Chapter 14 #2
I try the demure one first. It’s expertly tailored and would photograph beautifully, but it makes me look like someone I’m not. It’s the kind of dress a bride would take off and then return to her happy, ordinary life.
Lucy takes one look at my face and shakes her head. “Next.”
The next dress, the one I’m drawn to, slides over my skin like water.
Cool silk, almost no back at all, and a neckline that plunges just this side of scandalous.
When I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of the Malus girl who barged through a crowd at a bare-knuckle fight and saved her man, and a smile spreads over my face.
“Oh,” Clara breathes.
Lucy’s grinning. “That’s the one.”
“It’s very…” I turn, watching the way the fabric moves. “Revealing.”
“It’s perfect,” Lucy counters. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I love it.”
I study my reflection, imagining Vincenzo seeing me in this dress. Imagining the look on his face when I walk down the aisle. The way his hands would trace the bare skin of my back. How he’d spend the entire ceremony thinking about getting me out of it.
Clara smiles. “Then it’s decided.”
Simone takes my measurements and schedules last-minute fittings that Dad has to pay through the nose for, and the three of us leave the boutique together.
Lucy hugs me goodbye on the street, and Clara promises to send updated timelines by morning.
I watch them both leave, then climb into the car where Matteo waits behind the wheel.
On the drive home, I think about the dress hanging in that boutique with my name on it. I can’t wait for Vincenzo to see me wearing it.
That night, sleep won’t come. My mind keeps circling back to the same problems. The clock is ticking. Dashamir is waiting. I’m no closer to getting a confession from Dad than I was several days ago.
I’m staring at the ceiling when I hear it. The soft scrape of the balcony door sliding open.
Vincenzo steps through, and even in the darkness I can see the effort it costs him. The way he favors his ribs. The slight grimace he tries to hide as he turns to me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, but I’m already crossing the room to him.
“I know.” He straightens with visible effort, and even battered and healing, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He reaches for me, his hands settling on my waist and pulling me close.
“But I had to see you. I keep thinking about you in this house with him without me to protect you, and I can’t—”
I kiss him to stop the spiral of words.
He makes a rough sound against my mouth and kisses me back harder, deeper, like he’s trying to crawl inside my skin. His hands slide up my back, under my sleep shirt, and I feel the slight tremor in his fingers.
“How bad is it?” I murmur against his lips.
“The pain? Manageable.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m with you. That’s all that matters.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Tell me what you’ve been doing. I want to hear all about you.”
So I do. I tell him about Clara, about the wedding venue, and about choosing the warm, romantic, beautiful wedding we deserve.
“And the dress?” he asks.
“It’s very daring,” I say, watching his eyes darken. “The kind of dress that will make you lose your mind during the ceremony.”
“Doe.” His voice drops to a growl. “You’re killing me.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I don’t need to. I already know I’m going to spend the entire wedding thinking about getting you out of it.”
“That’s the idea.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. Thorough. His hands map my body like he’s memorizing me, and I can feel the tension in him. The need. The restraint.
“Bed,” I whisper. “Before you collapse.”
“I’m not doing any more resting. I’m sick of resting.”
“Vincenzo—”
He silences me with another kiss, and this time when his hands slide under my shirt, they don’t stop.
He walks me backward toward the bed, and we collapse onto it together.
I’m careful of his injuries, but he doesn’t seem to care.
His mouth is on my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast through my thin sleep shirt.
Then he pulls back suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket.
“I have something for you,” he says, his voice rough. “I was supposed to give this to you weeks ago. At our engagement party.”
He pulls out a small velvet box.
My breath catches. “Vincenzo…”
“Open it.”
My hands shake as I take the box and lift the lid. Inside, nestled on velvet, is the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. Gold, delicate but strong, an eagle and a raven intertwined, their wings forming a heart.
“It’s us,” I whisper, touching the pendant with reverent fingers.
“United. The way we were supposed to be. Before everything went to hell.” He takes the necklace from the box, his damaged fingers careful with the delicate chain.
“I commissioned this before I knew you. I wanted to give you something that symbolized what our families could become together. And I guess…I just wanted you to know what getting married meant to me.”
I picture practical, utilitarian Vincenzo explaining to a jeweler that he wanted the perfect gift for a woman he’d never met, and tears blur my vision. “It’s perfect.”
“Can I put it on you?”
I pull my hair over one shoulder. His hands are warm against my neck as he fastens the clasp, and I feel the weight of the pendant settle against my collarbone.
“There,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”
I touch the pendant, and the gold is warm from his hands. “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you too.” His hands frame my face. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every night. Every fucking night I lie there and worry about you. Then I think about touching you. Tasting you. Making you fall apart.”
Heat pools low in my belly as I remember his promise to me last time we were together.
“Me, too,” I confess.
His hands slide under my sleep shirt, palms hot against my ribs, my waist, mapping me with deliberate slowness. “I need to make you feel good. Need to hear you say my name.”
His kisses are unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
“Vincenzo…” I sigh.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice is rough velvet against my skin. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I want—” My breath catches as his hand slides lower, fingertips tracing the waistband of my sleep shorts. “I want you to touch me.”
“Where?” His hand stills, and I can feel him smiling against my neck. “Be specific.”
Heat floods my face. “You know where.”
“I want to hear you say it.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the hunger in his gaze makes my stomach flip. “Tell me, Adora. Tell me what you need.”
“I need…” I swallow hard. “I need you between my legs. Your mouth. Your fingers. Everything.”
“Good girl.” The praise in his voice makes me shiver. “Can I take these off?”
I nod frantically.
“Words, doe. I need words.”
“Yes. Please. Take them off.”
He hooks his fingers in my sleep shorts and pulls them down slowly, torturously slow, his eyes never leaving mine. The cool air against my heated skin makes me gasp.
When he pulls my panties down too, exposing me completely, his breath catches. His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I fight the urge to close my legs.
“Look at you. Already so wet for me.” His thumb traces through my folds, gathering the slickness, and I whimper at the contact. “You’re dripping. Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving mine. “You taste like heaven.” His hands slide up my thighs, spreading them wider. “Can I lick you?”
“God, yes.”
“Say please.”
“Please.” The word comes out desperate, needy, and I don’t even care. “Please, Vincenzo.”
He settles between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing my legs wider. The sight of him there, blond head between my thighs, the brown dye rinsed away, is almost too much. Then his tongue makes contact, a long, slow lick from my entrance to my clit, and my back arches off the bed.
“So sweet,” he murmurs against me. “I knew you’d taste this good.
” His tongue explores me thoroughly, lapping at my entrance, tracing my folds, learning every part of me.
When he finally focuses on my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, I have to bite down on my hand to keep from crying out.
“Let me hear you,” he says against me. “Quiet, but let me hear you. I want to hear every sound I pull from you.”
He works me with his tongue, slow, deliberate circles around my clit that have me trembling.
He alternates the pressure, soft, teasing licks that make me writhe, then firmer strokes that have my thighs shaking.
He seals his lips around my clit and sucks, and the sensation makes my hips buck against his face.
“Grind against me,” he commands, his voice muffled. “Use my mouth. Take what you need.”
I do, tentatively at first, then more boldly, rolling my hips against his tongue.
He groans in approval, the vibration adding another layer of pleasure.
He works me with his tongue, slow, deliberate circles that have me trembling.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, he pulls back, leaving me gasping.
“More,” I whimper.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Your fingers. Inside me. Please.”
“Like this?” He slides one uninjured finger inside me, a thick intrusion, and I feel the brush of his bandages against my inner thigh. His finger moves slowly, exploring, and I can feel how tight I am around even this single digit.
“You’re gripping my finger so hard, doe. I can’t wait to feel you squeeze my cock like this.”
“More. Please more.”
He adds a second finger, and the stretch makes me gasp. It burns slightly, but then he curls them in a way that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. He’s found something inside me, a spot that sends electricity shooting through my entire body.