Chapter 17

CHIARA

W e remained entwined for an age.

Falling into post-coital slumber in each other’s embrace, warmed by the summer breeze and lulled by the sea and the beauty of the night.

At some point, Rio lifted me in his arms and carried me to my bed.

When his grasp left me, I cried out, and he soothed me in muttered whispers as he cleaned me between my legs.

Then he joined me, wrapping his muscled brawn around me.

I fell asleep with my ear against his heart, sinking into the best sleep I’d had in years with his safety and strength surrounding me.

I woke to him sliding into me from behind.

His cock sunk in so deep it touched my cervix.

With a cry, I canted to him, hips swirling as he took me hard.

His harsh breath on my nape, his arms tight, encircling me, fingers buried in my cunt.

It was more than I could bear, and I gave him my all, working my pelvis as he groaned and growled into my lobe until we both combusted in a wave of shaking limbs.

This man.

We came down off our high with whispers and soft chuckles as Rio continued to tease me with those wild, wayward digits of his.

His tongue traced the shell of my ear, suckling on my nape.

Even as a novice, I appreciated he was an experienced lover, and when he pulled away to gaze down at me, my wide-eyed wonder must have been evident on my face.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, belleza ?’

I worked out what he was referring to, and I sighed. ‘Are you upset at me?’

My voice was small as I braced for his ire.

It never came.

Instead, he turned my chin to give me a lengthy, lingering, sensual kiss.

‘No, leonessa , not upset,’ he rasped when we finally came up for air. ‘I wish I’d been aware so I’d have made it exceptional.’

‘It was special,’ I insisted, twisting around to face him, hair falling over the pillow and his shoulder as I stared in earnest into his face. ‘I never imagined heaven, but you gave it to me.’

He arched a brow as I traced the ink on his throat. ‘Why me, though? Naples is crawling with men high on sexual energy.’

I bestowed him with a sustained look and offered him the truth. ‘ I trust you. I haven’t trusted any man in a hella long time.’

He huffed and rubbed a thumb across my lips.

‘I’d still have appreciate a heads up,’ he growled.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.

I’d endured years of being treated like shit by the males in my world. I’d been cast as both angel and whore, and sustained abuse and indignity from my father and brothers, eventually leading to my seeking relief in drugs.

Never in men.

My father had limited my interaction with the opposite sex to interactions that he controlled. Adding to my continuing humiliation as he used my innocent body to tease and titillate his mobster associates.

Without him alive now, it was like to love and be loved the way I wanted to.

The fact Rio was my first-ever lover and my choice was liberating beyond words.

Tears misted my eyes at how tender and gentle he’d been. While also riding me with intense passion.

I’d never felt more desirable or well fucked, because even though a virgin, I recognized the man holding me as a consummate paramour.

It was heaven when I’d only experienced rough fumbles and shameful epithets so far.

I took a shaky inhale, the sound tearing from me unbidden. ‘I’ve wanted you since you first kissed me.’

That’s when a ghost of a smile lit up his face as his hand slipped lower to cup my breast and rub my nipple.

I gasped.

‘That good, huh?’ he growled, bending his head to suckle.

‘ Si , you had me from the second your mouth -.’

He silenced my further explanations with a finger sliding between my lips.

I sucked it, ignited, even as he flamed me more with his heated brand of passion.

By lunchtime, my pussy was done, unable to take any more ministrations, and I pushed off him, running into the shower, fleeing his lovemaking.

I luxuriated in feeling so free, so liberated, so myself with any other person, let alone a man.

It was a heady sensation, and I couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick teen while I washed up.

When I emerged from the bathroom, he was downstairs, head in the fridge, pulling out ingredients.

I leaned against the counter, hair wet, barefoot, and clad in shorts and a tee, as Rio moved through the kitchen. With such calm, confident ease as he finished the frittata, his focus on the skillet.

He’d changed into a tee and shorts from his quarters, and his hair was damp and curling at his nape from a quick shower.

I went to him, slid my arms around him from behind, went on my tiptoes, and kissed his nape.

He grunted and shot me a smirk as I pulled away and perched on one of the kitchen’s high stools.

The noon sun filtered through the window, casting a soft, golden glow on his face as he worked.

The air was redolent of fresh basil and sizzling bacon.

Mesmerized by his hands’ steady rhythm, my gaze followed him, stirring, chopping, and blending like it was second nature.

There was something about watching him cook, the way he seemed to put care into every movement, that made my heart swell.

How wise was this? I asked myself.

I was wading into a sea of pain if I didn’t guard my six and my soul and see Rio for who he was.

My protector, but a temporary one at that.

I sensed I’d burn if I searched for or demanded anything more from him than he would give.

He had the aura of a lone wolf who loved the hunt, the thrill of the wild, and its lonely spaces.

If I didn’t pay attention, he’d toss me out of his life and be gone like the wind once this job was done.

Still, he was fucking sexy, working the burners and frying pans with ease, his lite muscles moving, his sinewed, hair-dusted hands deft as all fuck.

He threw me a little look like he sensed I was yearning, accompanied by an upturn to his sensual mouth. He flung a dish towel over his shoulder like a practiced chef at a Michelin restaurant.

Fotto!

The aroma of the fluffy eggs, the bright peppers, and bacon crisping filled the room, wrapping me in warmth and comfort.

We were in our little bubble of peace, away from the world’s chaos.

He glanced at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned off the heat, sliding a perfect, golden frittata out of the oven.

‘Brunch is ready,’ he said, his burr like rumbling thunder, almost intimate in the quiet of the morning.

I grabbed the fresh bread from the counter, tore off a few pieces, and placed them on a platter.

We moved in sync, laying out our little spread as if we’d done this a hundred times before. Rio sliced into the frittata, the eggs fluffy and bright, each wedge bursting with color—spinach, red peppers, and the right amount of cheese.

He handed me a plate, his fingers brushing mine in the simplest, most electric gestures.

We carried our fare outside to the patio, the distant sea mingling with the birds singing from the garden.

The sun’s warmth danced across my skin, and I’d never been more at peace than in days. Rio sat beside me, our limbs tangling together as if drawn by gravity.

His arm draped over my lap as I rested my head against his shoulder; both of us relaxed and content.

Between bites of delicious goodness, we skimmed through the newspaper, passing it back and forth.

On occasion, Rio leaned in, pressing a kiss to my temple or my cheek. The touch was warm and fleeting but enough to send shivers through me.

I responded by tilting my head and kissing the corner of his lips, a soft, lazy kind of affection.

The world stilled, our quiet moments punctuated by the occasional paper flip or laughter escaping amid conversation.

There was no rush, no tension—just us, the breeze and the sun warming our skin as we let the morning unfold like a slow, beautiful dream.