Chapter Thirty Two
Roberto
I brush her mouth once, then again, longer. She answers on instinct, the soft part of her opening to me, and I take it. Her hand comes up to my chest and curls in my shirt; the other finds my shoulder like she’s finding her balance.
“I should go,” she murmurs against my lips.
“After,” I say, and deepen the kiss before she can object. I angle her chin, fit her closer, let the pace slow and thicken.
When I taste her sigh, I slide my palm under the hem of her blouse and slide it upward. Her skin is hot under my hand. She makes that quiet and helpless sound I love and arches into me.
“Roberto,” she whispers, and it’s half warning, half need.
“I hear you,” I murmur, mouth still brushing hers. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t.
I take the kiss deeper and pull her closer, letting her feel my hard cock. Her gasp ends on a long moan.
I let my hand roam farther up her shirt and slip a finger under her bra, stroking the soft skin. Her breath catches and her belly tightens. Her hips tilt into mine before she catches herself and pulls back an inch.
“I really have to go,” she says, breath unsteady. “Tomorrow’s—”
I find her ear, trace the edge of it with my teeth, and she melts, the resistance dropping out of her shoulders. Her head tips to give me more. My other hand settles at the small of her back and draws her flush. For a heartbeat, she’s all in—body, breath, the little stutter she can’t hide.
“Stay,” I say, low.
She swallows. “I can’t,” she says, but it’s softer now, like she’s trying to convince herself.
I kiss the hinge of her jaw, the line below it, return to her mouth, and keep it slow, addictive, the way that unravels her.
Her fingers slide up my chest to my neck; she holds me there and kisses me back like she’s starving.
I want to know exactly how far she’ll let me go with this. How far she’s willing to go to keep up her charade.
Another deep breath. Another pull away. “I promised myself an early night,” she says, eyes a little wild, lips swollen.
“You can have it here,” I tell her, thumb moving up to circle her hard nipple. Her head drops back, allowing me more access to the delicious skin of her throat. “Food, sex, sleep,” I murmur.
That earns the ghost of a smile. I chase it with my mouth, catch it, take more. Her hand slides into my hair as her tongue dances with mine.
“No,” she murmurs. Then again, stronger. “No. No.”
She presses both palms to my chest and pushes.
“No,” she says, breathless. She takes a couple of steps back, but I don’t let her.
I step forward and trap her between my body and the counter, caging her with my arms.
“No, what?” I say, a little harshly.
“I have to go,” she says, still out of breath.
“Why?” I challenge. When she doesn’t answer, I ask again, harsher: “Why, Olivia?”
“I can’t do this,” she says, trying to put some distance between us.
I don’t let her. “Do what?”
“This. With you,” she says, a bit of panic in her voice.
“Why? You did it before, and you were going to do it again last night. Look at me, Olivia,” I snap. But she doesn’t.
I reach up to grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes. “What changed?”
“You know what changed!” She finally bursts.
We hold in place for a moment, her breasts brushing my chest with each harsh breath she takes. Then she’s shoving at me again.
“Let me go!” she yells, pushing me away. “Don’t touch me.”
I lift my hands, palms out, and take a step back. “Okay,” I say, voice even. “I’m not touching you.”
She drags in a breath and smooths her blouse as if she needs the motion. The flush in her cheeks fades to a tight, pale line around her mouth. Her eyes won’t hold mine for more than a second.
“Talk to me, Olivia,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she snaps, then flinches at her own answer. “I told you I’m tired. That’s all.”
I shake my head once. “That’s a lie.”
“I just have to go.” She swallows and reaches for her bag.
I step in her path. “No. Not until we talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Again, you’re lying to me. I don’t appreciate lies,” I say, my voice hard. Then softer: “Something changed. What?”
“I don’t appreciate lies, either, Roberto,” she says, her voice wavering. “And that’s all you’ve done. The whole time. So don’t fucking preach to me!” Her voice goes up at the end.
Olivia does not swear easily—except in bed—so hearing it coming from her mouth is a bit shocking.
“What lies?” I ask, low. “Talk to me.”
I need to hear what she knows before I continue.
And suddenly, the thought of more lies is exhausting. I don’t want to lie to her. I want her to know everything. I want her to accept me for who I am.
But I know she won’t, so I have to protect the Family.
She laughs; it’s harsh and ugly. “Still, you’re thinking of more ways to lie to me.
You look me in the eye and talk about honesty, and all you’ve done is pile one lie on top of another.
Let me sleep with you while you lied out of your ass, making a fucking fool of me while you fucked me at every opportunity. ”
My temper flashes at her words. I reach out and grab her waving wrist and pull her close.
She gasps, her eyes widening.
“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t cheapen it,” I say, my voice hard. “You want to have a conversation, let’s talk. But don’t make us sleeping together something it wasn’t. That was never a lie.”
“But you are,” she says, just as harshly. “You’re a lie. Everything about you. You let me believe that lie. Let me… do things with you.” The shame flashes across her face. “Let me believe that—"
She cuts herself off, yanks her wrist out of my hand, and turns away, but not before I see the shine in her eyes.
I gentle my voice. “Look at me.” She doesn’t. “Olivia, what we were—what we are when I touch you— That isn’t a con. I didn’t pick you to use you. I didn’t set out to hurt you. I tried to stay away. I did. But I couldn’t. That’s the truth.”
She turns halfway, eyes bright and hard. “Then tell me the truth. Say the words.”
I hold her gaze and take the hit, knowing exactly what it’s going to cost me: it’s going to cost me her.
“I can’t talk about that.” The words taste like metal. “Not because I don’t respect you. Because if I open that door, I can’t close it again, and I won’t put you in the middle of things you can’t unlearn.”
Her laugh scrapes. “I’m already there. You already put me there.”
I drop my hands to my sides. “Olivia—”
“What now?” she interrupts. “Are you… Can I walk out of here?”
“I would never hurt you,” I say gently. I open my hands and take a step back so she can see I mean it. “You’re not a prisoner here. You can walk out whenever you want.”
Her throat works. She doesn’t move.
“But I wish you wouldn’t,” I add, softer. “I wish you would talk to me instead.”
“About what?” she says. The fight has gone out of her, and she’s just left with sadness in her eyes. It tears at me.
“There’s nothing to talk about, is there? You lied to me every single time you opened your mouth, and I was stupid enough to believe you.”
“Stop.” I lift a hand, wanting to touch her, and drop it. “You were never stupid. I wanted something that could never be, and I let myself believe I could have it. I was the stupid one.”
“Tell me something true,” she says.
“Olivi—”
“Anything,” she says. “Just one true thing.”
I look her in the eyes for a long moment, wanting to say the words. The three words I’ve only ever said to one other woman.
“You’re right,” I finally say. “It would be best if you left.”
Her expression shatters, and it breaks my heart, but I have to stay strong.
Without another word, she hitches her bag onto her shoulder, turns, and marches out.
When the door slams behind her, I turn and kick one of the chairs at the table, and it flies across the room, splintering against the wall.
“I was dead, and you brought me back to life.”