Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“With what? Being a dick?”
“Fighting.” He goes quiet as I pack up the first aid kit. I watch him drink more vodka, wondering if I’m happy he’s home and in one piece, or if I’m afraid of the way I’m starting to feel when he’s around. All of the above and more probably. “It’s the only place it all goes away. The aches and pains. The frustration. Fighting fills the void. It’s pure. I go in with one goal. Nothing else matters but me and him. It’s pure.”
“It’s the reason you’ve got all those aches and pains.”
“Fair point.”
“You can stop, you know. Maybe you can find a hobby. I hear fishing is popular.”
“Never did like boats. And I doubt there’s much to catch in South Philly.” He peeks at me, the glass of whiskey hovering at his lips. “You know the only other time I ever felt so clear? Other than in the fighting ring?”
“I bet I won’t like the answer.”
“It was with you. That night we first met. And again at the wedding. Funny, isn’t it? The only other time I feel right is with the one woman who won’t let me touch her.”
My stomach knots as my heart thrums. I’m trying to decide if I believe him, but Stefano’s never lied before. That’s the core of him. He means what he says, no matter how hard it might be to hear.
And now he’s saying being with me does something to him he’s never felt before.
I move closer, leaning forward. I put one hand on his thigh, leaning some of my weight on it. He looks at me, face completely calm, as he places the glass tumbler down on the table.
“What if I had taken you up on your offer? Back in the locker room?”
“I have a feeling my ribs wouldn’t be broken.”
“What would we be doing right now?”
“Recovering.” He seems so sincere. I’m addicted to that clarity. I wonder what it’s like, opening your mouth without any hesitation or worries. “Getting ready to fuck again until our parts are all raw and falling off.”
“Not really appealing.”
“True, but nothing ever is.” He puts his hand on top of mine. His fingers are rough and callused, his palm warm and big. Then he quickly pulls it back. “Shit. I shouldn’t have—”
I lean forward and kiss him.
Our lips mash together. He seems surprised for one brief moment, and I can tell he wants to touch me, but I don’t give him permission. Instead, I lace my fingers into his hair at the back of his head and pull him tighter. His tongue snakes into my mouth, the taste of blood and honey mixing on my palate, a thrill of bliss and pleasure jolting into my core.
He controls himself. I barely keep myself from shattering. The kiss is deep and hungry, but not like anything I’ve felt before. It’s not the kind of kiss that leads to more. It’s a kiss for its own sake. A kiss because I want to taste him, because I want to feel him. A kiss because he’s hurting, and he’s beautiful, and I want to. A kiss filled with relief because there was a part of me that was afraid he might not come home.
It’s an easy kiss and a perfect kiss. I tumble into his mouth and lips. His tongue expertly caresses mine. I whimper and press myself tighter, and I’m going to lose my mind.
Until I realize what I’m doing and pull back with a start.
He stares at me, eyes ringed with lust. Passion burns in his expression. He’s restraining himself with visible effort, his incredible muscles tense as he grips the edge of the chair.
He broke his promise. It was a tiny mistake, just a little normal gesture, but it crossed the line. He touched me and I touched him back.
Not because I want to fuck him.
Even though I really, really do.
But mostly because I want to be close to him. I want him to know that I like this. He and I alone pretending like we really are husband and wife.
It was the kind of kiss I absolutely should never have with him.
“I shouldn’t,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I mean, I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t have to run away.”
I stare at him and, god, I wish that were true. “I’m going to sleep. Come up when you’re ready.” I gather up the first aid kit and hurry to the stairs, hating myself for letting emotions cloud my judgment.
I’m still his enemy, and I can’t let anything make me forget it.
Chapter 19
Stefano
Normally, I’m asleep before Charlie even settles down and awake hours before she opens her eyes. Typically, I find her sprawled across the bed, a pillow squeezed between her legs, snoring lightly, mouth hanging open, a little drool stain on the sheets, looking so fucking adorable it takes a lot of willpower not to touch her and fuck her into consciousness. She’s a messy, pretty sleeper, and I like that about her. Like she can finally relax a little when she’s unconscious.