“Sergio?”
I opened my eyes and paused while my heart cracked against my chest.
“It’s okay to be scared, right?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. “Yes.” I tucked her hair behind her ears. “But we’re together. When you have a partner, things are less scary because suddenly you aren’t facing giants all by yourself.”
“I like the idea of facing them with you.” She sniffed and looked down. A single tear slid down her cheek and landed on my chest.
It may as well have been acid; I felt the burn of that tear in the depths of my soul, crushing in its weight, devastating in its truth.
I kissed her harder, deeper. Our bodies slammed against one another. With a grunt, I flipped her onto her back and kissed between her breasts, sliding my hands down her legs. I refused to stop until I gave her every ounce of pleasure she deserved.
She cried out when my hand slid between her legs.
“I thought you just screwed,” she said, breathless.
I retreated then pressed forward again, this time replacing my hand with my mouth.
Every arch of her body, every whimper was music to my ears. When she was finally ready for me, our bodies slid together in a perfect match.
I moved, deeper, harder.
Andi’s eyes closed.
I could have sworn in that moment I felt the air; I could taste its bittersweet reminder that time was against us.
It wasn’t just about sex.
Not anymore.
Not ever, if I was being completely honest with myself.
It was about sharing every single part of my soul — my body — with her, and hoping she did the same with me.
Because she was it.
We were quiet, passionate; both of us realizing we were experiencing one of those rare moments in life where words were useless and actions meant everything.
Her hands clenched my arms as I continued my slow, languid movements, taking time to relish each sensation of our bodies connecting, communicating. It was bliss — it was everything.
“Feels so…” She exhaled. “…good.”
“Italians are always good.”
“Had to joke,” she hissed, her nails digging into my flesh. “Sergio, I’m—”
I felt her body clench around mine as a shudder wracked her body. I watched, absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty before me and utterly wrecked that it wouldn’t last.
“Andi…” Sweat trickled down my cheek and landed on her bare stomach. My body soon followed hers as I collapsed onto the bed, trying not to crush her. “…I love you.”
Her hand drew slow circles along my back. “I know.”
I lifted my head. “That’s it? You know?” I smiled tightly. “Harsh, Russia.”
“Let me finish.” She pressed a fingertip to my lips. “I love you too. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
She shrugged. “My love is short.”
“No.” I shook my head and gripped her hands between mine. “Just because our love feels short doesn’t mean it is. Our love is forever.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andi
I WATCHED HIM SLEEP. I WASN’T sure I believed in heaven. I’d seen too many horrible things in my short life — but if heaven was real, Sergio had to be a gift from above, because he was everything I didn’t know I even wanted.
And at the same time needed, more than oxygen.
His breathing was heavy. He’d woken me twice in the middle of the night, both times kissing me, making love to me, not caring that I was fragile, but acting like he was desperate for every inch of my body.
I was exhausted.
In the best way possible.
He mumbled in his sleep and turned on his back. That silly scar stared back at me — I stuck out my tongue — his one imperfection if you could even call it that.
The longer I stared, the sadder I became. Tears soon filled my eyes as a thought occurred. I wouldn’t get to stare at the scar much longer, and soon, well hopefully, he’d be able to move on — to live his life — and someone else would be sleeping in my place, staring at that scar, wondering about its story.
It was an eerie feeling.
Knowing that the sheets would be, and should be, warmed by another body, by another soul.
I wished in that moment I had control over what would happen when I was gone, or that I could at least help him.
An idea popped into my head.
A slow smile met the tears streaming down my face. “Oh, Sergio, you’re either going to love me more or hate me. But at least you’ll be forced to live, and that’s the greatest gift I could ever leave you.”
I kissed his forehead and went off to find a piece of paper. Ha, the man made fun of my lists; he was going to want to strangle me over this little piece of paper.
It was two hours before I finally made it back into bed. It was quiet around the house, which wasn’t all that normal, considering a lot of the men Nixon had left took shifts, meaning the TV was almost always on downstairs.
Frowning, I glanced into the living room.
Empty.
I called down the hall, careful to keep my voice low.
Again nothing.
And then a hand slammed across my mouth. Someone pulled my body back. I was too weak to fight.
The man dragged me up the stairs; once we were back in Sergio’s bedroom, he placed a gun against my back and whispered, “Talk and I shoot.”
I didn’t recognize the voice.
Soon footsteps sounded up the stairs.
Another man burst into our bedroom as Sergio was starting to wake up.