Chapter 26 Stephanie
STEPHANIE
White-hot fire pounds through my veins as I look up into Gio’s beautiful hazel eyes.
They’re dark with emotion, his gaze boring into mine with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs, and for a moment, I can’t speak.
Gio’s words might just be the single most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
And when he says my name—my name—it’s like a symphony to my ears.
He says it with such agonized need, and yet, the way he breathes it is almost reverent.
Like he’s been holding back all this time, dying to say it but couldn’t.
And all I want is to hear him say it again.
Stephanie.
That’s who I am.
And while I’m still hurt and scared and confused, when Gio kissed me, it was as though I’d found the eye of the storm.
All the chaos inside me stilled, and I could feel the love and devotion between us, the insatiable attraction we share.
I now know without a shred of doubt that my romantic and rather erotic dreams with a faceless man were real—they were memories of Gio fighting to come back to me in whatever way they could.
And my spine tingles to think of all the passion we’ve shared.
Every stolen glance and hidden kiss—making love anywhere and everywhere because nothing could stop us.
He’s the love of my life, the most incredible, most considerate, best man I’ve ever met—even if he lied to me. And all I want is to be with him.
Now that my memories are back, my headache seems to have vanished.
In its place, I feel overwhelmed by the lifetime of emotions and experiences that come to me in rapid-fire, like flashes of a camera, behind my mind’s eye.
I gasp as a crushing sense of longing plows through me—when I think about all the time I spent alone, wishing for someone exactly like Gio, someone who understands me intrinsically, who makes life feel good and right, even on a bad day.
And as I stare into his tumultuous eyes, he must see how much I want him, because in the next breath, his hand is cradling the back of my neck, and he’s kissing me once more.
As soon as our lips meet, my instincts take over.
I respond with all the attraction I felt for him eight years ago combined with my growing feelings for who he is now.
To me, he seems like two completely different people, and yet I’ve fallen so completely in love with them both, it makes my head spin.
The only reasonable explanation I can come up with to explain it is that we were meant for each other.
Because whenever he’s near me, I can’t stay away.
Gio’s hands travel slowly down my body, taking their time to appreciate every curve and dip.
Then his fingers splay around my hips, and he lifts me up, depositing me on the shop counter a second later.
“God, I need you, Stephanie,” he groans, and a jolt of anticipation races through my veins.
“Yes.” It’s all I can think to say. My own desire is so intense, my brain is foggy with lust.
Glass crunches under his Italian leather dress shoes as he steps closer, his hips meeting the edge of the counter at the same time as he finds me.
Then his lips are warm and welcoming on my throat as he gently sucks my skin.
Goosebumps erupt across my arms and back, and I know I’m going to have a hickey, but I don’t care.
He’s marking me, claiming me, and all I can think about is how desperately I want him inside me.
Hands reaching for his belt, I tug roughly until the buckle gives, then snap the leather past the catch, moving on to the button of his pants.
Gio seems just as frantic as he slides his hands up my thighs, bunching the fabric of my dress around my hips as he finds my panties.
And rather than pulling them down, he shreds the lacy fabric from my body.
I gasp, my eyes flying wide as my clit pulses, and a lusty moan escapes me when he drags the tattered fabric between my slick folds, stripping the ruined lingerie off me.
Then his hands are moving to the neckline of my deep V dress, his fingers curling around the fabric and pulling it down to release my breast, even as his lips devour me relentlessly.
I arch into his palm, my nipple twinging deliciously as he rolls it between his finger and thumb.
But I’m already too worked up to need any more stimulation to turn me on.
Reaching into his pants and boxer briefs, I pull out his raging hard-on, stroking his impressive length as I shift my hips to align us.
Gio groans, the sound turning my blood molten as his silken tip parts my slick folds.
Then, with one powerful thrust, he’s inside me.
I gasp, my walls clenching around him at the sudden intrusion, and a wave of intoxicating pleasure melts my bones.
“Stephanie,” Gio growls, his voice raw, possessive.
It’s like the floodgates have opened, and now that he’s said my name, he can’t stop. I don’t want him to.
The way Gio says it makes my pulse pound and my body throb—it’s the only thing I ever want to hear.
His hands find my hips and pull me right to the edge of the counter so he can take me deeper.
I wrap my legs around his hips, locking my feet behind him as I brace against the counter with one hand and grip the back of his neck with the other.
He pounds into me, our sex passionate and desperate.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I recognize the fact that anyone could walk into Blossoms and see us at any moment.
But I couldn’t care less.
I’m so swept up in the heat of our reunion, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t notice if the ceiling came crashing down around us.
“Oh God, Gio,” I whimper, and he brings our lips together in a gritty, erotic kiss.
It feels so good.
Every nerve ending is on fire, my skin electric, and when he leans into me, the soft fabric of his shirt brushes against my exposed breast.
It releases tingles through me, and I gasp, needing to feel more of his skin on my skin.
Gio never slows his fierce, possessive rhythm as I clench my stomach muscles to keep me upright and go for the buttons of his shirt.
But my fingers are clumsy with passion, and I gasp when an unexpected jerk of my wrist pops several of his buttons loose.
They ping across the counter and floor—and Gio just releases a low, throaty chuckle, his lips curving into a smile against mine.
Emboldened and so driven by lust that I can’t help myself, I rip his fine dress shirt open, sending the rest of his buttons flying, and then his bare, glorious chest is against me.
I’ve been sleeping with him for weeks, touching each line and rock-solid muscle as I use his chest as a pillow, but it feels like I’m discovering him all over again, each chiseled, powerful inch.
The smell of his skin, masculine with the blend of jasmine, amber wood, and cedar from his cologne, makes my core flutter.
His chest has more dark, soft hair than it used to—and more tattoos. A physical manifestation of the two different men I know.
But both of them are here with me now, loving me, owning me, with all the passion we might possess if this were our last day on earth.
His cock thrusts deep, then slides slowly out, as if he can’t stand to be apart from me, even for a fraction of a second.
And every time he buries himself inside me, the silken iron of his tip presses against that hidden point that drives me wild.
I’m so wet for him, our skin comes together with soft squelching sound, and it would almost be funny if I weren’t so far over the edge.
“Gio,” I moan, my spine tingling as a knot builds deep in my core, like a ball of rubber bands tight and ready to snap.
“Come for me, vita mia,” he growls, his voice jagged.
I remember that name—the one he tattooed on the back of his hand sometime after I was taken.
My chest aches with a sadness that feels as though I’m finally living the grief that he’s endured these eight long years.
And though it brings tears to my eyes, nothing is going to stop this freight train carrying me toward the precipice.
I gasp, cry out, and bury my face against his strong neck as I come so hard, it releases fireworks behind my eyelids.
Gio’s responding groan steals the breath from my lungs, and I can feel him swell further inside me, growing harder as I ripple around his cock.
“That’s my good girl,” he urges, a playful praise kink he used to slip into our sex lives because he knows it makes me feverish.
Then one strong arm is wrapping around my hips, pulling me closer as he cradles the back of my head and kisses me like his life depends on it.
I can’t breathe, can’t think. I’m so consumed by Gio that in this moment, he’s all that matters.
“Merda,” he grunts, his hips slowing to a tantalizing pace as he breaks our kiss to rest his forehead against mine.
“What?” I pant, stomach fluttering at the Italian he seems far more willing to use around me now that I’ve regained my memory—as if he’d worried I might make the connection before if he showed too much of himself. And that stings a bit.
“I didn’t put a condom on.”
A predicament we seem to have carried forward into our new relationship.
Our passion has always been like a spark on tinder—instant, all-consuming, and with little warning.
It added to the thrill of fucking wherever and whenever we wanted.
And here we are again, being entirely irresponsible.
“Pull out,” I tell him, though I know how this ends.
Because there is something dangerously exciting about feeling Gio’s seed flooding inside me.
And just like that, I’m on the brink of coming again.