Giovanni
GIOVANNI
A fter a long day back at Willow Bridge, the usually familiar sights and sounds of the campus feel oddly foreign after the peace of the holiday break. The day was exhausting, full of meetings and catching up on everything we missed while we were gone.
But now, as the evening settles in, I’m grateful to have Chiara here with me, in my space, where I can keep an eye on her.
She’s lying on my bed, cuddled up next to me, looking like she belongs there. It’s been a good day—no, a fucking great day—and the comfort of having her here, in my sanctuary, is something I don’t want to let go of.
I’m staring out the window, tracing lazy circles on her back when I feel the mattress shift. I turn my head just as Chiara slides her hand up my chest, her eyes filled with something I haven’t seen in a while—desire. My stomach tightens, and I already know where this is heading.
“Gio,” she whispers, her voice low and soft, but with that edge of confidence that I both admire and fear. “I want you. ”
“Chiara…” I start, but she cuts me off, pressing a finger to my lips before replacing it with her mouth.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepens, turning more urgent, more insistent. I feel her hands slide up my chest, her fingers slipping under the fabric of my shirt, and my body reacts instinctively, my hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer.
But then that damn voice in my head speaks up, the one that’s been reminding me for weeks that she’s still healing, still recovering. I pull back, breaking the kiss, and she looks up at me with those wide, questioning eyes.
“Chiara, we can’t,” I say, my voice rough with the effort it takes to stop. “You’re not ready for this.”
Her expression hardens, the fire in her eyes flaring back up. “Don’t tell me what I am or am not ready for, ,” she snaps, her hands moving lower, her touch sending sparks of heat through my body.
“Baby, I’m serious,” I growl, trying to keep my voice firm, but she’s relentless, her hands working my cock in ways she knows I like, ways that make it damn near impossible to think straight.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, trying to pull back, but she follows, her lips against my neck, her hands everywhere, and my resolve is crumbling fast. “Chiara, stop. We can’t do this.”
She leans in, her lips brushing against my neck, and I feel my resolve slipping. “I’m not broken, Gio,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin. “I’m not.”
I swallow hard, trying to focus, trying to keep control. “I know you’re not broken. But you’re still healing, Chiara. I don’t want to do something you’re not ready for.”
But she doesn’t stop. Instead, she pushes harder, her touch turning desperate as she strokes my cock faster. Before I can stop myself, I grab her wrist, pulling her hand away and pinning it above her head as I push her back onto the bed .
For a split second, the world stops. She flinches.
My heart drops into my stomach as I watch her eyes widen, the fear flashing across her face like a fucking neon sign, and I realize what I’ve done. I immediately let go of her wrist, my hands shaking as I pull back, horror washing over me.
“Chiara,” I say, my voice hoarse, but she’s already scrambling away, her breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.
“No, no, no,” she mutters, shaking her head as if trying to ward off the memory, the terror that I can see taking over her mind.
“Chiara, it’s okay,” I try to say, reaching out to her, but she recoils, pulling away from me like I’m the enemy, and it fucking breaks me.
But she’s not listening. She’s too far gone, too deep in her panic to hear me. She scrambles off the bed, her movements frantic, almost animalistic, and before I can stop her, she’s out the door, running down the hall.
I’m left standing there, my heart pounding, my hands still trembling as I try to process what just happened.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve fucking known. I should go after her, I should?—
But I can’t. Not right now. Not when I’m this fucking angry at myself.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fist against the wall. The pain shoots up my arm, but I welcome it, needing something to ground me, something to take the edge off the overwhelming guilt that’s threatening to consume me.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself down. This is all wrong. She’s healing, she’s been doing so fucking well, and I’ve just gone and fucked it all up.
I think back to the look in her eyes when she flinched, the way her body froze under my touch, and I feel sick to my stomach. I never wanted this; I never wanted her to feel like this, to be reminded of what happened.
But I pushed her too far. I let my own fucking desires get in the way, and now she’s gone, running away from me like I’m the fucking monster.
I grab my phone, trying to call her, but it rings from my nightstand. I curse again, my frustration boiling over as I throw the phone onto the bed, my mind racing with all the ways this could go wrong.
She’s too fucking stubborn for her own good, and I know she’s going to blame herself for this, even though it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pinned her like that. I should’ve known better.
But she’s been pushing, too. Pushing me, pushing herself, trying to prove that she’s not broken, that she’s still in control. And I get it, I fucking get it, but this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way to heal.
Fuck, I’ve never felt so powerless in my life.
I pace the room, trying to think, trying to figure out what the hell to do. But my mind keeps replaying that moment, the look in her eyes when she flinched, when she realized she wasn’t in control. It’s like a fucking knife to the gut, and I don’t know how to make it right.
Finally, I grab my jacket, shoving it on as I head for the door. I can’t just stay here, not knowing where she is, not knowing if she’s okay. I’ll search the whole damn campus if I have to, but I’m not letting her go through this alone.