Chapter 12 Words Fail
TWELVE
Words Fail
Laughter echoed through the condo while my friends and I spoke over each other and shared the remaining bottle of wine. The dining table was a mess of empty plates and glasses. I turned my head and noticed dessert was next to be served.
"So, he's the new chef?" Olivia asked, as Bruno added a few berries to the plates.
Lowering my head, I whispered, "Dominic had to go."
Mei nodded her head in agreement, and Olivia shrugged.
Demetria ignored my words and turned to Bruno. "Dinner was amazing."
"It was good, but the steak was dry," Olivia said, her face twisting.
"Lies, his meat is perfect," I added.
Laughter broke out among my friends.
"She's already hypnotized by his dick," Mei added, and my eyes widened. Bruno wore a proud expression as he placed the plates before us.
Demetria gave him a sympathetic look. "You're way better than the last chef with desserts. This cake is delicious, no contest."
Olivia looked ready to argue, but I pointed the teeth of my fork in her direction. "Don't say anything."
Mei smiled. Eventually, we all wore a similar expression.
"So, when is the wedding?" Demetria asked.
I closed my eyes and took a breath; one minute I was prepared to spend eternity with just these bitches, and now, I wished they'd get lost.
"Soon as I can convince her, and in the meantime I'm working on getting my own key," Bruno yelled from his place back in the kitchen.
The fork stopped halfway to my mouth. A key? That was nothing. I had already handed him my heart again.
Cutting into my thoughts, Mei said, "Bake me a cake and I will help convince her."
All four of us leaned in, our heads nearly touching as laughter grew.
"Nope. I'm not sharing my desserts with anyone."
His words made me nod, and the wine glass hovered over my lips. "Wow. You learned the most important lesson after college. Everything you've got belongs to me."
Bruno saluted, and I beamed.
Demetria leaned close. "You look different tonight. Happier." She squeezed my arm, then stood before I could reply.
We slipped into the slow rhythm of good-nights, trading hugs and promises to text, the sort of plans most people never followed through on, though we usually did. My friends disappeared in the elevator.
Once the door shut, I realized nobody, not even Olivia, questioned why I changed my mind or whether they should still commit me to a mental institution or if I was sure.
Maybe they noticed how happy I looked and chose to hold off on the interrogation until the next private gathering.
Either way, I loved them even more for making me not have to explain my about-face tonight.
When I returned to the kitchen area, Bruno was gone. I headed for the living room, where the lights were low and flames flickered in the fireplace. And there he was, stretched out on the couch, a blanket lifted, like he'd been saving a spot just for me.
Bruno filled a second wine glass as he spoke. "I'd say your little dinner was a success."
I smiled and slid into the space beside him. "It was. Olivia might grill the hell out of me eventually…"
"All night she watched me. I was scared she'd run into the kitchen, grab a knife, and do what she threatened in college. Cut my dick off," he said, refilling his glass.
Giggling, I leaned into him. The blanket was already warm from his body heat, and for some unexplained reason I wanted to be engulfed in flames.
Outside, the city was cold. Snowflakes floated down in thick clusters, gathering along the higher floors of the surrounding buildings.
Right here next to Bruno was the warmest place to be.
He pressed a kiss onto my temple. "You looked happier than I'd seen you in a long while tonight."
"I was," I said. And I meant it. Not just because of the girls, Amoré Nights' success, the food, or even the wine.
But this. Right here. After that we simply sat there, legs intertwined under the blanket, glasses lifted, the city looking in at us through the large windows.
And for once, I didn't feel like I had to fill the silence. It already had everything I needed.
I placed a kiss on his cheek, and Bruno took the glass from my hand and set it on the table beside his.
His fingers brushed my jaw, warm and deliberate, his thumb tracing the edge of my bottom lip.
He leaned in and kissed me, starting slow, his mouth gentle and exploring.
I went still for a heartbeat as the kiss deepened and his hand drew me closer.
I shifted onto his lap, my knees straddling his thighs.
The blanket slipped off my shoulders and pooled behind me.
The heat of the fire flickered along my skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth building between us.
Bruno's hands moved over me, possessive, slipping under the hem of my dress.
I felt the urgency in his touch, the way he pulled me tighter.
His mouth then claimed mine like he couldn't get close enough.
My dress crept higher as Bruno explored every inch of my legs, my waist, my back. He pressed his mouth to my neck, wet and open, lips dragging slowly over the curve of my throat. I tilted my head, giving him more, feeling the scrape of his teeth just below my collarbone.
"That feels so good," I purred.
My nails dug into his shoulders, my breath coming faster, body arching against his.
I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady but quick, matching my own.
His mouth found mine again, rougher now, more demanding, and I gave in completely.
Bruno's hands gripped my hips as I moved against him, our bodies falling into a rhythm that made the rest of the world dissolve.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
"Tonight is all about you."
The words cracked something open in me. I nodded, unable to find the voice to answer.
Just a nod—quiet, desperate. He stood, lifting me effortlessly in his arms, my legs wrapped around him.
He carried me toward the bedroom, past the city lights and the snow and the fireplace that still burned behind us.
Every step felt deliberate, like he wasn't rushing it, like he wanted me to feel every second.
He laid me down slowly, his body following mine.
Eagerly, I reached for his pants, but Bruno caught my wrists before gently pinning them above my head.
"Not tonight," he said, voice low. "You don't have to do anything for me. Just feel."
I let out a shaky breath. My body trembled with the effort of not controlling, not leading, not holding everything together. I let him undress me slowly, his mouth following every exposed line of skin. The way he looked at me, hungry but reverent, made something tighten in my chest.
The fire burned low. Snow tapped the window like a polite guest who didn't demand to be invited in. The wool blanket scratched the back of my knees and smelled faintly of cedar. Bruno's palm rested on my hip, warm, steady, asking nothing. Waiting.
"Should we make things official?" he asked. There was no swagger in it. No pressure. It landed like a soft place to lie down.
I nodded. My throat felt tight and strangely clear at the same time. "Yes."
He moved in that slow way of his, like he was translating a language he did not want to get wrong.
Lips to my temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth.
Each touch a question. I answered by leaning, by opening, by not running.
Heat rose under my skin. Not the kind that panics.
The kind that softens. My hands found his shoulders and then his shirt buttons, small careful clicks that felt louder than the wind outside.
He set the pace. And I was relieved and happy to relinquish control.
The fire popped. We both looked, a reflex.
Then we smiled, the same crooked curve. I pulled his shirt free and pressed my palms to his chest. Hair rough under skin, heartbeat even.
This was what safe sounded like: a steady tempo, not speeding up the second I admitted I was afraid.
"There's no going back now," he said.
I could have said the same to him. Instead, I tugged him closer, legs shifting under the blanket. His mouth found mine fully now, no questions left, and I let my body answer what my mouth could not. The kiss turned deeper.
Clothes went in small piles. Socks off last, laughter at the awkwardness of it, the way adults can laugh in the middle of the most serious things.
His hands at my waist. The blanket pulled higher.
My skin against his. Warmth, weight, relief, the kind that makes you realize how cold you had been.
I let my eyes close. Let the world narrow to scent and heat and the scrape of wool.
He kissed the hollow of my throat, and my breath caught, but not the way it used to, not with dread. My mind tried to rise, to narrate, to warn, and I told it to rest. Just for tonight. Just long enough to see what happened when I stopped standing guard.
"Look at me," he said.
I did. His eyes were not a demand. They were a place.
I went there. Something unclenched. My hands moved on their own and found what they wanted.
He groaned, quiet, as if he was trying not to break whatever spell we had managed to cast. I didn't want careful anymore.
Not all careful. I wanted something honest.
"Please," I pleaded, and he gave me more, but still slow, still taking his time.
Bruno moved first. The blanket slid. The cold air bit my shoulder and then warmed again under his mouth. His fingers laced with mine, anchored. We found a rhythm that was not smooth at first, the way forgiveness never is. It stuttered. It learned. It settled.
When the orgasm came, it wasn't fireworks.
It was a deep thaw, a river under ice cracking open, water pushing through the narrowest places.
I heard myself say his name like I hadn't said it in a year, not as a weapon, not as a plea, just as a truth.
He held me through it. He didn't let go until I did.
After, the room sounded busy. The snow tapped again. The fire sighed. My heartbeat slowed against his chest. He brushed a strand of hair from my mouth and looked like he was about to speak. I shook my head. Not yet. Words could wait. Trust was busy knitting itself together in the quiet.
We lay there while the last log settled into coals. The blanket itched. My leg was falling asleep. It felt real. He kissed my knuckles. I let myself believe, for one breath, that this would not disappear in the morning.
One breath turned into two. Then three. Outside, New York kept snowing. Inside, I let the weight of his arm stay where it was. I let the silence mean what it meant. I closed my eyes and did not reach for my armor. Not tonight.
Bruno slept beside me, his arm stretched over the pillow we shared.
The room stayed dim, lit only by a thin yellow line of city light seeping through the curtains.
His uneven breathing might have once annoyed me, but now each one curled warm in my chest. I lay on my side, taking him in.
Bruno's lashes rested lightly against his skin, the curve of his mouth softer in sleep, free of the teasing grin that could still spark a fight if I let it.
A tiny scar near his temple caught the light, the one Olivia gave him after our messy breakup in college. Earlier, I had touched my lips to it, easing the old history still attached to that mark.
I used to run after nights like this, slipping out before daylight with my shoes in hand, certain intimacy was a trap. With Bruno, that old instinct did not surface. His suitcase sat open in the corner, half unpacked, looking less like a quick visit and more like a welcomed sign he planned to stay.
I traced the rise and fall of his chest with my eyes, breathed in cedar, wine, and the faint smoke of the fireplace that hadn't quite gone out downstairs.
Never in a million years did I think we would end up back here again, cuddling with me memorizing his face. Either way, for the first time in a long while, I let myself picture a future with Bruno. Not certain or risk free, but worth trying for.
"You know I love you, don't you?" I said, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.
To my surprise, he slowly opened his eyes.
"I never doubted you loved me. Only worried you'd stubbornly deny it for the rest of both our lives."
"I thought you were sleeping."
"How can anyone sleep with a beautiful woman like you lying next to them? It's a good thing I was awake, because I doubt you'd confess your love anytime soon."
I leaned over and laid my head on his chest. "I hate how well you know me."
"You don't hate anything about me," Bruno said, then gently kissed my forehead.
Damn, he was right about that too.