Eleven
Chiara
After the mess of having two of my father’s men break into Ciro’s house, cooking with Katie this afternoon steadied me.
It gave my hands something to do, something predictable, something that followed a sequence I understood.
Today, we did all the prep for the sauce, and tomorrow, we’ll put it together.
We’ll make homemade noodles, and we’ll eat well.
By the time Ciro returns from his aunt and uncle’s, I’m at the counter, wiping down a surface that doesn’t need it.
He sets a glass container beside me without comment. “I thought you might like my aunt’s tiramisu.”
I pause and then lift the lid, letting the scent rise before I look at him. The Marsala comes through first, warm and sweet, layered under the coffee. “This is going to be incredible.”
He doesn’t answer, just reaches past me, pulls a fork from the drawer, and presses it into my hand like the decision has already been made.
I lean back against the counter and take a bite, and it takes less than a second for my eyes to close.
“Oh my God,” I say, quieter this time, and when I open my eyes again, he’s still there, watching in a way that makes me suddenly aware of myself.
I straighten, swallowing, shifting the container slightly toward him. “Do you want some?”
The corner of his mouth moves, barely. “No. I’m enjoying watching you eat it.”
I glance down, and then set the container on the counter, the quiet stretching between us until I break it by turning toward the fridge. “I should go back to the guest room tonight,” I say, sliding the tiramisu onto the shelf before he answers. “I’m fine.”
“Chiara.”
My hand stays on the fridge door a moment longer before I close it and turn. He hasn’t moved far from the windows, but he’s not leaning anymore. He’s upright now, attention fixed, the ease gone in a way.
“I’m going to sleep,” I say, holding his gaze. “That’s not disappearing.”
He studies me for a beat before stepping closer, not enough to touch, but enough to remove the distance I was about to take. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His gaze drops briefly to my hands, taking in the tension I didn’t realize I was holding before it returns to my face. “That’s not what this is,” he says, and he doesn’t rush the explanation.
“You won’t sleep when you’re alone,” he continues, quieter now. “You’re going to lie there and listen. Every sound in the house. Every shift in the hallway. You’ll map exits. Count distance. Decide how fast you can move if someone comes through that door.”
I don’t answer. I can’t, because he’s right. Despite the break-in last night, I slept well with him. Better than I have since I left my father’s house two years ago.
“I know you can sleep alone,” he says, his voice lowering, not softer but heavier. “That’s not the point.” The space between us tightens, not because he moves, but because I don’t. “This isn’t about you needing me,” he continues. “It’s about me not letting you take this all on yourself.”
I hold his gaze, the words settling into something I don’t have a clean response to, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
“I can sleep when I’m alone,” I lie, holding his gaze. “I can do it again.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, something unreadable passing through them. “Please stay with me in my room, just for tonight.”
He laces his fingers with mine and leads me upstairs to his bedroom.
I step into his room before I can rethink it, the decision made in motion rather than thought.
The door closes behind us, and the tension in my spine eases a fraction before I can stop it.
I tell myself it’s proximity, the presence of another person in the space, something to dull the memory of watching two men walk through his home armed and prepared, looking for me. It has nothing to do with him.
“If you would feel more comfortable, you can take the bed,” he says, his tone even as he moves further into the room. “I’ll stay on top of the covers.”
“That’s not necessary.” I watch him as I answer. “We shared the bed without jumping on each other.”
There’s a shift in his expression—not quite a smile, something sharper that disappears as quickly as it comes. He turns to the dresser, removes his watch, and sets it down with deliberate care.
The question slips out before I can stop it. “Do you bring women here?”
He stills, not turning right away. “No.”
He looks at me then, his gaze steady, holding mine without wavering. “And I don’t like that you think I do.”
There’s no edge in it, but there’s weight, enough that I study his face out of habit, looking for the signs I know—the delay, the deflection, the adjustment that follows a lie.
There’s nothing there.
“Never?” I ask, watching him.
“I don’t bring women home,” he says.
“Why?”
He takes a breath before answering, not long, just enough that I notice it. “Because this room isn’t casual.”
The words settle between us, not possessive, not performative, just stated like fact.
“And I’m what?” I ask. “A risk?”
His gaze sharpens slightly at that, the shift controlled but there. “I wouldn’t say that.”
I close the distance between us and before I second guess it, I step in and press my lips to his.
He pulls me tighter and his greedy tongue slides into my mouth. He breaks the kiss to pull on my ponytail and trail kisses down my neck. My knees nearly collapse. “Don’t stop.”
There are so many reasons this is a bad idea. But tonight I just want to feel something. I reach inside his pants and wrap my fingers around his hardening cock. He groans in response.
He trails kisses down my body as he unbuttons his shirt. “You look so sexy in my shirt.”
I arch into him begging him to play with my nipples. His hands sweep across my skin, and I ache for him.
His fingers slide easily between my folds, and he groans again. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“All for you,” I pant.
He pushes me back on the bed, and in one movement, he’s spread me wide and is looking down at me.
“Take your clothes off. I want to see your cock.”
“We’ve got all night.” He drops to his knees and holy shit. I roll my head back as he flicks his tongue across my clit once and then a second time.
My fingers lace through his hair, and I hold him close as every lick lights me on fire. His tongue is doing it’s magic, and he fills me with his fingers. It’s as if he started my engine and I’ve gone from zero to eighty in a matter of seconds.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe.
His fingers pivot in and out of me hard.
Holy shit. He has my clit between his teeth, and he’s pulling. And the cork pops, and my climax hits so hard, that every muscle in my body twitches.
He stands and grins at me while I gasp for my breath.
“That’s one.” The corners of his mouth turn up.
I crook my finger at him. “Take off those clothes, get a condom on, so I can give you a ride.”
He steps into the bathroom and he stumbles. “Crap. Damn these pants.”
His cock juts out from his body, and it’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. It’s huge, and the head is glistening. My fingers wrap around his cock, and I work it from the base to the crown squeezing and pulling.
His hand stops me. “I want to come inside you.”
He rips the foil package and hands it to me as he lies down on the bed, and then I sheath his cock. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he groans.
I lift my leg over him, and he positions himself at my entrance. I sink onto him slowly, rocking him in deeper and deeper. “You feel so good.”
His finger reaches between us, and he circles my clit. “I’m so deep.”
His crown hits that magic spot deep inside me, and somehow, it lights me right on fire.
Suddenly, he rolls me on my back. “If I didn’t change positions, I was going to come like a little kid.” He positions my left leg on his shoulder. And he watches where our bodies come together. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He pulls out and slams back into me.
“More,” I plead.
He ruts in and out of me, the room filling with our bodies slapping together. I wrap my fingers around his biceps, and damn if I don’t have another climax building.
I’ve never been one to have more than one orgasm, but all of a sudden, I’m realizing every man I’ve ever been with was doing this wrong. They’d get me off, and then the focus changes to him. That is not Ciro.
I move my hips to meet his over and over. “Don’t stop.”
My fingernails dig deep into his arms, and it hits, I freeze every muscle in my body as my climax heats every vein in my body. “Ciiiiirrrrrrooooo.”
He groans and pulses inside me. I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked that hard.
He collapses beside me. “That was incredible. I bet you feel safe now.”
I laugh hard and loud. “I think it may take a few more times to be sure.”
He smiles at me. “My thoughts exactly.”