25. Stefania

There's someone trying to break into the house.

I hear banging, rhythmic and constant, and I stumble out of bed in full-on panic mode. Suddenly, all the phone numbers Davide made me memorize when I first came to live here—the guards, his parents, his brother, his sister—they're all gone and I can't think of anything at all. I stagger into the bathroom and grab a hairdryer from under the sink, but I have no clue what I'm going to do with it, blast some warm air in the intruder's face? I throw it aside and end up hefting this old statue of a dalmatian Davide has in the corner of his room and hold it up like a club by the head.

Slowly, I creep down to the first floor. The lights are on, which is weird, and the rhythmic banging sound isn't coming from outside, which is weirder. If this is actually a break-in attempt, it has to be the worst possible burglar imaginable. I reach the bottom of the steps and nearly have a heart attack when I spot Davide holding weights on either side of him and doing squats right in the middle of the living room. Each time he comes up and goes back down, there's a loud thump.

He's wearing only a pair of small gym shorts and his skin glistens with sweat. I creep closer, still clutching the dalmatian, trying to decide if I'm going to brain him with it or not. But he notices me coming and puts the weights down and wipes his forehead, giving me a nice view of one muscular bicep and one incredibly gorgeous forearm, and I decide that killing him with a dog statue would be a waste of a perfectly sculpted body.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask him and gesture like a crazy person at the digital clock on the end table. "It's three in the freaking morning."

"Closer to four," he corrects and leans against the couch, his eyebrows raised. "What's with the statue?"

"I thought someone was trying to break in."

"And you were going to fight them off with a two-hundred-year-old porcelain dog?"

"I mean—" I put it down very gently because I had no clue it was that old. "I didn't know it was porcelain."

"Lucky for you I'm not here to steal all our stuff." He hefts the weights again with a grunt and starts doing curls.

Fucking hell, he's incredible. Even with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I have to hand it to the guy, this late-night exercise routine is working wonders. He's got to be some kind of genetic freak because he's perfectly proportioned and his forearms are practically candy to my soul. I want to lick the sweat off his skin, which is how I know I'm still half-asleep, because I'm not normally such a freak.

"Uh, Davide? Back to my original question. What the hell are you doing?"

"Working out." He pauses and frowns. "Sorry, was I being loud? You're usually a heavy sleeper. I didn't think you'd mind."

I groan and collapse onto the couch. "Do you normally lift weights in the middle of the night?"

"No," he admits, and I guess that's a good thing. I'd probably have some serious questions about myself if I was able to sleep through multiple nights of this.

"Would you stop for a second and talk to me?"

He frowns but puts the weights down. "It's nothing, alright?" He sits down next to me and sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions.

I move toward him and get the smell of sweaty man musk, which is actually not as bad as it sounds, except it's laced with something else. It takes me a second to recognize smoke. "Were you near a bonfire or something?"

He closes his eyes. That's when I notice the stress lines around his eyes. "Not exactly. I had to work tonight."

"Right, and that work involved fire?"

He nods, squeezing his eyes tighter. There's something bothering him, because normal, well-adjusted humans don't do squats and curls at three in the morning, no matter what he says. I put a hand on his thigh and feel a tingle between my legs, because holy shit, he's straight-up jacked and I like the way his shorts are damp, but I need to get it together.

"Talk to me. What happened?"

Davide's silent at first. I want to reach out and touch his face, but I'm afraid it'll only chase him back into himself. There are things he doesn't talk about, aspects of his past he keeps hidden from me and from everyone else, but sometimes I get the feeling that whatever happened to him when he was younger, whatever caused the burn scars on his hand, they haven't healed. Even though he said he'd tell me—he still hasn't actually opened up.

"I hesitated," he says and it comes out so soft I barely hear.

"You hesitated how?" I prompt him as gently as I can and move closer.

He blows out a long breath and opens his eyes. "You don't need this. You're dealing with enough already without my stress."

"Davide—"

"It's fine, baby." He leans over and touches my cheek with the back of his hand. I shiver with excitement, because apparently all he has to do is graze my skin to distract me right now. "How about we talk about your new job? Or maybe we don't have to talk at all. Maybe I could use a distraction and you could use a way to get back to sleep."

I bite my lip to keep a whimper firmly in my throat. "Don't use sex to hide how you're feeling."

"Who said anything about sex?" His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. "I meant I was going to coach you through a workout routine."

"Asshole. I'm serious. What happened? You can talk to me."

His expression softens and I can tell he wants to say something, but he must be so used to keeping it all inside that it's hard. I don't know how to help him open up, but I want to be there for him, even if that means dealing with the occasional late-night workout sessions.

"When I saw the fire, it was like I was a kid again." His voice is tiny. It's so small I have to lean in closer to hear him, and that becomes its own distraction. My hands press against his muscular, sweaty chest.

"And that made you hesitate?"

"It was like I couldn't move." He brushes hair from my face and leans down to gently kiss my ear. I bite back another moan, but I am a solid two more kisses from straddling him and riding him into oblivion. "I don't like fire. I haven't liked it since I got my burns. But it doesn't normally trigger a panic attack, and if Simon hadn't come back inside to pull me out—" He doesn't elaborate, but I can fill in the gaps.

"I don't know what happened to you, but it was obviously really bad. It's okay if you're still working through it."

"Not in my world, it isn't. If I freeze at the wrong moment, I could get myself killed, or someone who relies on me could get hurt. I just didn't know the fire would trigger it."

"You're safe now, you know that, right?" I tilt my chin up and kiss his cheek, moving close to his mouth. "I'm sorry that happened to you tonight, but you're safe now, and you don't have to beat yourself up just because you feel bad." I touch his cheek and run my fingers back into his hair. "You're with me now, okay?"

"I'm with you," he repeats, and he slips one hand behind me, curling around my waist, pulling me closer. "You're right. I'm with you." He leans down and presses his lips to mine softly. "Why do you care how I feel, Stefania? From the start, you wanted to make it clear that this relationship would never mean anything to you, that all of this was fake."

I kiss him back and breathe in deep through my nose. Why do I care? Why does it matter? He's right to ask but the fact that he has to makes me feel like such a piece of shit. Because he's right—I never wanted to marry him and made it clear from the start, but things are different now. I've gotten to know him in a way I never imagined, and I can see a glimmer of a man I could grow to care for, a man I might even enjoy being around all the time.

"I care because you're my husband," I say, and that's the simplest explanation I have right now.

Which he seems to like. He drags me into his lap and kisses me deep, his mouth opening, his tongue exploring mine. I throw myself into that kiss, because as much as he might need this right now, I need it too.

He pulls my shirt over my head. I whimper as he kisses my neck. I'm not wearing a bra, and his hands tease my breasts before his mouth sucks one of my already-stiff nipples. I grind my hips against him, pulse racing in my chest, and his hand grips my hair and pulls my mouth down to his.

"When I came home earlier, I thought about waking you up," he whispers as his hand slips down between my legs. I'm wearing a pair of shorts and he easily gets his fingers down the front of my panties until he's slowly stroking my pussy. I spread my legs wider and lift my hips up to give him more room as he rolls around my clit, teasing me.

"Why didn't you?" I ask, biting his lip as he sinks two fingers deep into my pussy.

"Because I don't want to make my problems your problems. I'm so used to doing all this alone."

"You're not alone anymore." I grind myself against his hand, moaning as I do it.

"You're right. I have you now, dolcezza. I have your soaking wet pussy and your beautiful, stiff nipples." He leans forward and bites one as his fingers work in and out. "I can use you to work off my frustration and you won't mind, will you?"

"Depends on how nice to me you are," I say, eyes closed in bliss.

He laughs, low and sultry, as he pulls me close and kisses my neck. "Baby, even when I'm mean, you know I'm being nice. Now, do you want to ride my cock? Do you think you can fit it all between your legs?"

I groan in protest as his fingers disappear. "I want to find out," I say, and he stands me up in front of him and pulls down my shorts and my panties, his lips kissing my belly, licking my breasts, kissing my hips and spreading my legs again. He leaves me standing, one hand gripping my ass possessively like he wants to make sure I can't get away while the other teases my pussy, gliding up and down my slick lips before sinking deep inside again.

"That's a good girl," he murmurs as he fucks me with his fingers. "You're so fucking wet for me. Even in the middle of the night, even when you're ready to murder me with a priceless antique, you still get nice and messy. Is that because you're my filthy little slut?"

"Yes," I whimper as the hand on my ass slaps it hard.

"Say it again. Say you're my slut."

"I'm your slut," I breathe, mind going wild with need. Breathing the words makes my core clench.

"This messy pussy wants my thick cock, doesn't it? You want to ride me until we're both satisfied, don't you?"

"I want it," I beg. "I need it."

"Come here, baby." He drags me into his lap again and this time, his gym shorts are shoved out of the way. I moan with absolute bliss as I arch my back and feel him slip inside of me, easily gliding into my soaking pussy. I clamp down on him, tightening my thighs, before I start to work my back and my ass, moving up and down.

He holds my hands behind my back and thrusts into me. I grind into him as he licks my tits and sucks my nipples before letting me ride again. I go fast, in a frenzy, my hands on his sweat-covered chest. I stare at every inch of his incredible skin, at the rippling muscles and stacked abs, and I'm in pure ecstasy with each movement of my hips.

"God, yeah, what a good girl," he moans as I move faster. "You want to ride me until you get every drop of cum, don't you? You want me to fill you to the brim, you filthy fucking girl."

"Oh, fuck, Davide," I gasp as I grind harder, riding right on the edge of orgasm. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me I'm yours. Tell me, please."

"You are all mine, baby," he says, thrusting and moving with me. "And I am all yours. Every inch of me, and every inch of you. We're in this together now, baby, and I'm going to fuck you nice and deep until you come for me like the filthy, dirty little slut you are."

That throws me over the edge. The orgasm washes over me and I come in a wave, unable to control myself as he keeps fucking me, merciless and gorgeous, like a demon made to pull all my triggers. He gasps, holding my hips down, burying his cock inside of me, and I feel him come in thick spurts as my pussy clenches down around his shaft, and I don't care if this is an incredibly stupid idea, all I want is him.

I collapse into his arms, breathing hard, my heart racing. He kisses me and holds me there, cock still between my legs, staying hard for a surprisingly long time. But eventually, he cradles me in his arms and we go upstairs together, up into the shower. He washes himself, cleans off the smell of sweat and smoke, and he kisses me while he does my back and face, his gentle hands exploring me. It's both intensely erotic and wildly intimate, and when he towels me off, I have to stop and kiss him just to remind myself that this is real.

We end up in bed together, his arms wrapped around my body.

"I want you to know something," I tell him as I start to drift again, feeling relaxed and satisfied. Talk about being fucked into submission. "I know it's hard for you, but you can tell me things if you want to. I won't ever judge you. We're partners now, right?"

"You're right, baby," he says, hugging me closer. "Let me take it slow, alright? Just let me take it slow."

"As slow as you need." I nestle in closer and shut my eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the safety of his arms lull me back to sleep.