SUN #4
I swear he feels it too, that current between us. His eyes drop to my lips again. I part them just slightly, subtly, not to offer anything, not to suggest, just waiting. Waiting to see what happens. Whatever that may be.
"You shouldn’t be here, that much is clear," he says suddenly. "This place is extremely dangerous." Then, like snapping out of a trance, he adds quickly, "Damn, I have to get back to work."
But I just can’t stop myself.
My hand instinctively reaches out and lands on his bare bicep, exactly on the gyrfalcon tattoo, in a strange attempt to make him stay, to talk more.
His skin is hot! Fuck, it feels so good. A pleasant wave immediately spreads across my body.
The guy freezes mid-move. He does not look at me. His eyes are now on the planter, head bowed. My fingers just rest on his warm, tanned skin, and it’s the best feeling in the world. We are connected, our energy linked, I just know it, as I immerse myself in the bliss of the moment.
In a way, I feel him now better, but differently than before, more intensely. And there it is—his growing desire, his confusion, his inner protest and dilemma.
"You can’t… can’t do this," he whispers, his voice almost vulnerable.
"Do what?"
"Touch me. You can’t!"
But he doesn’t move away, caught with me in this strange spell, this inexplicable chemistry.
My own thoughts drift far too quickly from simply appreciating the innocence and beauty of a human touch to something more sensual, more hungry.
"Hold me… just for a second!" I breathe out, dazed, like I’m high, floating in a sea of pink bubbles.
"I wish I could, but I can’t…" he whispers.
Still, he doesn’t step back. My fingers brush over his burning skin, a red haze descends over me, madness wins.
I close the half step between us, my chest pressing against his stomach.
His scent floods me, like freshly cut grass and a young, virile alpha.
I feel his hand slide along my side, fingers slipping under the hem of my thin green shirt for a second, grazing my abs. My breath catches.
His other hand lifts and settles at the back of my head for a heartbeat, then drifts down to my neck in a gesture every AO knows.
Alphas place their hands like that on omegas’ napes.
A sharp, electric shiver shoots through me, my forehead leans against his shoulder.
I can hear his heart pounding like crazy, and mine syncs with his rhythm; we breathe the same.
He pulls me into a brief embrace, but it’s so much more erotic, tight and heated, than comforting.
It’s just hunger, sadly it ends… too fast.
Suddenly, he yanks his hands away and takes a sharp step back.
"No. No, no…" he mutters. His pupils are blown wide, his scent thick with arousal. I glance down at his crotch and… damn. I swallow hard. That bulge is enormous! My head spins from the rush of excitement and the sheer insanity of this. It’s reckless, stupid, dangerous. And so good.
"We can’t," he blurts, jaw clenched tight, the muscles twitching. He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to purge the energy crackling between us.
He takes one more step away, breaking our eye contact, quickly nods goodbye, grabs his tools, and rushes off.
Just like that!
Fuck, not again!
Apparently, he’s not going back to work. He heads for the exit. So he just wants to get away from me.
And me…? I fight for breath; it’s super hitched.
What kind of magic is this? Insane chemistry. I want him to stay, to talk, to touch my skin. I need to look at him. To feel like I’m standing in the shade of a giant tree, safe.
Take the pain, gardener.
Ragnar.
Drown it out, please. Just drown it out…
***
At lunch, I’m so absentminded I barely register anything going on around me. I keep poking at my ravioli, which is actually delicious, filled with runny yolk and covered in a creamy maitake and fennel bulb sauce with romanesco, but I can’t focus on the flavors. My head’s buzzing like a beehive.
Anzo is present, that omega Ennio shows up again. The capo treats him differently than he treats Rocco or Luca.
It feels like those two are just muscle to him, like he doesn’t respect their minds. But Ennio’s a different case. They’re talking about land prices for residential and commercial investment in one of the city’s districts.
I can tell Anzo actually listens to Ennio’s opinion and takes it seriously.
Is Ennio one of those mafia ‘consigliere’ types? I have no idea. But he’s got that cold civil servant vibe, speaking with sharp precision, no wasted words.
Maybe Anzo likes that? No clouds of testosterone, no red, overheated alpha mugs, just knowledge and professionalism.
Ennio ignores me completely, acting as if only Anzo is in the room. He doesn’t even look at Rocco and Luca much. Even when they say something, he just doesn’t seem interested in including them in an intelligent conversation.
After lunch, I go out to the patio. Unfortunately, I don’t see Ragnar anywhere.
For a moment, I scan the garden with a hopeful gaze, but he is not here.
Disappointing. Because I just… really need to see him again. Even if I know I shouldn’t approach him.
Just to see him, okay?
Nothing wrong with that!
I head back to my room, deciding to take a shower and maybe do something… pleasant there, thinking about wrapping my lips around a certain person’s cock. It would be the first time since I got here, but… I hear a noise in the hallway. A moment later, there’s a knock on the door.
When I open it, two guards are carrying… my harp inside.
Wow. That's a surprise. Anzo kept his damn promise.
Thankfully, it’s still in its case.
I just hope they didn’t bang it up.
I direct them where to place it, trying not to show how excited I am.
This thing connects me to my old life.
One more grain of hope, something that might help me survive. Keep me from falling apart too fast.
Didn’t think I’d ever see it again, let alone touch it. It was a gift from my father for my fourteenth birthday. For a second, I just stand there, staring at it like it might disappear if I blink. My fingers itch, but I don’t move.
Finally, it’s too tempting. I sit down, hesitantly.
The stool they brought wobbles a little, but I don’t care.
I run my hand across the strings, they’re out of tune, of course.
I grab the tuning key and fix it by ear.
No apps, don’t need one. The E string’s flat, C’s way off, so I go string by string, getting it back to where it’s supposed to be.
At least something in this place can sound right.
Once it’s tuned, I start slow; arpeggios, scales, stuff I’ve done a million times, just warming up. My hands remember what my head’s too cluttered to think about.
Then I start playing. Not a real song, just…
whatever comes out. Bits of things I’ve played before.
Something soft, something weird. My feet shift the pedals without thinking; it’s all muscle memory now.
The sound fills the room. Suddenly, I’m not here, not really.
The strings vibrate through my chest, and for a second, it’s quiet inside me, actually quiet.
I almost forget where I am.
Almost.
The last note dies out, and the room is still again. That kind of still that feels loud. I stare at the harp like maybe it could’ve done more. Fixed something, saved me. So stupid.
I stand up. That’s all it ever is, just a break, not freedom, not peace. Just a pause in the shitstorm.
Still. I’ll take it.