Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Slow.
A surrender.
And my mind blanks.
For one stunned second, I don’t move. I don’t respond. Hell, I don’t even breathe.
Because I’ve imagined this a thousand times.
But in every version, I’m the one taking.
But this isn’t me . . .
This is her.
All her.
Thank fuck.
My hands lift slowly, hovering near her face, until I gradually grab her behind the neck, deepening the kiss.
She trembles as our mouths collide. Her fingers tighten in my hair like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
I hear her breathe, a shaky exhale against my mouth, and something in me breaks open.
Soon, the kiss grows hotter, less gentle.
I’m a starved man, desperate for her.
It feels like I’ve been held underwater for too long and can finally breathe.
She makes a soft and surprised sound, then after one more swipe of our tongues, she breaks the kiss.
I peer down at her.
Her eyes are wide, her lips swollen, and her breathing ragged.
Her fingers press to my chest, but she’s not pushing me away. She’s just touching me.
“This is . . .” Her voice shakes. “This is wrong?” It raises a question. I shake my head.
“Almost everything in my life is wrong.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “But this isn’t.”
I pull back slightly.
My voice comes out softer. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Her breath catches, and her eyes search mine.
She didn’t object . . . so I kiss her again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
My hands slide down her back, feeling every shiver, every tremble. She arches into me.
This isn’t just a kiss. Nor is it lust. It’s so much more.
It’s grief.
It’s history.
It’s years of longing for each other despite never admitting it.
I move her back, guiding her into the pillows, my body hovering over hers, careful not to crush.
This time, she pulls me down until her lips find mine again. She kisses me urgently.
Needy.
“Lorenzo.” My name on her lips, like a prayer . . . It wrecks me.
“Don’t say my name like that,” I brush my mouth over hers. “I’ll start believing I deserve it.”
“You don’t,” she whispers.
I smile against her lips. “I know.”
This moment feels inevitable.
Like we’ve been moving toward this since the day she walked back into my life . . . or I stormed into hers.
I keep my mouth on hers, keeping my hands steady.
Victoria lies beside me, curled toward my chest as her body moves there without asking her permission. Her hair is a mess across the pillow.
“I hate you,” she whispers, voice barely there.
I kiss her forehead. “I know.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “But I don’t. . .” She chokes. “Not really.”
I hold her tighter, my jaw clenched, throat burning. “Neither do I,” I admit quietly.
She just buries her face in my chest and breathes me in. Eventually, her fingers loosen on my shirt, and her head sinks into the hollow of my shoulder.
She’s asleep, and I stay awake.
Staring at the ceiling. Listening to the storm outside.
Feeling the weight of her in my arms.
I should feel triumphant.
Maybe even satisfied.
I should feel like I won.
Instead, I feel terrified.
Because I wanted her to suffer.
And now I’ve tasted something that feels dangerously like forgiveness.
Or worse—love.
I press my mouth to her hair, breathing her in. “Sleep, Little Bird, I’ve got you.”
And the most horrifying part?
I mean it.
55
Victoria
I blink at the ceiling.
Is it warm in here?
I turn my head toward the window. The curtains are half drawn, and bright morning light streams in through the gaps in the blinds.
Clips of last night filter through my brain.
His mouth.
His hands.
His voice.
The moment I kissed him . . .
I sit up too fast; the sheets slipping down my shoulder. Cold air bites my skin, and I suck in a breath, scanning the room.
Empty.
Unlike when I was sick, he’s not propped in the chair, fighting for rest.
I wrap the blanket around myself and swing my legs over the side of the bed, toes touching the rug. The necklace drawer flashes through my mind—diamonds like a collar, glittering proof that even his gifts are threats.
My stomach turns.
I feel . . . strange.
It’s almost like my heart got shocked back to life. My ribs ache with it.
I stand from the bed and then stumble into the bathroom.
Once the faucet is on, I splash cold water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror.
Did yesterday really happen?
Yes, idiot. I’ve already established it wasn’t a dream.
I touch my damp fingers to my lips, which still feel swollen. Is this what it looks like to be kissed until you barely know your name? Forget my name; I look like a woman who got kissed until she forgot how to breathe.
Once my hands are dry and my teeth are brushed, I head back into the bedroom and grab a change of clothes.
I change quickly into leggings and a thick sweater.
Once I’m ready, I open the bedroom door.