Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Anya

I wander listlessly through the house while Saverio is at the gym, wearing nothing but the shirt he took off last night. I should get dressed, but the scent of musky male and spicy cologne that clings to the fabric is soothing. It makes me feel protected even though such a notion is crazy. He’s the last person I should feel safe with, yet I still sleep like a baby in his bed, and here I am, drowning in his smell and his clothes when he’s not here to see it. I don’t want to show him how wearing his clothes comfort me in a vulnerable moment when he’s the cause of the turmoil tormenting me. I still feel bruised about what he said. I’m not sure what to make of the whole adoption thing.

What I should be doing is using the precious little time I have alone to search for weird tubular keys, but I have a bizarre urge to redecorate, not only to paint the walls and to change the furniture but also to put pretty flowers that smell nice in the rooms. My fingers itch to pluck down the dreary curtains and let the sunshine in, to throw the windows wide open and smell the bite of winter over the stale atmosphere of the grandeur in the lounge. I want to spring clean and repack all the cupboards. It’s strange, especially seeing that it’s not even my house, yet I’m to live here now. Forever. And taking into account the nature of Saverio’s and my relationship, that’s a scary prospect.

I try not to dwell on the daunting future. It will only drive me crazy. Instead, I let my feet carry me where they will. Going from room to room, I inspect each one for the first time by not just looking but truly seeing what’s in front of me. Everything is so stuffy and somber. I carry on until I find myself in front of the baby room. I haven’t gone inside since the day I walked in on Saverio ripping the room apart. He’s installed a door between the master suite and the nursery and plastered as well as painted the wall around the frame. The smell of fresh paint is still faint in the air.

I grab the door handle but hesitate. The reason I haven’t crossed the threshold is because I don’t want to admit what the room signifies. I held on to the belief that this situation wasn’t forever, but after last night, I know differently. There’s no getting out of this, no turning back.

I try to imagine what the room looks like with the dark panels and heavy drapes in front of the windows gone. With the walls plastered white, the room must seem airy and light.

Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for owning the truth that comes with opening this door. When I push down the handle, I can no longer pretend the room doesn’t exist. I can no longer tell myself that I’ll walk away soon.

The door swings inward soundlessly, unlike every other door in the house that squeaks .

I stand on the threshold, expecting brightness and white, but what’s in front of me comes as such a shock that I remained glued to the spot, battling to process the sight.

I pinch my eyes shut and slowly open them again, but the picture isn’t a figment of my imagination. It’s not the clear, empty space I thought it would be. Instead, the walls are painted a buttery shade of yellow, soft and warm like sunshine. Framed portraits of teddy bears in fields of spring flowers and at picnic tables under summer skies decorate the walls. Pine floorboards replace the ugly burgundy carpet, adding warmth and lightness. The white rug in the middle is a nice touch. A crib with a colorful butterfly mobile attached to the rail stands under the large window. Yellow voile curtains as light as clouds hang to the floor. Stuffed animals in yellow, pink, blue, and brown take up the top shelves of a bookcase. The middle shelves are lined with storybooks while toys still in their boxes fill up the bottom. A rocking chair that stands in the corner is convenient for breastfeeding or rocking a baby to sleep. Next to the chair, a changing table is fixed to the top of the dresser.

The nursery is functional as well as warm and cozy. It’s not one of those perfect pictures you see in glossy interior decorating magazines. The accent color is obviously yellow, but the rest is a bit of a haphazard mix. It’s as if Saverio filled the room with pieces of himself, each toy and item carefully chosen. I would’ve said lovingly if I didn’t know better.

I linger a moment, simply standing there to let it sink in.

When did he do this? During the hours I napped and slept? He must’ve done most of it while I was still working at the firm. Too much time and thought went into creating the space to label it as nothing but a practical space for a baby. Saverio made no less effort than he would’ve made for his own child, and it moves me in ways that bring tears to my eyes.

“It needs a woman’s touch,” Saverio says behind me.

I give a start at the sound of his voice. I’ve been so absorbed in the room and my line of thinking that I didn’t hear him open the front door or come upstairs.

I take a moment to blink away the tears and get a hold of myself before I turn.

He wears a sheepish smile on his face, looking vulnerable even as he stands over six feet tall with his muscles bulging under his T-shirt and tracksuit pants. His dark hair is damp. The clean smell of soap on his skin tells me he showered at the gym.

“When did you do this?” I ask, emotions tightening my chest.

“In bits and pieces. I added something every day, hoping it may get you into the mood to do the same. My efforts didn’t turn out very well.” He scratches his head. “Obviously, I’m lousy at decorating. You’re welcome to change it.”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?” He raises a brow. “You don’t want to get a professional interior decorator in?”

Not even for a moment. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him how much the room means to me, but my emotions are still too raw after what happened last night, so I only say, “That won’t be necessary. Thank you for doing this.”

He motions at the dresser. “I started stocking up on diapers. I read online a newborn may need up to ten per day.”

How can my heart not melt? I smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you. ”

Weaving his fingers through my hair at the back of my head, he drags me closer and tilts his face down to hold my eyes with an icy blue, smoldering gaze. “This doesn’t have to be difficult for you. You can be happy here, both you and the baby.” He implores me with that piercing stare. “Don’t resist me so hard. Let me in, and I’ll show you how good we can be together.”

I get lost in those pools that are the color of infinite blue, of never-ending skies and bottomless rainy days. I want to believe him, to trust that he’ll make it good and that it can be enough, but I’m not a romantic like Livy. If only I were, it would’ve been so much easier. Yet I’ve always been a practical girl, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t build a healthy, let alone a happy, family with a few mutual benefits and a sword hanging over your head. Having a piece of him is not enough. I deserve better. I want everything. I want the love and devotion as well as the respect and reverence.

He lowers his head and claims my lips, kissing me to fill my silence and the answer I can’t give him. As always, my body doesn’t hesitate to provide the right answer. It melts for him as he walks me backwards into the room while slipping a hand underneath the shirt to cup my breast with impatience.

“I like this look on you,” he says into the kiss, groaning as he presses me against the adjoining door that gives access to his bedroom. “You should always wear my clothes.”

He eats my lips savagely and continues to grope my breast even as he reaches around me and fumbles with the handle of the door. When the barrier gives behind me, he locks an arm around my waist, not only preventing me from stumbling but also from escaping. Not that I have any intention of going elsewhere when he’s wreaking havoc inside me and the only calm I can find will come after the storm he’ll submit me to.

He walks me into his bedroom and kicks the door to the nursery shut as if an innocent baby is already sleeping there. I get why he doesn’t want to spoil that perfectly pure space with our depravity and lust. What we share has never been pretty, but our ugly feels so good.

Our urgency is too big to make it to the bed. He pushes me against the nearest wall and lifts my arms above my head before pinning my wrists in place in one big hand. He slips the other beneath the hem of the shirt, finding me naked and wet underneath.

“You test a man’s willpower,” he says, biting off every word as if the syllables are glass he swallows.

The finger he sinks inside me without warning has me go on tiptoes, but there’s no getting away when he holds me exactly where he wants me. I can outrun the pleasure that ignites under my skin as little as I can run from the man pinning me like a butterfly on a board. My core flutters like the gentle flapping of wings. My breath stutters when he pulls out to push the sweatpants over his hips. He dives for my lips again, kissing me with bruising force as he positions the crest of his cock at my opening. Without warning, he bends his knees and shoves deep.

My moan is lost in our kiss. My inner muscles stretch around him. He thrusts while I work to take him. I break the kiss to drag in air and lean back my head. A moan falls from my lips every time he drives inside me. He lifts my thigh and drapes it around his ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh as he pounds into me. Pleasure coils through my body, strangling everything I was before. A wanton woman is born in its place, a wild creature I hardly recognize, and at the same time, it’s as if I’ve always waited for him. He’s the only man who can unlock this part of me .

He lets go of my thigh to wrap a hand around my neck, his hold possessive as he watches my face and sees what he does to me. The impact bounces my body. My moans grow louder. His face is a mask of painful pleasure. He doesn’t hold back. He gives me everything he has and takes what he wants for himself. He thrusts one last time before going still, studying my face as he fills me up with his seed. Our chests heave in tandem, but he doesn’t wait to catch his breath. He lets me go and slides down my body to stop on one knee in front of me.

It’s my turn to watch when he hooks my leg over his shoulder and grabs the edges of the shirt by the hem before plucking them apart. Buttons fly through the air. They drop with soft pings and run over the floor while he brushes the tail ends apart to expose my lower body. His lips are on my clit before his seed has run down my thighs. He licks and nips that spot that makes my back arch until my own pleasure starts to spike. When it finally breaks, he sucks the swollen nub deep into his mouth. The release is so powerful I’m shaking in his hold. My legs can no longer carry my weight. It’s only the wall at my back that keeps me up.

He lets my leg down and locks his hands around my waist before straightening. His lips glisten from our arousal. Unable to resist, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head down for a taste. He doesn’t deny me. He returns the kiss, cupping my head and tilting it back for better access. He kisses me until I’m dizzy, and then he carries me to the shower and washes our bodies.

When I walk out of the bathroom after drying my hair, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie. I clutch the towel between my breasts, enjoying the sight despite myself. He takes my breath away. He doesn’t even have to do anything. He simply has to be in the same room as me .

He reads something on his phone, waiting patiently until I’ve dressed in leggings and a T-shirt. When I’ve tied my sneakers, he goes to the safe and punches in the code. He takes out something that he carries to me.

I look from his face to the item he holds out on his palm. It’s a pistol, a smaller caliber than the one he carries.

“This is yours,” he says. “I want you to practice with it every week.”

I stare at the gun, my stomach twisting in a knot. When I dare to meet his gaze again, his emotions are hidden behind an expressionless mask.

“Why?” I whisper, those wings fluttering in my belly again, but this time, it’s not the gentle flapping of a pretty butterfly. This time, it’s more like a huge, ash-gray moth frantically beating its wings in the cruel prison of a jar.

Giving me the same line as always, he simultaneously tells me nothing and everything. “You know why, tesoro .”

And as always, the vagueness of his answer terrifies me.