17. Colette
17
Colette
T he rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air as I step into the kitchen, drawn by the mouthwatering scents. Antonio stands at the stove, swaying his hips in time with the jazzy crooners spilling from the speakers as he tends to the spread of food.
My heart squeezes at the simple domesticity of the scene. Just a few months ago, I couldn't have imagined finding this sort of peace and contentment again. Not after everything I'd endured at the hands of my ex-husband — the emotional turmoil and physical violence, the fear that became as familiar as breathing.
And yet here I am, wrapped up in Antonio's strong arms and basking in the warmth of his affection. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the darkness of my traumatic past has receded into the shadows. Don't get me wrong, the demons still linger. The panic attacks, the bone-deep weariness- those haven't disappeared overnight. But with Antonio at my side, bolstering me with his steadfast care and understanding, it's becoming easier to keep the darkness at bay.
I linger in the entryway for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. The taut muscles in his shoulders and back ripple beneath the thin fabric of his white undershirt with each flex and turn of his body. Shorter strands of his dark hair curl over the nape of his neck, damp with the humidity wafting from the stove.
My fingertips itch with the sudden urge to trace the hard planes of his body, to explore every hard-earned ridge and valley. For all the passion we share behind closed doors, there's an unabashed intimacy to this quiet morning ritual that makes it feel so much more…real.
As though he can sense my heated regard, Antonio glances over his shoulder with a rakish grin. "Morning, gorgeous. Hungry?"
The low, gravelly timbre of his voice sends a shiver skittering down my spine. I cross the tiled floor toward him in a few unhurried strides, unable to resist the siren's call of his presence any longer.
"Starving," I murmur, lifting onto my tiptoes to brush a teasing kiss to the sensitive span of skin just beneath his jawline.
A rumbling purr echoes in Antonio's throat as his arm bands around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His body is scorching even through the thin material of my camisole, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding against the softness of my curves.
"That's what I like to hear," he rasps, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. A need flares in my lower belly as a whimper escapes me. Morning ablutions and fresh pots of coffee are rapidly forgotten as I sink my fingers into Antonio's thick mane.
He groans low in my ear; the sound vibrating through me as his nimble fingers find their way beneath the hem of my top. My back arches, pressing my breasts more firmly into the scorching expanse of his palms. But just as swiftly as the wanting pools between my thighs, a separate flicker of emotion blooms in my chest. Tenderness. Contentment.
This right here — the languid caresses, the bone-deep yearning, is more than just sex.
The realization seizes me with such startling intensity that it nearly steals my breath. When was the last time I felt this alive, this empowered? Years? Maybe more? I can't even fathom how different my life would be if I'd reunited with Antonio sooner. If our paths had crossed before the shroud of misery and isolation consumed me, perhaps I would have been strong enough to resist the slow insidious poison of my ex-husband's conditioning.
The thought should make me sad, or at the very least wistful. But I find myself grateful instead. Because without those trials, without suffering through the crucible of my disastrous marriage, I never would have been forged into the woman strong enough to accept the depth of Antonio's love.
To let him in - scars and all.
Antonio must sense the shift in my energy because of his ministrations still, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from the thundering pulse at the base of my throat. "Col? You okay?"
Drawing back, I tilt my chin to meet his gaze. The naked concern burning in those sable depths steals what little breath I have left in my lungs.
"I am," I whisper, lifting a hand to trace the strong, uncompromising line of his jaw in wonderment. "I really am."
His brow furrows slightly as he searches my face for any lingering shadows. But after a moment, Antonio's features relax into expressing such tender adoration that it damn near buckles my knees. My heart hammers against my ribcage, the steady staccato filling my ears. Antonio leans in to kiss me, the touch filled with so much emotion; it rips through me like a lightning strike. I melt into his embrace, surrendering to the pull of our connection once more.
He lets me up for air, his lips brushing sweet nothings across my brow, cheeks, and eyelids. Every graze of his mouth is like a salve, soothing the raw, fractured parts of me that have been so meticulously scabbed over.
"Christ, Colette," he murmurs in quiet reverence, cupping my face in his palms. "You do not know how much you mean to me, do you?"
The sincerity bleeding from his words washes over me like the first deluge of summer rain after a parched, barren season. I never expected stumbling into something like this–something pure enough to shear through the heavy mantle of my trauma.
But now that I've experienced it? I can't imagine going back. Can't fathom a universe where Antonio isn't the solid foundation grounding me, easing me out of my darkest spirals when the nightmares become too potent to ignore.
Looping my arms around his neck, I tilt my forehead to rest against his. "I think I'm getting an idea," I whisper, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
He grins wolfishly in return before surging forward to capture my mouth in another searing kiss. This one is all heat and need, stoking the embers of my arousal into an inferno in a matter of heartbeats.
My fingers find purchase in the soft cotton of his shirt as Antonio sweeps me up, depositing me on the kitchen island with a flourish. He towers over me, slotting his hips between my parted thighs as his lips caress the slender column of my neck.
"Antonio," I keen, writhing beneath the insistent ministrations of his lips and tongue. My nails scrape over the flexing expanse of his back in silent encouragement. "God, please..."
"I've got you, Col," he rumbles against my overheated flesh, the vibration sending delicious little aftershocks spiraling through me. "I've got you."
With a tender caress of my cheeks, Antonio captures my lips, contrasting with bruising intensity. I arch against him, my fingers slipping beneath his thin undershirt to trail over the rippling musculature of his abdomen.
I whimper into the seal of our mouths as the hard length of Antonio's arousal nudges against my inner thigh. In that moment, all I want is for him to claim me, to fill me until the rest of the world fades away.
But then a chirp from somewhere in the living room pierces the sensual fog swirling around us. Antonio stills with a muffled curse, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as we both struggle to rein in our galloping desires.
"Just leave it," I plead, looping an arm around the back of his neck to bring his lips crashing back to mine.
He resists, albeit reluctantly. "You know I can't, Col," Antonio huffs. He’s been hunting the mischievous mink for two days, and the rodent is causing him many sleepless nights. I watch him run off, grabbing a broom as he goes, chuckling with delight. I think about the comfortable life we have now, and I feel a pang of guilt about how I left things off with Henry.
Antonio has tried to get me to forgive Henry. Without being pushy about it, bless him. It’s been months since I found out about Henry’s betrayal, but the pain has remained fresh in my heart. And yet, I find myself more and more open to the idea of forgiving him and fixing our relationship. I know it will make Antonio happy, and I want to do everything possible to make him happy.
Humming while listening to Antonio chase the mink around the house, I pour myself some coffee and fix two plates with some breakfast.