20. The Big Tease
20
The Big Tease
Lilith
Once we finished our glorious English muffin pizza, we stayed out on the patio for quite a while, mostly joking and laughing over frivolous things.
At one point, Antonio had given me his jacket, but with my legs bare and my shoes kicked off, it’s not long before I’m shivering. Being the type of man who notices everything, he quickly ushers me into the pool house, which ends up being a much smaller version of Declan’s mansion—opulent yet still homey.
Agatha and Carolina have the living room decked out romantically, with twinkling lights, flowers, and a bottle chilling in a bucket of ice. Antonio walks over to the table, removing the bottle from the bucket and eying the label curiously. Then he looks at me and says, “I never thought to ask if you enjoy wine?”
I smile as I walk to him, taking the bottle from his hand to see what required an ice bucket. Then I laugh and shake my head at the fancy sparkling water. “I do, but I rarely bother with alcohol.”
“Oh?” he asks, taking the bottle from me and placing it back in the bucket of ice. “Due to past issues or?”
He lets the question hang out in the space between us, and I shrug, not entirely sure how to respond since it’s one of those decisions that was never a thing. After a few long moments, I explain, “It was never really a problem, but at one point, I could see how it could become one, so I made a choice not to allow it to be my problem. Then, as time went on, I just didn’t care about it.”
“That makes sense.”
I raise my brows at him, not at all accustomed to someone being so agreeable about a life choice that has no real bearing on other people, yet so many people take great offense to. “Really?”
He nods as he turns back to me. “After being told I was a monster with no recollection of said events, I decided alcohol would always be the enemy. And then, after watching so many powerful people become sloppy, well, I decided it would never be for me.”
“You’ve never been a monster,” I whisper, the reminder sending a jolt of pain through my chest. “But it’s true that any substance that changes behavior is dangerous in our world.” He nods but remains silent, and after a short pause, I add, “And don’t even get me started on the pain of hangovers at my age. I would die.”
“Oh, goodness. Yes,” he replies with a laugh. “I would also perish.”
The mood lightens slightly, and we move to the kitchen in search of dessert. Antonio is thrilled to find a tiramisu in the refrigerator, happily pulling it out and grabbing two forks.
He hands me one, and I take it from him with raised brows. “No plates?”
His smile is sheepish, but he shakes his head, moving the dessert between us. “I like sharing with you.”
Never in my entire life would I have thought such a simple statement would send my pulse into overdrive, but here I am, skittering with excitement. I attempt to push the feeling down and fail miserably, so I turn my attention to sinking my fork into the dessert.
No sooner do I raise the dessert-filled fork than his hand is gripping mine. He takes the fork from me, moving it slowly toward my mouth. I quirk a brow at him, pressing my lips together for a moment before finally opening and allowing him to insert the bit of food into my mouth. I pause like that, awkwardly with a fork in my mouth, and he laughs. “Take the bite, Lilith. It won’t hurt you.”
I immediately close my lips around the metal tines. He pulls the fork free, and I slowly chew, then swallow, licking my lips as I watch him watch me. Then I ask mildly, “You’re going to feed me?”
He blinks, then his eyes lift to mine, warm and inviting, and that ache is back in my chest. His eyes move back down, his fingertip sliding along the corner of my mouth. “You have a bit there,” then he raises that same finger to his own mouth, his tongue flicking out and tasting it.
My entire body clenches. I clear my throat, straightening as I place my hands on the counter, doing a shit-ass job of feigning nonchalance. He smirks, that twinkle in his eye indicating he knows exactly what’s running through my mind. “Do I get to feed you?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I huff, genuinely annoyed and confused by his response.
He feeds me another bite, this time not taking nearly as much care, and the next thing I know, his face is right there, his tongue swiping along the corner of my mouth as he skips right to licking.
My breath chokes me, and I lean into him, turning my head in the hopes of feeling his lips against mine, but he quickly turns away, that same knowing smirk on his mouth.
I narrow my eyes, tapping my fingertips on the countertop. He holds the fork out to me, and I shake my head. Still smirking, he returns the now-covered dessert to the refrigerator, cleans the one fork, and leaves it in the rack to dry.
Turning back to me, he motions toward the living area, so I turn, doing my best to ignore his palm pressed against my lower back as we leave the kitchen. He guides me toward the electric fireplace, now ablaze in blue and red flames, and we stand in front of it, our bodies turned toward each other.
We stare at each other for a moment before I remove his suit jacket, tossing it on the sofa behind us. The silence stretches into uncomfortable, forcing me to ask, “What?”
His brow furrows, his jaw clenching briefly before he responds, “I’m uncertain what’s off-limits with us.”
I raise a brow and shake my head. “Nothing is off-limits, Antonio.”
“Yeah, I get that, but I don’t want to bring up the past and then have you on edge or upset.”
“If you need to talk about it, then talk about it. You’re not responsible for my feelings.”
He reaches for my hand, and I turn my palm into his, gripping firmly—a lifeline in the unknown hellscape of memory lane.
“So, you don’t mind talking about it?”
I frown, shaking my head. “About what, specifically?”
“About what happened with us,” he replies quietly, moving impossibly closer to me. His heat seeps through the silk of my dress, and I press against him, my heart pounding as he continues, “I have some recollections, but I was never sure what was true and what was false.”
My laugh is short and pained. “I can make it easy for you.”
He tilts his head. “How?”
“If your recollection at all paints you as the bad guy, it’s false.”
His smile is sad, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. “Maybe not then, but make no mistake, Lilith. I am a bad guy.”
“It’s all relative. I sure as shit won’t be having any kind of bad guy contest with you or anyone.”
He stares down at me, his light eyes sparkling with emotion that has my breath in my throat. His hands move from my cheeks, sliding around until they cup where my skull and neck meet, his thumbs stroking along my cheek soothingly.
His gaze flits from my eyes to my lips and back again, and after a few moments of this, I finally ask, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The moment,” he whispers, a mere hair’s breadth from my lips. “I’m waiting for the moment.”
“Is this not it?” I whisper back, pushing down my urge to surge up on my toes and take what I’ve been waiting for. This is his moment, and regardless of how much I want to steal it, I have no right.
He shifts his feet, his grip on my neck tightening as he pulls me up, and I find myself on my toes, my hands gripping his wrists to keep myself steady. “I don’t know, Lilith. Is it?”
I open my mouth to respond in the affirmative, but nothing comes out. His eyes bore into mine, his hands flexing while I attempt to speak and fail, wanting to say the right thing and having no clue what that even is.
He presses a kiss against my forehead, then relaxes his grip, easing me down. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
“What do you mean, you’ll wait?” I ask incredulously. “Wait for fucking what?”
He releases me and steps away, his expression neutral, but his eyes don’t lie. They’re pained. Exhausted. “For you to know.”
I push down my urge to scream, but it’s a near thing as I gape at him, my hands fisted at my sides. I know it’s more than a question of the moment. It really has nothing to do with when or how, and everything to do with why.
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing the back before releasing me with a warm smile. Then he nods, turns toward the door, and walks away.
It takes me a few seconds to fully grasp what’s happening. I stare at his back, the agony in my chest suffocating, little bits of me being ripped to shreds at the sight.
“I don’t know, Antonio.” My words are a harsh whisper, and at first, I’m not sure if he even heard me, but then, he stops walking and slowly turns to look at me. So, I add, a bit louder, clearer, “I don’t know how to explain what I feel for you specifically. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I can’t express what I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
My breath catches in my throat, a quiet sob breaking free as I attempt to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. I open my mouth, wishing all the words would tumble out and that everything in my brain would fall out into the world as chaotic poetry, but it doesn’t. Instead, I stutter incoherently, mouth agape, lips quivering as I attempt to wrangle my unleashed emotions.
He continues to stand in the same spot patiently, his eyes soft and his stance open. After a moment, I manage a slight shrug, and he raises his brows, his lips twisting as he once again turns to leave.
“I know,” I spit out roughly, taking a few rushed steps toward him as he pauses. “I know I want you. I know I want you to stay. I know I don’t want to live without you.”
He’s closing the space between us before I’ve gotten the second sentence out, and no sooner have I stopped speaking than his arms are around me, yanking me against him.
His fingers delve into my hair, and just when I think he’s going to ravage my mouth, he stops, his lips hovering over mine as he whispers, “Sei la mia vita.”
The first brush of his lips is tentative as if he’s still offering me an out, and I respond by pressing my breasts against his chest, my hands gripping his sides, holding him in place. I raise myself up on my toes, my lips meeting his firmly, and his lips part, brushing, nipping, and caressing until we’re both breathless.
I move my hands around so I’m gripping his mid-back and we’re flush against each other. His head tilts just so, and we sink in, tongues tangling, lips clinging, bodies vibrating.
Slowly, we pull apart, though only so far as our mouths are no longer touching, our panting breaths intermingled. My breasts remain against his chest, his erection prominent against my stomach, and desire thrums through me, hot and unfettered.
“What now?” His whispered question is gruff, his body tense, but his eyes remain steady, his hands in my hair massaging rather than pulling. I brush my lips over his again, enjoying the feel and taste of him, even while absolute terror flows through my veins.
My first instinct is to bail, to turn tail and run as fast and as far as possible, to run and never look back.
He must see the panic on my face because his hands tighten slightly, his desire-darkened eyes narrowing. He shakes his head, his mouth opening to speak, but I squeeze him with my arms. My vision suddenly blurs as the panic eases, making way for the flood of emotion I’ve spent my entire life suppressing.
I laugh, tears overflowing, and for a brief moment, I get a clear glimpse of his face, wide-eyed, slightly panic-stricken, and I laugh louder. Euphoria rushes over me, and I kiss him again, easing the worry lining his face at my random outburst.
I step away, and my hands move from his back, sliding up his chest and over his shoulders until my arms are wrapped around his neck, and I pull him down, pressing my lips against his ear.
“Now, we do our best not to fuck it up.”