Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Siobhán
T he pale blue teddy was in a rumpled ball behind the gym bag Luca brought back from The Dollhouse. I threw it there when I unpacked the bag, disgusted by his presumption. It didn’t disgust me now.
I shook it out and held it in front of me. He picked it out, because he wanted me to wear it for him. Even then.
That man didn’t know what he wanted. One big ball of conflict, he just felt and acted on whatever emotion was winning the race at the time. He wanted me physically—I knew that from day one—but was it something more? Did his feelings run as deeply as mine?
I ripped the tags off, pulled the sheer, stretchy material over my head, and barely recognized the woman who stared back at me in the standing mirror. I ran my fingers across lips usually painted ruby red but instead were pale pink. They matched my fair Irish complexion and the freckles that dusted my nose. A few stragglers dotted my cheekbones and met the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes. Without makeup, my blonde eyebrows were barely visible beneath the lines that creased my forehead.
I fingered the ends of my hair. I let it grow out for the first time in years, but without my curlers or pins, it fell stick-straight to my shoulders. I tucked it behind my ears, and my eyes drifted down my body.
It looked the same as it had for as long as I could remember—too thin with too many sharp angles. The teddy should have been tight, should have hugged curves I’d longed for my entire life. Instead, it bunched at my waist, and my hip bones jutted prominently through the sheer fabric. At least my scars weren’t visible, and my small breasts were perky. My full, pert nipples drew attention away from my stomach to my chest. A small victory.
I tilted my head and tried to see myself the way Luca saw me—through hungry eyes filled with appreciation and lust—instead of how I saw myself—wrinkled with middle-age and scrawny, a body ravaged from growing up in the mob. I ran my hands over my hair, smoothing it and soothing my insecurities.
Heartache was real, and it was painful. It’s what happened when that muscle was overused but not given what it needed to recover. Mine ached for Luca, in part because I couldn’t imagine a future tied to someone who lived this life, in part because I wasn’t sure he wanted a future with me at all. How could I put myself and my heart in jeopardy again? I shouldn’t, and once I got out of there, I knew I wouldn’t. I’d walk away.
But not tonight. Tonight, all I wanted was Luca. I’d deal with my heart later.
Across the hall in the master bedroom, the full moon cast an ethereal glow through the open window, illuminating the ridges and angles of Luca’s magnificent body. The comforter was bunched at the end of the bed, and the sheet draped sideways across his hips but just barely. The full breadth of his abs and the trimmed hair beneath were as sinful a temptation as his powerful legs, trunks of muscle dusted with dark brown atop white linen. One knee was cocked, mirroring the bend in his right elbow. His forearm covered his eyes, and his chest rose and fell with the slow cadence of his breath.
I crawled onto the bed. His body heat and a hint of his cologne made me instantly wet. I ran my hand over his chest and kissed his neck.
“You owe me a third orgasm,” I whispered into his ear.
A low rumble emanated from his chest.
I straddled his hips. He stirred, his arms and legs shifting, and his eyes cracked open. I trailed my fingernails down the ridges of his muscled torso. His eyes trailed down my body, and his hands followed. He ran them back up the sheer teddy from my hips to my breasts, hardening beneath me, growing to meet the demands of the desire burning in his eyes. My sex ached in anticipation of feeling him inside me again.
He thumbed my nipples through the fabric, and I gasped. My fingers went to my sex, needy for the same pressure there. I dipped them between my legs, coating them with my wetness, and circled my clit.
Another sleepy rumble vibrated his torso. He sat up, and I rested my hands on his shoulders. He splayed his across my back, and with only inches separating us, he stared into my eyes.
I combed the hair off his face and ran my fingers through it, dragging my nails across his scalp. His gaze hooded and dipped to my mouth. He licked his lips—those full, sinful lips—then returned his attention to my eyes, holding them, asking permission. But he wasn’t asking permission from me. He was asking permission from himself.
My heart hammered against my chest, filled to bursting with affection for the man who looked at me like my lips were the only answer to his questions. I cupped the side of his face and ran my thumb along his cheekbone, wanting to memorize every detail, every ridge and wrinkle, every crimson fleck in his coffee-brown eyes. Stash them away, safe in the vault of my mind so that when this all came to an end, I could pull each treasure out and return to this perfect moment.
His lids fluttered closed under my touch, and I lowered my lips to our first kiss.
I brushed them against his, tentatively, knowing that everything would change after this moment—the moment we finally gave in to what we really wanted and how we really felt. His warm breath tangled with mine, and the space between us came alive with anticipation, years of longing on the verge of satisfaction. My lips tingled with it, sending shivers down my spine. But I didn’t want to rush; I balanced on the precipice, knowing we’d never get to fall over the edge again.
The mouth I hungered after for years rose to meet mine with the gentlest touch, and electricity streaked through my body. He kissed my top lip, then the bottom. I darted my tongue out to taste him, wishing I could freeze time and forever occupy that place of unparalleled pleasure and rightness but knowing this might be my only chance.
He did the same, touching the tip of his tongue to my lips. And when our tongues finally met, I melted, and we kissed. We let go, moving in sensual harmony and revealing the full extent of the passion we’d held at bay for so long.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close and cradling my head. He slanted his lips across mine, sweeping his tongue into my mouth, each stroke languid and tender. I shoved my hands into his silky, thick hair, and he tightened his hold, pulling me deeper. But there was no objective, no destination. Just the kiss and everything we wanted to tell each other poured out through each caress.
He let the kiss fade until only our lips touched and we shared each other’s breath. His hands slid to my hips, and he pulled back enough to watch himself run them up and down my sides. He stopped where the blue teddy pooled at my waist and slipped his fingers beneath the thin material, pressing them against my skin. He dragged his hands up my torso, pushing the teddy along with them, and when he reached my arms, pulled the fabric up and over my head and tossed it aside.
I placed my hands on his shoulders; he rested his on my hips. We stared into each other’s eyes, held in place by the emotion swimming between us with staggering intensity.
“I waited too long to kiss you,” he said in an awed whisper and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “I could have been kissing you this entire time.”
He lowered his hand to my upper back and, shifting his weight, rolled us. He laid me down, untangling us from the sheet, and hovered over me on his side. The fall of his hair framed his dark eyes. They were filled with a yearning that went beyond desire, and when he lowered his mouth to mine, he made love to it with a kiss that held their same promise.
The floodgate holding back my feelings for Luca came crashing down. The misgivings, the worry, the heartbreak—gone, and I surrendered everything to him. Not the playboy. Not the made man. Not my family’s sworn enemy. But Luca. The man I’d loved from afar. The man who smiled just for me. My Romeo.
He climbed on top of me and spread my knees, wedging himself between my legs. I reached between us and found the weight of his balls. I cradled them and gently squeezed before running my nails over the sensitive skin. He shivered and broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. He brushed the loose strands of hair from my face. I wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock and led him to my entrance, swirling the tip through my wetness.
He pressed his thick head into me, and his short, warm breaths danced with mine. I threaded my hands into his hair and pushed it away from his face. The crimson flecks dotting the obsidian field of his eyes seemed to flare as he pressed himself forward.
He filled and stretched me, joining with me and granting my soul the piece of itself that had always been missing. He shivered, and the awe in his eyes matched the awe in my heart, a reverence for our perfect moment and the beauty created when two souls finally admitted how deeply they treasured each other.
He held himself up on one elbow, wrapped his fingers around the nape of my neck, and kissed me, easing himself out and pressing himself in as slowly and gently as he moved his mouth over mine. Tender kisses, one, two at a time, pulling away to look into my eyes, then dipping back down to reclaim my lips. His hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, and my hips lifted and shifted to match. We held onto each other as tightly as we held onto the moment, never wanting it to end.
He thrusted, and I squirmed with more urgency, the pleasure rising and demanding we fulfill our growing need. He released me from his kiss and propped himself up on both elbows. His forehead hovered above mine, and he started to pump in and out of me. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pressing him into my core, sensation building with each stroke of his cock and each grind against my clit.
“Baby,” he breathed. “Baby, tell me when. Tell me when you’re going to come.” The pleading in his voice nearly sent me over the edge. He was close and so was I, and he wanted us to come together, wanted us to share that final intimacy.
“Now. Luca!” I barely breathed his name before my body plummeted into the abyss.
He shivered at my exclamation, thrusting faster, and I moaned, loud chords of bliss ripped from my body with each pulse of my orgasm. He thrust one last time and stilled, his body jerking as he came. We shook through our orgasms as one, sharing our breath and sharing our pleasure, clinging to each other and clinging to the moment.
We stilled, save our heaving chests.
He brought his fingertips to my lips and touched them like they weren’t real. I wrapped his fingers in mine and kissed their tips. He licked his lips and swallowed. I smiled at his nervous tic.
He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him until I lay on my side, my head propped up in my hand.
Pouty lips, swollen from kisses. Smoldering eyes with flecks of crimson. Long dark hair framing an angular jaw covered in salt and pepper. I was a goner from the first moment I saw his face.
He tucked his forearm behind his head, and I traced my fingers down his chest to where the gold chain he wore ended in a small circular medallion.
“St. Anthony,” I whispered. He raised an eyebrow, and I smiled. “You’re not the only one who was raised Catholic.”
He smirked. “Gina made me go to church every Sunday.”
“So did my parents.” I ran my fingertips over the trimmed hair that covered his broad chest. It seemed to soothe him, and his face softened into an expression bordering on peaceful. “Do you still?”
“Cosa?”
“Go to Church.”
“No.” His eyebrows drew together. “That’s not true. I go when Nonna e Nonno—Gina and Marco’s parents—are around. It makes them happy, but it’s not for me.”
“Same. I only go when it’s my turn to visit Mam on Sundays.” I picked up the pendant and turned it over. It was worn and tarnished. “Why do you wear this then?”
He lowered his eyes to my fingers. “It was my father’s.”
An irrational twinge of guilt hit me in the chest. “I’m sorry.”
He removed his arm from behind his head, placed his forefinger beneath my chin, and tipped my head up. “Don’t be. You didn’t kill him.” Steel backed his words, spoken as a decision. A decision he made for himself as much as for me.
I nodded, and he put his arm back behind his head.
“His name was Antonio—Anthony in Italian, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not why he wore it.”
The final sliver of the moon dipped below the tree line and left us in near darkness.
“Sant’Antonio is the patron saint of recovering lost items,” he said. “The priests at Sacred Heart gave it to him.”
He frowned, and his body tensed. I dropped the pendant and resumed trailing my fingers across his chest. He blew out a breath and relaxed.
“My father was an orphan. He emigrated from Italy with his parents. But back then, the North End wasn’t like it is now. Back then, it was an overcrowded slum. His parents died soon after they arrived. Some sickness they picked up and had no means to treat. He ended up living on the streets but knew enough to go to Sacred Heart for meals.”
He lifted the pendant and held it between his fingers. “The priests gave this to him, told him Sant’Antonio would protect him so he’d never get lost and would always find his way home.” He looked at me, eyes wide and glassy. “Then he met Marco, and the DeVitas gave him a home. Marco gave this to me after the funeral. Told me to never take it off, because—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “Because no matter what, I was part of his family, and he never wanted to lose me.”
Tears spilled down my face. What Luca did to Marco in a desperate attempt to kill the pain in his heart over losing his father… I couldn’t fathom the sacrifice.
It made sense now. I was the one to tell Marco the hit hadn’t come from the Shaughnessys, and with that one act, Luca lost his only family. Yes, he’d made a string of horrifyingly bad decisions, but I saw the trail of pain and loss that led him to blame me. None of it was logical, but after everything Luca had been through, could I expect him to be logical? After everything I had been through, was I?
I rested my head on the pillow, and he rolled onto his side to face me. He trailed his fingers down my torso and followed them with his eyes.
“Luca.” I tucked his hair behind his ear.
“Hm?”
“Luca, look at me.”
He flattened his palm over the scars on my belly and lifted his gaze.
“I know you’re going to hurt me,” I said without accusation and ran my fingers over his hair. Resisting my feelings for Luca was as impossible as resisting the instinct to breathe. I couldn’t force them away even knowing his troubled soul might never love me the way I loved him.
He clenched his teeth, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. He ran his thumb back and forth over my belly.
“And I can live with that as long as you promise not to break me,” I said with sincerity.
He wanted to reassure me that would never happen. I saw it in his eyes and the way his expression tightened. But he fought the urge; his nostrils flared with the effort of holding back a promise he couldn’t keep. “I can’t promise you that,” he said, and his gravelly voice cracked under the weight of his honesty.
I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead even as a tear slid down my cheek. I closed my eyes, relishing the feel of his hair beneath my fingers and his forehead beneath my lips.
He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into the cocoon of his body until my cheek rested against his chest. He draped a leg over mine and nuzzled his face into my hair. His big body shook around mine, and he clung to me as if I might disappear from his arms.
I snuggled closer and planted soft kisses on his chest. “It’s okay,” I whispered, unsure if I meant the words for Luca or myself. “We’re going to be okay.”