novelraw Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Simone studied Sarah’s profile in the bedside lamp’s soft light. Sarah had had a meltdown within half an hour after Carlo had left. She hadn’t expected otherwise, given the busy day they’d had. She’d managed to keep Sarah going through a quick dinner, which Sarah had halfheartedly poked at.
Sarah was calm in her sleep, angelic, but still so small. Carlo was tall, and Sarah had hardly reached a head higher than his knee. She wanted to hold Sarah close, assure her everything was going to be fine, but deep inside she couldn’t quite settle her own unease. She hadn’t had time to discuss anything further with Carlo, and at the speed things were happening, nothing was going to be discussed that night.
A knock sounded from the front door, and she lifted her head to listen. The turn of the key echoed down the corridor.
“Simone? Sarah?” Carlo called as he entered the lounge, but she didn’t reply. She hadn’t switched on the lights in the lounge, but he should be able to find his way in the moonlight that shone in through the windows and the light from Sarah’s bedroom.
He put some things on the kitchen counter, the keys jangling as he hung them back on the hooks. His footsteps sounded soft on the carpet as he came down the short corridor. Already her heart had sped up at the thought of him, but she wanted to have this last moment with Sarah. Life was never going to go back to what it had been before.
She heard him hovering in the door of Sarah’s room, his presence as palpable as the promise of heavy rains in the air, the scent of him as earthy as the first drop. She glanced toward him, and beckoned him inside.
“It took longer than I anticipated,” he whispered with apology.
“She wouldn’t have made it, either way,” she whispered back. She lifted the sheet higher over Sarah’s chest, hugging her legs closer, tighter to her daughter.
Carlo sat down on the edge of the bed, in the corner made by her drawn-up legs. He leaned over and propped up on his hand, which he’d nestled between her and Sarah. His wrist and inner arm touched her thighs, skin to skin, kindling the warm flame in the depths of her body. “Was your hair as blonde as hers when you were young?”
“Probably.” She sighed. “There aren’t any photos of me this age.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“You’ve done an amazing job, Mona—she is…beautiful, in and out. I—” He broke off and she turned to face him. Emotions flickered over his face as he studied Sarah. “She looks like my mother…just like Julia.” His voice was strained and when he looked back at her there was a cutting regret in his eyes. “I hope I can make up.”
She smiled. “You’re off to a good start. Thank you for being so wonderful and just…nice.” She touched his hand. “Did you get the nail polish off?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “Definitely not my thing.”
She inspected his fingers in the dim light, his touch gentle against the uncertain trembling of her own.
His gaze traveled over her and he rested his hand on her hip. “How does she sleep?”
Simone bit her lip. “Very well.” She tried not to laugh. “That is, until she wakes up.”
She watched him digest this information. “And when would that be?” he asked, and from his expression he was expecting the worst, that Sarah woke up several times a night like a newborn.
“Around seven tomorrow morning. With any luck around eight.”
“She sleeps all the way through the night?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then.” The lamplight shone in his eyes as he met her gaze. He shifted his hand to rest on her ankles. From there he caressed her naked leg with his fingertips, lightly, slowly, with gentle intent. He hovered at the crook of her legs, rubbing the tender skin behind her knee with his thumb. As he grazed her thigh with the back of his hand, tremors of pure lust hit her in long, languid waves. He spread his fingers over the top of her thigh, at the ragged seam of her shorts, his thumb tailing his fingertips, which reached inward, to the apex of her thighs. He leaned over her as a lone finger traced the inner line of her legs back to her knees, and she burned to open for him, so that he could reverse to where she needed him most.
“Hungry?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
“Very.”
“Then let me feed you.” He stood and held out his hand. “Until you’ve had your fill.”
She switched off the bedside lamp and placed her hand in his as she swung her legs off the bed, and he helped her up. She circled her arms around his neck and he kissed her, softly. His hands were on her butt and he lifted her to his erection. He heaved her higher and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing her sex against his as he kissed her.
He walked with her, turning into her bedroom. He paused at the bedroom door. “Do you close this?” he whispered between kisses.
She pulled away and lowered her legs, touching the tips of her toes to the floor. He loosened his hold, letting her settle against him. “I don’t know.” In the soft light she stared at him. “I’ve never—” God, it sounded lame. “With Sarah…I’ve never been with anyone else.”
“Really?”
Heat spread over her cheeks at the astonishment in his eyes. “Now you sound just like Sarah,” she accused. “And that after spending only one day with her.”
His gaze softened, and her battering heart slowed at the tenderness in his eyes. “All this time and you’re still only mine.” He stroked down her body, cupping her tightly. “I haven’t been able to get off without thinking of you, so technically there’s been no one else for me either,” he murmured in her ear, the words echoing his obvious physical desire. “Let go, cara. You’ll hear her if she wakes up.”
He closed the door behind them. As he drew her back into his arms and lifted her off her feet, time lost its meaning and it felt as if they’d slipped right back to where they’d left off four years ago.
The bedside lamp she’d left on earlier cast a soft glow in the room. Centre stage was a high-raised, king size Zanzibari-style bed, with a mosquito net covering its carved wooden frame like a veil. Cozy with cushions scattered over it, it was a nest within a nest.
“You always wanted one of these beds,” he said as he plopped her down on the edge, between two falls of the mosquito net.
“Hmm,” she murmured as she closed her eyes. “It’s not much fun alone.”
He kissed her, tenderly exploring her mouth, as they shifted deeper into the bed. His hands stroked up her arms, pinning her down as he pressed his leg between hers. The weight of his thigh made her moan in anticipation, and she moved against him, relishing the intense desire the pressure fueled.
“I could tie you up at the corners and fuck you all night,” he murmured as he released her arms, running his lips down the column of her neck, nipping at her sensitive skin with his teeth.
His words let the image vibrate like an electric current through her. It sounded rough, but in Carlo’s hands it would be the sweetest torture. She didn’t move her arms as potent memories of past exploits ran through her mind’s eye, of Carlo in charge and making her body respond to his every whim. “I wish you would,” she murmured, regretting that she had no stash of silk scarves for him to pick and choose from.
He chuckled as he knelt between her legs. “That’s a bit wild, for starters, don’t you think?” His hands got busy with her shorts’ button and zip, and he tugged them off her hips. “I think we should leave that for dessert. There is no need to rush our meal.”
His comment made her smile. It was a glimpse of the old Carlo, the way he’d teased her before. He shifted and stripped the shorts from her legs. She lay in front of him, legs slightly bent and open.
The way he stared at her made her feel utterly desirable and needed. She sat up and pulled her t-shirt over her head, and they tossed her clothes to the floor. As she lay back his hands rested on her shins; his gaze wandered over her body before it came to rest briefly on her breasts.
His eyes met hers. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he stroked his hands up her legs to her lacy underwear. His thumbs were on her inner thighs, and she shuddered as he traced the elastic leg of her panty with his fingers, down, then higher, his thumbs grazing the lips of her sex. “And this is very pretty.” His fingers made lazy patterns, imitating those of the lace, in feather-light touches that made her crave his fingers, deep inside her.
Her breathing halted as he brought his thumbs together and upped the pressure on the downward caress. The lips of her sex opened wider in wet heat, her swollen clit brushing against the crotch of her panties. A heated wave of pleasure shot through her. “Carlo.”
His touch was hypnotic, gentle, and rhythmic as he stroked her body with his fingers, his lips, and his nose. His breath stoked the fire that flamed under her skin. She longed for him to touch her breasts, but as if he knew this, he went everywhere except there. Her nipples had puckered into almost agonizing hard peaks and were jutting up through the lace of her bra.
She reached for his hair, trapping her fingers in the thick strands, wanting to urge him up to kiss her nipples.
“Slow down, Simone,” he whispered against her hipbone, his other hand pressing lower as he fitted his warm palm over her mound.
At his touch, every part of her caved into a wanton mess and begged for him to possess her.
She arched her back as his mouth trailed to the curves of her breasts. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice sounding as desperate as she felt.
“Oh, but I do.” He chuckled as he sat up, took her hand and palmed it to his erection. He filled her hand and felt like jean-clad rock. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“Don’t let go,” he groaned as he reached for the sculpted border of her bra. With slow intent he traced the edge with his fingertips, and she snatched a short breath at the rousing trail his fingers left behind. He licked his lips, finally cupping her breasts in his palms, thumbing her nipples in a gentle pull that shot desire to her core.
When he pulled away the intensity of the absence of his touch was almost as heady as having his hands smooth over every bit of her begging skin. Shooting her a wry smile he unbuttoned his shirt. He peeled it off, revealing the strong contours of his shoulders, the dark patches of hair around his nipples that came together in a trail that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.
He looked at her pointedly and she rubbed his erection through the thick fabric of his jeans, but it wasn’t enough. Her hands fumbled with his belt, her gaze glued to her fingers, which were unwrapping what she’d been craving since she’d seen him standing in the door that first morning.
He waited, watching her hands as she popped the buttons, his breath stalling when she liberated his erection from the constraints of his jeans and jocks. An intense swell of desire spread through her body at seeing his rigid cock jut up toward her from the silky nest of black hair. She cupped him in her hand and he groaned out a slow breath, straightening up, pushing his hips toward her. She traced the veins running the length of him with her fingertips, following their pulsing to the tip. He dropped his head back as she rubbed up and down, increasing the pressure of her fingers, spreading his pre-cum over his sensitive head after every few strokes. She licked her lips at the thought of taking him in her mouth and pushed up on her elbow.
He laughed as he tossed his shirt to the floor and covered her hand with his, stopping her movement. “Slow down, Simone. Dio. I’m too close.”
She dropped back with a grin, quietly thrilled that she hadn’t lost her touch. He took some condoms from his back pocket and slid his jeans off. His muscular body was beautiful in the soft light, which caught the shadows playing on his arm muscles and torso.
His gaze burned into hers as he rolled on a condom. “You, cara, have been sorely missed,” he said as he propped on his arms next to her shoulders, and dipped his head to kiss her mouth. Every last bit of love that hid away in unknown corners brimmed from her heart.
She caressed the smooth skin on his sides, his back. His heat radiated through her fingers to her core as he kissed her, pressing his hard length against her clit, smoothing up and down, in the rhythm of his tongue.
“We’re not slowing down, are we?” he murmured as he reached for the crotch of her panties, hooking it to the side.
“No…please,” she whispered back. Knowing she was dripping wet, she opened her legs wider.
He grunted his approval as he slipped a finger into her drenched sex, then two. She moaned as he stiffened his fingers against the front wall of her channel, rubbing hard.
“God, Carlo, please…”
He swore in Italian as he extracted his fingers, and in one slow thrust entered her. He was gentle, but already her orgasm tried to break through the barriers of her resistance. He kept thrusting slowly, yet hard and deep, meeting each throb of her budding orgasm at its head. She dug her fingers into his buttocks to hold him still against her, wanting to prolong the sweet sensation of going over the edge.
His own control was hard to contain as sweat pearled on his upper lip and beaded on his forehead. He locked gazes with her and stilled against her. “Fuck,” he mouthed, his breathing strained but motionless.
When he pulled from her and thrust back again, she tipped, as if in slow motion, his slower thrusts calculated to draw out her pleasure. She moaned as she came, each rippling contraction extracting his orgasm. He dropped his head back, grinding deep into her swollen sex as he vibrated his release into the core of her body.
He breathed heavily, and she stroked her hands up his chest and reached for his face. When he gazed at her he looked drugged. He said nothing as he rolled to his side, pulling her close, not breaking their intimate connection. Her hand on his chest felt every beat of his heart as it slowed down, the heat on her skin cooling with his.
His lips rested against her forehead. “It has always been like this between us,” he murmured. “Nothing has changed.”
She couldn’t respond, the intensity of the moment too tight in her throat. It was true. It had always been easy between them, the rise in their desire so quick and mutual, the release as quick or as leisurely as they’d wanted it to be.
He slipped from her and got rid of the condom. He gathered her in his arms, chest-to-chest, so close, as if they’d never been apart. His knuckles stroked down the length of her arm, rousing the thick stirring of anticipation in her belly, the slow rise of her pulse at knowing they weren’t done. Knowing Carlo, he’d just started.
He shifted and his fingers fiddled with the back clasp of her bra. “How did you manage to keep this on so long?” he murmured, kissing her neck as he released the clasp.
“Someone said it is very pretty,” she teased as she wriggled, and he eased off the bra and tossed it to the floor.
“What an idiot,” he laughed. “He hasn’t seen you naked…for a long time.” He trailed kisses over her collarbone to her breast, her nipple, which was begging for the warm, wet heat of his mouth. He licked her skin, a teasing circle around her breast, blowing over the damp trail, a slow spiral as he aimed for the peak, making her tight nipple ache in anticipation. His fingers were tracing a similar pattern on her other breast, and when he finally took her between his lips, gently rolling her other nipple between his fingers, intense desire jolted to her core, leaving her panting. He sucked, tenderly, then harder as she moaned and dug her fingers into his hair.
He let go, and she breathed in quiet reprieve. Her body was an instrument that he had mastered four years ago, and he clearly hadn’t forgotten how to play her. He tugged at her panties, rolling them down her thighs, and let her kick them off. She stilled next to him, under his gaze that drifted from her breasts, lower, his hand following suit, but stopping abruptly at the scar lining her pubic hair.
He rested his hand on the faint line, a question in his eyes. Her heart contracted…he’d never seen this before, never been with a woman who’d had a baby by caesarean.
“Sarah got stuck.” She paused, sure she couldn’t laugh at the expression on his face. “So, I had an emergency C-section.”
His brows shot up, consternation flooding his face as it hit him what type of scar it was. “I’m sorry…I didn’t know.” He frowned. “I thought…” The weight of his hand on her stomach increased the slightest bit. “I’m sorry for not being there.” His voice sounded hollow, as empty as that chamber of memories that should have been full with the birth of his own daughter.
She caressed his temple, his gray hairs springy against his softer black ones. She’d wanted a guilt-free night but from the look on his face it was as if he was staring at the physical reminder of his absence.
She tried to ease the shift between them. They’d left Sarah in her room, and there she would stay. She’d hoped to leave everything else behind too. “Gabi was there,” she whispered as she trapped his hand in hers. “And Sarah was healthy, which was the most important thing.” She drew his fingers to her mouth, kissing them, then guided his hand to her opening thighs, letting him slip his wet fingers inside her.
He stirred to life against her hip as he stroked her, and her body responded in turn. She felt for his cock, gathering his sack in her hand, feeling him harden.
He kissed her, but there was a change in him, in the way he touched her, his palm resting tentatively on her clit, his fingers moving languidly, with reverence, as if she would break under the rougher touch she now craved. He knew her too well, but he was hesitating.
She swallowed as he turned away. He could read her body, but in that moment, she could read his mind. “Tell me what happened,” she murmured against the stubble on his chin. “Tell me about the wicked wizard and Julia.” She said the words so softly, wanting him to hear them, but scared of what they would release.
He dropped back, covering his eyes with his arm. As he breathed out, he shuddered. After a minute, she propped up on her elbow, gently tugging his arm from his face. He didn’t open his eyes, but gripped her hand tightly, the tension in his hand echoing the strain in the pull of his mouth. He was quiet, but the muscle in his jaw twitched, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. He was battling with his emotions, trying to subdue them.
“Carlo…” She didn’t want to beg him to open up to her, but there had been more to those ten weeks when he’d gone missing than she’d ever anticipated, and she had to know.
“I never talk about my dad, Mona.” He glanced at her, then cupped his palms to his eyes, as if to block out all light. “I think I might need to get drunk to talk about him without…breaking down.”
She dropped her gaze, focusing on the softness of the hair on his chest, his breath that hitched faster, the strain building in him, evident in the fact that he didn’t exhale completely.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, cursing her own absence from his life, and the scar on her belly that had caused the atmosphere between them to change.
“Those ten weeks…” He broke off, playing with the mosquito net. He switched off the light, enclosing them in darkness. “My dad knew he was ill, but he hid it from us as long as he could. By the time I got that call, things had started to spin out of control.” His voice was heavy with despair. “There was nothing we could do.” His voice broke, and he swallowed. “Nothing.”
He lay still, and she pressed against him, trying to alleviate some of the pain the memories carried. He circled his arm around her shoulder and nudged her close. She relaxed against him as he sighed deeply, seeming almost relieved. “Julia got roped into some really bad relationships at the time. She got addicted to heroin and zombied through everything. Oblivious.” He sighed. “She’s clean, for now, but I still don’t know how to keep her that way.” His fingers were in her hair, lost as he entwined a curl between his fingers. “I’ve been taking care of her ever since she decided to get clean.”
“How long has she been clean?”
“More than three years. To get her to come to her senses…took a lot of energy. Then one day she just came home.” He shook his head. “It seems like a long time, doesn’t it?”
She had no clue about addiction and couldn’t comment, except that three years was a long time to be without something, someone.
He let go of her hair, and rubbed at his forehead with his thumb, as if he could iron out his frown. “After my dad, after that hopelessness…it has been the hope, the notion of having some control over her addiction, that has kept me going.”
She didn’t need to hear more. He didn’t say it, but the unsaid words rested on his chest. After his mom, after his dad, he couldn’t bear to lose Julia too.
“Does Angelo help?”
He grunted with a nod. “Yes, but Angelo has his own addictions.”
She didn’t want to pry further, sensing the territory could be more slippery.
“Women. Humping and dumping. Angelo’s specialty.” He reached for her cheek, stroking it with his finger, cupping her chin and lifting it so that their lips could meet. “I was quite worried that first day, introducing you to him.” He paused as he peered into her eyes. “Knowing him, and the way he stared at you…” He hissed out a breath. “As if he would have you before the day was done.”
His hand, which still rested on her cheek, slipped lower, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. His lips replaced his thumb and he kissed her as he caressed the column of her neck, then lower, teasing a path to her breast, which he kneaded possessively. He’d gone hard against her, his erection pressing against her thigh as he moved to suck her nipple into his mouth, shooting a shock of desire right down to her womb.
His lips retraced their path to the curve of her ear, and he whispered for her to roll onto her stomach. His lips pressed warmly against her neck, her shoulder. She tried to breathe as her skin responded to his hungry kisses.
His movements grew harder, more urgent as he massaged her back, squeezed her hip, pulling her lower on the bed. She bit her lip as she recalled how good he could make her feel, every inch of her skin heating up at the thought of the pleasure to come. She splayed her legs and raised slightly on her knees, her breathing labored in anticipation. He grunted his approval as he kissed her spine, lower, to the dimples above her buttocks. His hand stroked her back, his touch possessive. His knuckles followed the split of her buttocks, deeper, until his fingers caught her sex, and he slipped his thumb inside her. His rhythm was slow and tentative at first but she moaned at the intense sensation deep inside her, every stroke reaching further. He pressed harder, and she edged up higher on her knees, almost feeling the need to crawl from him as he deepened the thrusts with his thumb, his fingers bent to catch her clit with each heave of her body. The pressure built so fast, she was going to come apart.
“Carlo—” she whispered. He released her, leaving her burning, swerving on the edge of the cliff.
She heard him tear a condom wrapper between her rapid breaths, and then he was on top of her, pressing her down onto her stomach and nudging her legs wider. “Touch yourself, cara,” he whispered against her hair behind her ear. She didn’t need to. He slicked himself on her, rubbing his cock over her clit and entrance, then penetrated her with a single hard thrust. He rested against her back, his face right next to hers, his hand settling on her throat. He nuzzled her ear, his lips caressing the sculpted rim. “Touch yourself, Simone.”
She opened her eyes, smelling him right there with her, breathing in the same breath as him. “No,” she murmured.
“The honor is all mine,” he whispered as he edged his hand under her, clasping her clit with his fingers. He hadn’t tied her up, but in that moment, he had bound her to him. She could go nowhere but where he planned to take her.
He entered her, again and again, his weight bearing down on her, his hand wrapped around her throat in perfect pressure. He thrust so deep, right to her womb, and as he pressed closer, she knew he owned her. At the thought her release came, drenching his fingers. He paused for a moment, his breathing ragged as he kissed the corner of her mouth, nuzzled the side of her nose with the tip of his. She lifted her cheek to his, caressing his rougher one. She couldn’t see him, but felt him as if they were one, the urgency of his desire, the need to make her his, and only his. She’d never been so close to him. When he came, he stilled, his hand on her neck tightening, then slacking.
She had been thoroughly claimed.