Chapter 12 #3
A shiver coasts over my skin as those words settle deep inside the most broken part of me.
I should correct him, because…casual. It’s a safe word at this point. The reminder that I can’t get attached. But right now, I don’t want to correct him.
“You had to leave the building for safety reasons,” Eros says. “Your guard took Beppe back to the penthouse, and Riccardo has been informed of your absence.”
“How could you even know that?”
“Remember what I said about uncomfortable truths?”
When I don’t answer, he kisses me and squeezes my ass.
“Alright, little shark. Let’s get you home.”
I’m not sure how he plans to do that exactly, but he doesn’t seem concerned as he sets me on the sofa and moves around the room at a leisurely pace.
“You want to close your eyes?” he asks.
“Okay.”
I hear a lamp switch on, followed by a zipper, and the rustle of clothing. I think he’s putting his mask back on, but I’m not sure what he zipped up.
“I’ll need you to change.” He comes closer and sets something on the sofa beside me.
I assume it’s for the purpose of smuggling me out of here, and I realize he came prepared when I reach over and touch the clothes. The fabric is unmistakably familiar, and after a moment of feeling around it, I know it’s a pair of sweats I from my closet. There are also gloves, socks, and sneakers.
The thought of getting out of this dress and heels fills me with relief.
Eros shifts, bending down to lift one of my feet so he can unbuckle my heel.
He takes his time, his fingers grazing my ankle with a featherlight touch.
It isn’t necessary. It’s because he wants to.
He lingers there for a long moment, like he’s memorizing the feeling of my bones in his oversized hands.
“So fragile.” His voice dips, lips skimming over my ankle before he kisses it. “Bite-sized Gabi.”
A rough breath falls from my lips when he scrapes his teeth across the delicate skin and nips me there.
“And though she be but little, she is fierce.”
“Are you quoting Shakespeare to me?”
His hum vibrates against my skin as he kisses his way up my calf, all the way to the tender skin on the inside of my knee.
I think I forget how to breathe as he moves to the opposite leg, kissing his way back down to my other ankle before he removes my other heel.
“I’m not really that fierce,” I confess, distracted by his touch and needing something to focus on before I fling myself at him again.
“You’re stronger than you know,” he says. “Even the smallest prey can bring a hunter to his knees.”
“Are you the hunter?”
“You tell me.” He kisses his way back up my leg to my inner thigh, pushing my dress up as he goes.
This conversation feels cryptic, and for a second, I’m considering the possibility that he may have read my journal, too. Either that, or his analogy just hits too close to home.
For the briefest of moments, the thought flickers through my mind that maybe I should just open my eyes. Maybe I do want to know who he really is. But, in the end, self-preservation wins.
If I don’t know who he is, I won’t be able to miss him when he’s gone. Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
“I don’t know if we’ll make it out of this room if you keep doing that.” A soft hum escapes me.
“What, this?” He continues to kiss and bite his way up my thighs, spreading them apart as he goes.
He pushes my dress up over my body, slowly sliding it over my head until I’m in nothing but a strapless bra and panties. My stomach dips as he grazes my hip bone, dragging his teeth over the curve before he bites down.
I never thought someone could get turned on by the size of one’s skeletal mass, but he seems to be obsessed with mine. It’s bizarre, but strangely addictive.
“Are you a serial killer?” I tease.
“Define serial.” He peppers my abdomen with soft kisses, all the way up to my rib cage, which he studies with more of his fingers and teeth.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” I shiver.
“What if I said yes?” He peels down the cup of my bra and licks my nipple, making me arch into him like he didn’t just admit he’s unhinged. “Do you want the version of me that lets you sleep at night, or do you just want to know you’re the exception?”
My throat works as I contemplate it. The truth is, almost every man I know could be considered a serial killer. They’ve all killed, multiple times at least. It’s normal in my world, so it’s not that I’m afraid for that reason.
“I want to know I’m the exception,” I admit.
There’s a moment of hesitation from him that should probably terrify me, but if I’m the prey in this scenario, maybe this is my fawn response.
“You’re always the exception, Gabriela.” He smooths my bra back into place and shifts his weight so his lips are only a breath from mine. “I never want to hurt you. That’s why I gave you the knife.”
“So I feel safe with you?” I swallow.
“So you can use it if you need to.”
There’s something about the tension in his voice that makes me feel like it’s not just an assurance, but rather, a failsafe. Before I can think of anything to say in response, he pulls away, leaving me disoriented as he starts to dress me.
I keep my eyes closed, my mind wandering between the dualities of this situation. Sometimes, it still feels like he’s warning me away from him. But when he takes care of me like this, I can’t even fathom the possibility that he’d be capable of hurting me.
It confuses me, and quite honestly, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to let him push me away, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
He finishes dressing me and slips on my socks and sneakers before he moves, and I hear the lamp switch off.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Darkness surrounds us as he returns to me and wordlessly lifts me into his arms.
He carries me out of the lounge and down the dark hallway, into the stairwell, before we exit on the parking garage level. It isn’t until we’re in that space that I finally get a glimpse of him, and I realize he’s wearing a motorcycle helmet.
I can’t see his face, arms, hands, or even his neck, which is now covered in a gator. It makes me wonder if it’s intentional, or if it’s a logical choice for whatever he’s about to do next.
His boots echo off the floor, and the space is so empty, I can only assume that Riccardo and his investors left. In any case, Eros doesn’t seem to be concerned about the possibility of running into them.
He stops and sets me on my feet beside a sport bike.
It’s matte black, with the Ducati logo printed across the tank. The back seat is so small, I’m certain Eros underestimates how wildly uncoordinated I am.
I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger and grabs another helmet from the back.
He helps me put it on and adjusts the chin strap before he presses a button on the side. After a few moments, the speaker hums, and his voice startles me.
“Can you hear me?”
I nod before I realize he can probably hear me, too.
“Yes, but I’m not sure I can do this. What if I fall off?”
“I won’t let you fall.”
There’s so much certainty in his voice, it gives me the reassurance I need.
He swings his leg over the seat and settles on the bike, steadying it with both feet before he starts it. It rumbles to life, vibrations carrying through the floor as he glances at me and pats the seat behind him.
“Come here. I’ll help you.”
I move toward him, and he guides me onto the bike, using his body to steady me.
It feels strange, sitting higher behind him, and the seat is so small, I slide right into him.
Even in the cool air, his body is warm, and when he guides my hands around him, my head naturally settles against his back.
“All good, little shark?”
“All good,” I reply with far more confidence than I feel.
I close my eyes, and the bike surges forward, smooth but sudden.
A shriek escapes me, and the sound of Eros’s laughter drifts through the speaker as I tighten my grip on him. It’s contagious, and it helps me relax enough to open my eyes again.
He navigates us out of the garage and onto the street, and I shiver as the vibrations rumble through our bodies.
We set off into the night, the wind pressing against my back, the heat of his body soaking into mine as the world narrows around us. The city, the cars, the lights—they all fade away until it’s only me, him, and the space between our heartbeats.
Surrendering to his control and trusting him so completely is intoxicating. I didn’t think I would like this, and it’s a bittersweet reminder that there was a time I only experienced this with Romeo.
He was always my protector, and with him by my side, the world never felt safer. I doubted I’d ever know that sense of security again, but Eros has given it back to me.
It takes a minute to register that I’m enjoying this so much I don’t want to stop. When he nears the penthouse, I find the courage to use my voice to ask for something simply because I want to.
“Do we have to go back right now?”
“Have I Stockholm’d you already?” A touch of humor slips through his voice.
“Maybe.” I smile against him.
“Duly noted. Subject likes velocity.”
He takes off, and my body melts into his as he turns down another street and picks up speed. Adrenaline floods my veins, drawing a wild, breathless sound from my lungs as he shows me the true power of the bike.
It feels like the city is our playground, and with every rush of acceleration, something inside me comes alive. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t care—as long as the night doesn’t end.
Eventually, Eros rolls to a stop at Alki Beach.
It’s late, and the sandy stretch is deserted, the water lapping at the shoreline as the city lights reflect off the Sound.
He helps me off the bike, pausing to rub my arms as he looks down at me through the helmet. “Cold?”
“No. I’m okay.”