4. Aaron

CHAPTER 4

AARON

T he taste of him lingers on my lips, a phantom echo of heat and hunger that I can't seem to shake. I press my fingers to my mouth, chasing the memory of his kiss, even as shame and longing twine together in my gut like serpents.

I shouldn't have let it happen. Shouldn't have let him get so close, let myself get swept up in the magnetic pull of his presence. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness that could cost me everything I've worked so hard to build.

But god, what a mistake it was. The feel of his hands on me, the rasp of his stubble against my skin, the hot slide of his tongue against mine...it was electric, incendiary. Like touching a live wire and being consumed by the current, every nerve ending set alight with pleasure and pain.

I want him. Even now, with the cold light of day throwing every reason why this is a terrible idea into stark relief, I want him with a ferocity that terrifies me. I want to lose myself in the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the intoxicating mix of danger and vulnerability that draws me to him like a moth to a flame.

But I can't. I won't. I have a job to do, a responsibility to Matteo that supersedes any personal desires or emotional entanglements. I need to focus on his case, on ensuring that he has the support and resources he needs to heal from the trauma he's endured.

Even if that means burying my own feelings, my own wants and needs, so deep that even I can't find them.

With a sigh, I push away from my desk, the paperwork blurring before my eyes. I need to get out of this office, need to clear my head and regain some semblance of perspective. And I know just the place to do it.

The orphanage is a bustling hive of activity when I arrive, children of all ages running and playing in the sunny courtyard. It's a far cry from the cold, institutional hellholes of the past, all sterile tile and echoing corridors. This place is warm, welcoming, a true home for the children who have nowhere else to go.

I spot a familiar face among the throng, a mop of unruly dark hair and bright, mischievous eyes. "Luca!" I call out, my heart lifting at the sight of him. "Come here, buddy. I've missed you."

He comes running, launching himself into my arms with a delighted shriek. I catch him easily, swinging him up onto my hip and burying my nose in his hair, breathing in the sweet, clean scent of him.

"Mr. Aaron!" he crows, his little arms winding around my neck. "You came to visit!"

"Of course I did," I murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I couldn't go too long without seeing my favorite guy, now could I?"

He giggles, squirming to be let down so he can drag me over to the sandbox, chattering a mile a minute about his day and the new friends he's made. I listen intently, marveling at his resilience, his ability to find joy and connection even in the face of unimaginable loss.

It's a gift, that kind of openness. A gift that so many of these children possess, despite the hardships they've faced. It's what draws me to this work, to the challenge and the privilege of helping them find their way in a world that has often been cruel and unfair.

Lost in thought, I don't notice the new arrival until a shadow falls across the sandbox, a familiar voice sending a shiver down my spine.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Shepherd."

My head snaps up, my heart stuttering in my chest. Santino stands before me, looking unfairly gorgeous in a crisp white button-down and dark jeans, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement. Or desire.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Mr. Ricci. What...what are you doing here?"

He shrugs, a fluid ripple of muscle beneath his shirt. "Matteo wanted to visit some of his old friends. Thought I'd tag along, see what all the fuss was about." His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the smudge of dirt on my cheek, the rolled-up sleeves of my button-down. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You're a natural with these kids."

I flush, caught off-guard by the compliment. "I...thank you. I've always enjoyed working with children. They have so much to teach us, if we're willing to listen."

Something softens in his expression, a flicker of vulnerability that makes my breath catch. "You're not wrong about that," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to where Matteo is playing with a group of older boys, their laughter ringing out across the courtyard. "Matteo...he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Even if I have no idea what the hell I'm doing most of the time."

I smile, something warm and tender unfurling in my chest. "You're doing just fine, Santino. Better than fine. Matteo is lucky to have you."

He meets my gaze, something raw and hungry in his eyes that sends heat licking through my veins. "Is he? Sometimes I wonder."

I take a step closer, drawn to him like a magnet to true north. "He is," I say softly, fiercely. "And so am I."

His breath catches, his eyes widening fractionally. "Aaron..."

"Dad! Dad, come look at this!"

The moment shatters, broken by Matteo's excited shout. Santino blinks, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Coming, cucciolo," he calls back, shooting me a rueful grin. "Duty calls."

I nod, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in my chest. "Go on. I'll be here."

He hesitates, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he reaches out, his fingertips grazing my cheek in a fleeting caress that feels like a brand. "I know you will," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "You always are."

And then he's gone, striding across the courtyard to where Matteo is waiting, a king among his subjects. I watch him go, my skin tingling where he touched me, my heart racing like I've just run a marathon.

God, I'm in trouble. Deep, unending trouble of the heart and soul. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I want to be saved.

The rest of the visit passes in a blur, stolen glances and fleeting touches, the air between us crackling with a tension that threatens to ignite at any moment. By the time we're ready to leave, I'm wound tighter than a piano wire, my nerves scraped raw with wanting.

"Thanks for letting us tag along," Santino says as we walk to the parking lot, Matteo skipping ahead of us, his little hand clutching a fistful of wildflowers he picked for Giulia. "It means a lot to him, being able to see his friends."

"Of course," I murmur, hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat of his body beside mine. "You're both welcome here anytime."

He nods, something thoughtful in his expression. "I might just take you up on that. It's good for him, being around other kids. Around people who understand what he's going through."

I glance at him, surprised and touched by his insight. "You're right. Support systems are crucial for children who have experienced trauma. Having people who can relate to their experiences, who can offer empathy and understanding...it can make all the difference in their healing process."

He hums, a low, considering sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "And what about you, Aaron? Who's in your support system? Who do you turn to when the weight of the world gets too heavy to bear alone?"

The question catches me off-guard, my steps faltering. "I...I don't know," I admit, my voice rough. "I've always been pretty self-sufficient. It's hard for me to ask for help, to lean on others."

He nods, something like understanding flickering in his gaze. "I get that. Believe me, I do. But sometimes...sometimes it's okay to need someone. To want someone in your corner, fighting for you as hard as you fight for everyone else."

I swallow hard, my heart beating a staccato rhythm against my ribs. "Santino..."

"Just think about it," he says softly, his fingertips grazing the inside of my wrist, a fleeting touch that feels like a promise. "I'm here, Aaron. Whenever you're ready."

And then he's leading Matteo to the car, buckling him into his booster seat with a tenderness that takes my breath away. I watch them drive away, something sweet and aching unfurling in my chest, a longing for something I'm not sure I'm brave enough to name.

But I want to be. God, do I want to be.

The next few weeks pass in a haze of stolen moments and heated glances, the tension between Santino and I building to a fever pitch. We dance around each other like magnets, drawn together even as we try to maintain a professional distance, to keep our focus on Matteo and his well-being.

But it's getting harder with every passing day, every brush of hands and lingering look. I find myself making excuses to visit the mansion, to spend time with Matteo and Giulia...and Santino. Always Santino, with his dark eyes and wicked smile, his hands that I long to feel on my skin, his mouth that I dream about in the dark hours of the night.

It all comes to a head one evening, when I stop by to drop off some paperwork and find myself alone with Santino in his study. The air between us is thick with tension, with unspoken desires and barely-leashed hunger.

"Aaron," he murmurs, my name a rough caress on his tongue. "You shouldn't be here."

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. "I know. But I can't...I can't stay away, Santino. Not anymore."

He closes his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "This is a bad idea. I'm no good for you, Aaron. My world...it's no place for someone like you."

I step closer, my hand coming up to cup his cheek, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Let me decide that for myself," I whisper, my breath mingling with his. "I know who you are, Santino. I see you, all of you. And I'm not running."

He makes a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat, his hands coming up to frame my face, his forehead resting against mine. "Aaron..."

And then he's kissing me, his mouth slanting over mine with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs. I gasp, my hands fisting in his shirt, hauling him closer as I open to him, my tongue tangling with his in a hot, slick slide that sends heat racing through my veins.

He walks me backwards until my back hits the wall, his body a hard, hot line against mine. I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against my hip, the thick ridge of him sending sparks of want skittering down my spine.

"Fuck, Aaron," he pants against my mouth, his hands sliding under my shirt, mapping the planes of my back, my ribs. "Want you so fucking much. Want to taste every inch of you, want to feel you come apart beneath me."

I moan, arching into his touch, my head falling back against the wall. "Yes," I gasp, my hips rocking against his, seeking friction, seeking more. "God, Santino, please..."

He growls, a low, feral sound that sends a bolt of pure lust straight to my core. His hands fumble with my belt, my fly, seeking skin, seeking heat. I can feel the cool air of the room against my fevered flesh, the rasp of his calluses against my aching cock.

"Gonna make you feel so good, baby," he rasps, his teeth grazing the tender skin of my throat, my collarbone. "Gonna take you apart, put you back together. Gonna ruin you for anyone else."

I keen, my nails digging into his shoulders, my hips bucking into his fist. I'm so close already, so desperate for his touch, his taste. I can feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume me whole.

But then a noise from outside the door shatters the moment, the sound of footsteps and childish laughter. Matteo, home from his playdate.

Santino jerks away from me like he's been scalded, his eyes wild and his chest heaving. "Fuck," he pants, running a hand through his hair. "We can't...not here, not now."

I nod, trying to catch my breath, to calm the racing of my heart. "I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

He shakes his head, something like regret flickering in his gaze. "Don't apologize. I wanted it too, Aaron. God, I want you so fucking much it scares me."

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. "I'm scared too," I whisper, the confession torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "But I'm not...I'm not running, Santino. Not from this, not from you."

He closes his eyes, something like pain etched into the lines of his face. "You should," he says softly, roughly. "You should run as far and as fast as you can, Aaron. Because if you stay...if you let me in...I'll destroy you. It's what I do, it's all I know."

And then he's turning away, his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched at his sides. I watch him go, something cold and hollow taking root in my chest, a sense of loss so acute it steals the breath from my lungs.

I've fallen for him. Somewhere between the stolen glances and the heated touches, the quiet moments and the desperate kisses...I've fallen completely, irrevocably in love with Santino Ricci.

And I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do about it.