Chapter 20 #2
"I know. But there are other ways." Her hand slid under the blanket, found my chest, traced carefully around the bandages. "Ways that don't require you to move much."
Heat flooded through me despite the pain medication. "Paola—"
"We both need this. Need to feel something other than fear and stress." Her fingers trailed lower, feather-light. "Need to remember we're alive."
I caught her hand before it went lower. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." She met my eyes in the dim light. "I want to touch you. Taste you. Make you feel good. Let me do this for you. For us."
The desire in her voice nearly undid me. "What about you?"
"You can return the favor when you're healed. Right now, this is about reminding us both that there’s more than just survival. We're this." She leaned in, kissed me. Slow. Deep, laced with the promise of more.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"The door," I managed.
"Locked. I did it earlier."
"The guard outside—"
"Won't hear anything. We'll be quiet." Her hand moved again, deliberate now. "Trust me."
I did. God help me, I trusted her completely.
Paola shifted carefully, mindful of my injuries, and helped me adjust the hospital bed to a more reclined position.
"Tell me if anything hurts," she whispered.
"I will."
She moved under the blanket, hands gentle but purposeful as she worked my hospital pants down.
The vulnerability of it—being injured, being cared for, being wanted despite everything—it was overwhelming.
Her fingers wrapped around me, and I inhaled sharply.
"Okay?" she asked.
"More than okay."
"Good. Because I've been thinking about this for days."
The hospital room was a sterile cage, its walls closing in with every beep of the heart monitor. The scent of disinfectant clung to the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of Paola’s body as she leaned over me.
Her touch was electric, her fingers firm yet tender as they moved over my chest, tracing the edges of the bandages that wrapped around my torso.
The world outside—the violence, the betrayal, the weight of everything I’d done—faded into the background. All that existed was her, the heat of her skin, the intent in her green eyes.
“Relax,” she whispered, her breath warm against my collarbone. “Let me take care of you.”
Her words were a balm, a promise I wasn’t sure I deserved. But I let her, my body heavy and aching, my mind a tangled mess of guilt and desire. Her hands were deliberate, mindful of my injuries, her touch a careful dance between strength and gentleness.
She kissed the edge of the bandages, her lips soft, a silent apology for the pain I’d endured.
Her mouth trailed downward, her hair falling around her face in a curtain of dark curls, brushing my thighs as she moved.
My breath hitched as her lips found me, her tongue skilled and hungry. She took me in slowly, her lips wrapping around me with a pressure that was both firm and worshipful.
Every nerve in my body screamed to life, the pleasure sharp and raw, cutting through the pain and the fear. I was a man used to control, to dominance, but in that moment, I was at her mercy, and it was intoxicating.
“Paola—” I managed, my voice hoarse, but she silenced me with a hum, her hand cradling me as she moved with a rhythm that was both urgent and patient.
Her hair brushed my thighs, her mouth relentless, her touch a mix of tenderness and hunger.
I wanted to touch her, to pull her close, but my body wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I gripped the edges of the bed, my knuckles white, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So strong. So mine.”
Her words sent a shiver through me, a reminder of the power dynamics that had always defined us. I was the Don, the man who commanded respect and fear, but in that moment, I was hers. The vulnerability of it—of being wanted despite my weaknesses—was both terrifying and exhilarating.
I was close, too close, but I didn’t want it to end. “Paola, wait—”
She ignored me, her pace quickening, her lips tighter now, her tongue relentless.
The pleasure built, a crescendo I couldn’t hold back, and I let out a sharp gasp as I came, my body arching as much as it could, my release hot and urgent in her mouth. She swallowed me down, her hand milking me gently until I was spent, my breath ragged, heart pounding.
When she finally pulled away her lips glistened, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss me, my taste on her lips, her body pressing against mine.
I pulled her close, my hands tangling in her hair, my mouth devouring hers. She tasted like life, like survival, like us.
“Your turn,” I rasped, my hands moving to her sweater, pulling it off slowly, reveling in the sight of her slender body, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist.
She shivered as my fingers brushed her skin, her nipples tight and aching, a silent plea for more. I kissed her collarbone, my lips trailing down her neck, my breath warm against her skin. "Come here," I murmured, guiding her carefully. "Straddle my face. Let me taste you."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't hesitate. She finished removing her jeans, then positioned herself carefully over me, mindful of my injuries, her knees on either side of my head.
"Are you sure? Your ribs—"
"I'm sure. I need this. Need you."
She lowered herself slowly, her hands bracing against the headboard for balance. The first taste of her made me groan—hot, wet, perfect. Her hands trembled as she gripped the headboard tighter, her body exposed and vulnerable above me.
Her breath caught as my tongue found her, her thighs trembling on either side of my face.
“Cesare—” she moaned, her voice soft but desperate. I smiled against her skin, my tongue tracing her, my fingers gripping her hips to hold her steady as she began rocking against my mouth.
“Come for me,” I murmured, and she did, her body tightening, her cry muffled against the pillow.
I kissed her softly afterward, my hands stroking her, my heart full despite the chaos outside.
We lay tangled in the narrow bed, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her skin. The world was still broken, but in that moment, we were whole. Alive. Together.
I closed my eyes, the weight of everything we’d been through pressing down on me. Paola was no longer just a pawn in her father’s game, a replacement for the woman I’d been forced to marry. She was mine, and I was hers, bound by something far stronger than duty or obligation.
But the shadows of our pasts lingered, a reminder that our world was built on violence and betrayal.
My hand brushed her jawline, thumb ghosting over her lower lip. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For that. For being here. For not running when this life gets impossible."
"Where would I run? You're my home now."
The admission settled over both of us. Home. Not the penthouse. Not New York. Each other.
"I love you," I said. Easier now than the first time. Still true. Still essential.
"I love you too." She kissed my chest carefully, avoiding the bandages. "We're going to be okay. All three of us."
The baby. Our family. Our future.
For the first time in days, I believed it might actually be true.
We were almost asleep when my phone buzzed. Giulo’s tired voice reported, “We have her. Sofia's daughter. She's safe.”
Relief flooded through me. "Where is she now?"
"We’re on our way to the hospital. I thought Sofia should see her here. Neutral ground. Plus medical can check Isabella out, make sure she's not injured. She doesn’t seem to be, at least not physically, but…"
"Good call. Bring them both."
I hung up, told Paola the news.
"One piece off Viktor's board," she said sleepily, eyelids drooping now that this part of the war was over. "He just lost his leverage."
"Yeah. But tomorrow's still coming. The hearing. Whatever Viktor has planned."
"We'll face it. Together."
"Together."
Tomorrow was Monday. The bail hearing. Everything came down to this.
But tonight, we had each other.
And that was enough.
We finally slept, wrapped around each other.