pull the door open and head back downstairs. I’m quiet as I approach, but he must sense me because he turns around. Any apprehension I’m feeling begins to melt away under his heated gaze.
“Fuck me.”
“Maybe not just yet, but that’s the end goal,” I tease, though my voice cracks at the end, my nerves bleeding through.
He jumps up from the sofa and stalks around it toward me. I lock my legs so they don’t buckle and stand my ground until he’s right in front of me. We’re not quite touching, but if I take a deep breath, my chest will graze his.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
I reach for his hand and raise it, placing it over one of my breasts. “Does it feel like a dream?”
He groans, his head dropping forward as he takes a few deep breaths.
I can feel the air crackle around us, but he manages to rein himself in.
Part of me wants him to go wild, to unleash whatever he’s holding back, but I’m realistic enough to know we need to move slowly.
It’s harder on us than it would be for regular folk, and I don’t want either of us to walk away with regrets because we pushed too hard, too fast.
“Remember, you say stop, we stop. You say go slow, and I’ll slow it down.
Nothing is off limits. Anything you’re curious about or want to try—ask.
You’ll get zero judgment from me. I’m serious as fuck here, Citi.
If you have any questions, just ask me. There is no such thing as a dumb question between us, okay? ”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.”
I shiver, caught off guard by how his words make me feel. I’ve heard them before, aimed my way, as if praise could magically wipe away my tears. So why don’t those words make me want to run screaming for the hills now?
“Do I have permission to touch you, angel?”
I nod, but he stares into my eyes. “Gonna need to use your words this time, Citi.”
“Touch me, Ambros,” I whisper.
He dips his head, skimming his lips over mine, but he doesn’t touch me anywhere else.
Before I can reach for him, he lifts his head and pulls back.
He strips off his cut and hangs it over the back of the sofa before stripping off his hoodie.
I make a mental note to steal that one too before he reaches for his collar and tugs up his plain white T-shirt and pulls it over his head one-handed.
My mouth drops open, not realizing men look like that in real life. Holy crap. I reach out to touch the hard ridges of his stomach before yanking my hand back.
“You can touch me, angel. You have blanket permission to touch me any damn time, any damn place you want to. I can’t think of anything I want more right now than to feel your hands on me.”
My mouth is dry as a desert, as I reach out with a shaky hand and skim my fingertips down his stomach. He moans, the sound making my toes curl. I do it again with the other hand before hooking my fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging him closer.
His hands play with the hem of the hoodie I’m wearing, but he doesn’t seem to be in any mood to rush me.
With that in mind, I set out to explore him.
His warm skin breaks out in goosebumps under my touch, fascinating me.
I move up to one of his nipples and flick over it with my thumb, wondering if they’re sensitive like mine.
He moans again as it pebbles, his eyes slipping closed.
I take the moment to bolster my courage and dip my head, flicking his nipple with the tip of my tongue this time.
He hisses, making me pause, unsure. “More,” he grunts out, fueling my confidence as I place my trust in him to tell me if I do something wrong.
I drag the flat of my tongue over his nipple and reach up to stroke the other, grinning when he shivers.
Scratching my nails lightly down his abs, I hesitate at the waistband of his jeans.
His hand slips under mine, popping the button free before slowly lowering the zipper.
The noise is as loud as gunfire and has my pulse racing just as fast. I take a step back so I can watch him, my eyes following the path of his hands as he frees his cock and starts stroking it.
I swallow. I’ve seen one dick in my lifetime.
I assumed they were a one-size-fits-all kind of deal.
I was wrong. There is no way that thing will fit inside me.
Hell, it looks like it barely fits in his pants.
Oblivious to my mini freak-out, he toes off his boots and shoves his jeans down his legs before stepping out of them.
I’ve watched a lot of TV in my lifetime —movies featuring the most handsome men on the planet —and documentaries about statues and sculptures of the most prominent men throughout history.
I have to say, Michelangelo’s David has nothing on this guy.
I’m almost afraid to touch him again, not wanting to sully him with my tainted hands and dirty thoughts.
As if sensing my turmoil, he picks me up and walks me around to the sofa, sitting me in the center of it before reaching for the remote and turning it off. He plunges the room into darkness, making me gasp as I dig my nails into the seat of the sofa.
“Are you afraid of the dark?” he asks, making me jump because he’s right in front of me.
I picture him sitting on the coffee table and swallow before I answer. “No. I was never afraid of what hid in the darkness, only the monsters that walked in the light.”
“Good, that’s good.”
I feel a touch on my knee, so gentle, I question if I imagined it for a moment before it skates up my leg like a whisper, making me shiver.
“Can I take this off?”
I feel the tug on the hem of the hoodie and nod before remembering he can’t see me. “Yes.”
I raise my arms as he tugs the thick material up my body before discarding it. The chill in the room makes my nipples pebble. My breath hitches as I wait to see what he does next.
But when he does nothing, I frown, unsure what to do…
and there it is, a spiderlike movement of fingertips moving across my collarbone.
I freeze, reminding myself to breathe, and then they’re gone again.
For the next five minutes or five hours, he drives me to the brink of madness with his feather-light touches, leaving me a squirming mess of need.
“Ambros,” I whine, feeling pathetic for it. His dark chuckle tells me he’s not unaffected himself.
“Touch yourself, Citi. Let me feel what you like.”
“I…don’t know what I like.” I never explored, never tried to figure out what I might be missing. It never even occurred to me to try, not until Ambros.
“Then let’s figure it out together.” I feel his hand on my arm as it slides down to my hand. He circles my wrist before lifting it and placing my hand on my breast. “Touch yourself, angel.”
He covers my hand with his and moves it with mine as I stroke my nipple before tugging it a little.
I feel him shift and sense that he’s closer.
I lick my lips and feel his breath skate over my skin as I drag our hands down my body until they rest on my pubic area.
He doesn’t rush me, letting me take my time and a few deep breaths before I explore myself.
I glide my fingers over my clit and swallow hard at how glorious it feels.
I do it again and again, getting lost in the moment until I feel Ambros’s hand guide mine to move a little lower.
He curls his fingers around mine, which in turn makes me slip two fingers inside myself.
I tense in response, but he waits patiently for me to decide if it’s a yes or no.
I slip them in a little bit farther, noticing that they move with ease because I’m so wet. I didn’t realize that was possible. I gasp when I feel the thumb of Ambros’s free hand on my clit, circling the bundle of nerves, making me squeeze my fingers involuntarily.
I make a noise that doesn’t even remotely resemble English and earn myself another chuckle before I feel one of his fingers slip inside me.
“Oh god,” I pant, fisting the sofa cushion with my free hand as I mimic Ambros’s movements with the other.
Together we slowly finger fuck me until my body is wound so tight I feel like I’m going to explode.
He pinches my clit, and that’s when I die—that’s what it feels like.
Or maybe I’m finally alive. I arch my back and cry out his name.
For one blissful moment, there is no pain, no fear or guilt, nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure.
I’m breathless, like I’ve just jumped from a plane and I’m hurtling toward the earth without a parachute.
Just when I think I might not survive, Ambros flips on the lamp, blinding me temporarily. That would have been tragic, because when I’m finally able to focus, the expression he’s wearing is one I would have been devastated to miss.
He’s looking at me like I’m the prize he’s trained his whole life to win, and he’s just seconds away from victory. And Jesus, it makes me feel like a goddess.
He wraps his hand that’s slick with my juices around his cock and fucks his fist, his eyes fixed between my spread thighs. “So fucking pretty,” he hisses before leaning forward and shooting ropes of cum across my chest and stomach.
When he’s spent, he leans over me, his finger dragging through his cum before he presses it to my lips. I open and suck them in, licking them clean. He growls and pulls them free, then slams his mouth , kissing me fiercely until I feel like I’ve been drugged.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to mine. “Thank you for trusting me,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose, his eyes twinkling. “One day, you’re going to love me.”
All the air rushes out of my lungs. Not because I don’t believe him, quite the opposite in fact. And it terrifies the shit out of me.
“Not yet.” He winks as I reach up and cup his jaw.
I stare into his eyes and throw caution to the wind. “But someday.”