Chapter 15
Stefan
F rancesca smiled up at me as we danced in the garden outside my house in Italy. Flowers bloomed everywhere around us, emitting the most delicious scents. But not better than how Francesca smelled. I inhaled her scent deeply into my nose, knowing I'd never forget it.
Not that I'd need to. She was mine.
Forever.
My ring was finally on her finger.
And my baby in her belly.
We didn't have a care in the world.
Life.
Was.
Perfect.
“Crap,” I heard her mutter, and suddenly—she disappeared.
I sucked in a shocked breath and opened my eyes.
Fuck.
It had all been a dream. I lifted my head from her pillow and spotted her on the couch. “What's wrong?” I said groggily while I yawned. My eyes watered and I blinked quickly as I yawned ferociously again.
Francesca turned her head toward me. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” she said and gazed over at me. “How are you feeling?”
I did a mental assessment of my body parts. And surprisingly, I didn't feel like shit.
“Good. I'd be better if you came over here and gave me a kiss, though.” I stretched and rolled onto my back. Then I quickly realized I was sporting morning wood. I reached under the covers and adjusted myself.
“I'll make you some breakfast,” she said and rose from the couch. I watched her fantastic ass as she swayed to the tiny kitchen.
My eyes fell to the makeshift coffee table. She'd been doing a puzzle. A large one from the look of it. I squinted and said, “You're missing a few pieces.” I pointed at the puzzle—which was, in fact, missing three or four pieces.
“Yeah, I know,” Francesca called out. She cracked two eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork. “I'll fix it later.”
I had no idea what she meant by that. Either she had the pieces, or she didn't.
At any rate, my bladder wasn't going to hold out much longer. I carefully sat up and slid my legs over the edge of the bed.
Not too much pain, I noted. After I pushed myself up, I walked to the bathroom in record time. I still felt a little groggy. The cracked mirror in here reflected a very disheveled man to me.
Fuck.
I looked like hell. I needed a haircut and a good shave.
I soaped up my face and grabbed Francesca's pink razor from the side of the tub. It was far from a close shave. What could you possibly expect from a cheap piece of plastic?
Even so, it was an improvement.
I hobbled into the shower and did a thorough once over.
After I dried off, I opened the door and headed out.
The sweet smell of baking hit me.
“You okay?” Francesca stood at the sink, washing dishes. How could she look so fuckin' sexy washing dishes?
I wandered toward her. My hands landed on her hips, and I kissed that sensitive part of her neck that she liked so much. “I'm good. What are you making? It smells great.”
She tilted her head, giving me more room to kiss her neck. Which I immediately took full advantage of.
“Just some biscuits. They'll be ready right away.” Her breathy voice shot straight to my cock. I wanted her to be underneath me talking in that voice.
“I'd rather have you right now.” I kissed her neck again, dragging my tongue as I did so.
She laughed and grabbed a dish towel off the counter.
“You need to eat and keep up your strength.” She turned around in the small bit of space I allowed between us.
Her hands landed on my bare chest. I hadn't put a new set of bandages on after my shower.
Francesca usually told me to let it dry out a bit before taping more gauze and shit on top of it.
“This looks better.” She scrutinized my wound. “Much better.” The feel of her soft hands on my skin was driving me out of my mind. “I think you should keep this open today. Don't put a shirt on for a while.”
I grinned down at her and touched my mouth to hers. “You just want me naked. Don't you?”
She giggled and kissed me back, her hands sliding up to my shoulders. “Go sit down. Breakfast will be ready in—” She didn't get to finish. A loud buzzer went off, interrupting.
I moved back and let her deal with the stove. Sure enough, she pulled out six steaming hot biscuits. My mouth watered at the sight and smell of them.
“Your pants are dry. I folded them and set them on the couch.” Francesca nodded in the general direction.
“Thanks,” I said and wandered over that way. I picked up my bathtub pants—that was what I called them in my head, anyway. Every night, Francesca washed my pants in the bathtub.
The fucking bathtub.
And then hung them to dry. Often, she used the hairdryer on them to— “soften them up a bit.” But it didn't help much. They still felt like sandpaper against my skin.
Giselle had brought them to the hospital for me. All I had was one pair of pants, one shirt, and one pair of boxer briefs. And socks. That was it.
As soon as we got to my place, I was throwing all of it into the fireplace and burning it.
My pants didn't feel any better today as I slipped them on and sat down on the couch. The puzzle caught my eye, and I leaned over slightly to get a good look. That was when I noticed a piece of paper with three puzzle-shaped pieces sketched on them.
“Here, watch out. Everything's really hot.” Francesca handed me a plate and then sat down beside me. She'd put eggs, cheese, and sausage inside the biscuit. I took a bite and closed my eyes. “This is so good,” I mumbled over a mouthful of great-tasting food.
“I know,” Francesca said, chewing. “Bernie stuck in a few sausage patties with the hamburgers yesterday. That guy is the best.” She nodded and took another bite.
Jealousy that I'd never felt before in my fucking life curled up in my gut, ready to strike out. “Do you like that guy?” I asked, ready to hobble on down the billion stairs to go strangle the little asshole.
“Yeah, he's great.” Francesca nodded and grabbed the remote.
But I slipped it out of her hand. “Exactly how much do you like him?” I glared at her, my heart suddenly beating furiously inside my chest.
She tilted her head slightly and frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked in an unsure voice. From the look in her eyes, I could tell she had no idea what I was getting at. Francesca needed this spelled out for her. So, that was what I'd do.
“Do you want to fuck him?” I snapped, perhaps a little harsher than I meant to.
Actually—no. I fucking meant it.
Her mouth dropped open, and she moved away. “No. Why do you ask?” she clipped right back. Her defensiveness was not a turnoff. Seeing the fire inside of her only made her more appealing to me.
“I ask,” I set my plate on the crate, “Francesca.” I tossed the remote onto the couch beside us.
“Because I need to know when I should snap his neck. Now,” I grabbed her plate out of her hand and shoved it onto the crate beside mine, “or later.” My hands grasped her arms, preventing her from moving away.
“You're crazy,” she whispered in disbelief. But I had to get this through to her. Make her understand that she was mine.
And no one else’s.
“Maybe. But I'm really fuckin' jealous, Francesca. Don't ever forget that. You belong to me. Not that snot-nosed imbecile downstairs.”
Her eyes widened. “Bernie is sixty. At least. And he doesn't want to date me. He's fed me—for free—more times than I can even count.” Her voice was calm, but I could still detect the underlying fear behind it.
“If he's feeding you,” my grip tightened on her, “then he wants to fuck you. I don't care how old he is. Or how fucking nice he is.”
Francesca's back straightened, and she tried to pull out of my grasp—but I wouldn't let her.
“Well, Stefan,” she narrowed her eyes, “he can want whatever he wants.
But, no. I don't want to date a sixty year old man.
Bernie has only ever been kind to me. He lets me use his cable and WiFi for free.
And he could easily get a different renter in here who'd pay double what I am.”
I barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Because he wants to get into your panties, Chesca.” Fuck, that guy was pissing me off, and I'd never even met the asshole. But I would. As soon as I could make it down those fucking stairs.
“He's renting to me illegally, Stefan. And he knows I'll keep my mouth shut. That is why he keeps me around.”
I leaned in closer—much closer. And crushed my lips against hers. She opened immediately with a small mewl.
No fight left in her.
Not even a little.
Fuck.
The intensity with which she kissed me back made my cock so fucking hard. Her tongue searched out mine and I growled.
I fucking growled into her mouth and took over the kiss. She submitted to me beautifully. And I knew this was how she'd always be. Ready and willing for me to take over. And it excited the shit out of me.
“Okay, okay,” she breathed out, breaking our kiss. “You need to settle down and eat. You can't get upset like this. It's not good for you.”
It was difficult for me to catch my breath. I wanted to claim her.
Right here.
Right now.
But I also knew she was right. This wasn't good for me. I'd healed. But I still had a long way to go. And attempting to fuck Francesca would likely end in disaster. And that wasn't something I wanted.
No.
The first time I fucked Francesca—when I took her virginity—I wanted it to be perfect. Just like she was.
I wanted her to remember it for the rest of her life.
“Eat,” I said, still finding it difficult to catch my breath. “And if you mention that asshole's name to me one more time—”
She gave me a small smile, and then lightly kissed my lips. “Shh,” she said directly against my lips, “eat.”
We grabbed our plates and sat back. Francesca turned the TV on and found a channel that didn't suck too badly.
And then we ate.
In silence.