Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

H e's not a quitter… Giovanni's words hung in the air.

Erin couldn't escape her next thought. Then why does everyone eventually quit me?

Finn had eventually given up. No matter how much he tried to stay devoted, the moment Mallory showed up, like a beautiful distraction, there was no challenge. His heart was stolen.

Erin stared at the wood-paneled wall, thinking back to the end of her and Finn's relationship, recalling how terrible she'd behaved. She sabotaged the best friendship she'd ever had, all because she couldn't bear the thought of loving Finn and him eventually abandoning her like everyone else she cared about did.

Her voice was hollow, devoid of emotion, as she stared at the knots in the pine paneling on the wall and explained, "I never wanted to stay in Jasper Falls and Finn was never going to leave. Our end was inevitable."

"Because of the lumberyard," Giovanni said with intimate knowledge of his family's obsession with that business.

"Exactly. Colin was going to become a priest, Braydon wanted to be an architect, Luke had football, and that left Finn."

"And Ryan."

"Right."

The lumberyard was owned by all three families. Now that the older generation was retiring, the sons were running the show.

She frowned, wondering why Giovanni hadn't collected his share. The lumberyard made decent money, especially at a partnership level. "Didn't you ever want to?—"

"No," he answered before she even finished the question. "Lumber doesn't interest me—something my dad can't seem to understand."

Maybe that was why he wasn't staying at home. "Do they support your dreams?"

Something uncertain flashed in his eyes as if he debated sharing anything personal with her. Anger bubbled inside of her as she considered everything she just shared.

"No, they don't," he confessed quietly. "My dad thinks I'm just wasting time. It's like he's literally waiting for me to run out of money or fail so I can come home and start my real life."

"What about your mom?"

He shrugged. "She's better than him, but neither of them sees comedy as a realistic career choice."

Her head lowered. "I'm sorry I interrupted your show last night."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You work hard at what you do. And I was being a drunk, disruptive brat."

"Well, I shouldn't have said what I said. It was mean and not my style. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

She couldn't recall the last time someone apologized for hurting her, and she hated the way her eyes prickled from such silly sentiment. "I don't even remember what you said."

He studied her for a beat. "Yes, you do."

Her gaze lowered as if she could shield the truth. She remembered, and he knew she remembered. "It's just easier not to care."

"About anything? I mean, we're talking about you. You need to care about yourself, Erin."

Why? No one else did . She blinked hard. "Pass me the M&Ms."

He slid the candy to her. "What are you doing now? Where are you working?"

She appreciated the change of subject, but her career wasn't anything exciting. "I worked for the mayor for a while, but that didn't pan out."

"Skylar's husband?"

"That's the one."

Skylar was another relative of his who hated her. Not that she blamed the girl.

"Now, I'm just…"

She couldn't even say she worked at the hardware store. She had nothing. No home. No job. No friends. No one to ask how her day was.

Breathing in a deep breath, she let it out in a sigh. "Do they have a minibar here?"

Giovanni grinned. "You lookin' to get drunk?"

"What else is there to do in a blizzard when the electric's out?"

"We could screw."

She nearly choked on a peanut M&M. "Are you insane?"

"No, why? It's not a crazy suggestion. We're stranded in this dingy motel. No one knows we're here. We're both single. Worse things have happened."

She poured out more chocolate and shoved a handful of M&Ms in her mouth. She was overeating because being this confined with anyone made her anxious. "I'm not having sex with you."

"Because you find me unattractive?"

"Don't be a jerk."

"Why is that qualifying as being a jerk? I'm not above admitting you're hot."

Her cheeks flushed and she worried he was saying that to turn it around and somehow embarrass her. "Knock it off."

He didn't look like his gorgeous McCullough cousins, but he wasn't unattractive. Giovanni always had a darker complexion and a sleeker, Italian look about him. He liked nice labels and fancy shoes. She never saw him in a pair of work boots and couldn't recall ever seeing him in anything other than designer clothes.

But it was his eyes that held the most appeal. Deep and dark, like fathomless windows to the soul. His nose was hooked and a little big for his face, but his lips looked soft, like the kind that would feel amazing against a woman's skin.

He could be sweet, but he was too clever to trust. He'd hurt her too many times in the past. Plus, he was a player.

Giovanni always had a one-track mind and never failed to drop a dirty joke into a situation when a punchline presented itself. She assumed he was a womanizer, but he hadn't closed the deal with a single girl he mentioned from back in the day. Except for Josephine Cook, of course, and she wasn't sure how far they'd gone.

"How long's it been since you've slept with someone?" she blurted, thinking back to his standup skit last night.

"Honestly?"

She gave him a hard look. "Are we lying?"

He sighed. "Two."

"Months?"

He glared at her.

"Two years ?" Her eyes bulged. "Why? Are you trying to be celibate on purpose?"

He climbed out of the bed, pacing across the floor and scooping up the various bags of snacks that fell onto the carpet. "No. New York's expensive. I'm always in cities—Philly or Atlantic City or wherever. I'm on the road too long to make any real connections, and it's not like I can afford to wine and dine someone I meet after a show."

"I thought comedians made pretty good money."

"Yeah," he laughed, "The big ones. I'm still starting out." He threw several bags on the bed and stepped into his shoes. He shook his head. "Forget I said anything. This was stupid. I'll go see if they have a minibar at the front desk."

Before she could stop him, the door was open and a gust of snowy wind blew into the room, causing her to hunch deeper under the covers.

Two years?

Was there something wrong with him? And who were all those women he mentioned in his act last night? Had he just made them up? Why?

Several minutes later, the door opened again, and Giovanni rushed inside, holding various bottles and tracking snow and slush over the carpet. "It's colder than a room full of ex-wives out there."

He dumped several bottles onto the bed.

Holy crap, how much did he expect them to drink? They were only two people.

"I have to run back to the vending machine and get mixers. Coke okay?"

"Uh, sure."

The door opened again, sucking the last of the heat out of the room. As she stared after him, she realized she wore a half-smile, just a casual curve of her lips for no reason at all.

What exactly was happening?

Before she could figure it out, he was back with several bottles of cola. "I got a lot because in crazy weather the hoarders come out."

She chuckled. "I think you're the hoarder."

He glanced down at his bounty and shrugged. "Maybe I am." He uncapped a soda and handed it to her. "Drink some of that and we'll top it off with the rum. I don't have cups."

Her stomach was going to rot by the end of this storm if she didn't eat something other than sugar soon. She took a few sips and he did the same. Then they topped off the bottles with rum.

"Cheers." He held up his plastic bottle and kicked off his shoes.

They each took a long sip and she welcomed the warming sensation of alcohol. Giovanni shoved down his pants and climbed into bed.

"Um, what the hell are you doing?"

"My pants are wet from the snow. Besides, you're not wearing any underwear. What difference does it make?"

Her shoulders tensed. "Ew, did you look at me when I was sleeping?" How did he know she wasn't wearing underwear?

"God, no." He took another sip and scooted lower under the covers where it was warm. "I looked when you were in the bathroom changing."

"Giovanni!" She shoved his shoulder.

"What? You put a pretty naked woman in front of me, I'm gonna look!"

Her mind snagged on the word pretty. Did he think she was pretty? As she started to smile, her face protested and she was reminded of the bruise on her cheek. "I'm a mess."

"Well, your face is pretty banged up from the accident, but that's not you. You know you're pretty, Erin."

The accident… Part of her wanted to tell him the bruise on her face was there before the accident, but she kept her mouth shut. Stories like that ruined a vibe, and she was actually enjoying herself.

Her foot brushed his and she quickly pulled it back. "Sorry."

"It's okay." He purposefully gave her toes a little flick with his.

Were they playing footsy, now?

She needed a distraction. "I wish we had a deck of cards or something."

"I saw a few board games and puzzles by the front desk, but I'm not going back out there. It's too freaking cold. Besides, it's getting late. We won't be able to see soon."

"Do you have any candles?"

"No, just the light from my phone, but I'm trying to conserve the battery."

She drank several sips of her cocktail. What were they going to do when they were trapped in the dark?

His toes brushed hers again, only this time she didn't pull away. It felt nice, being under the covers with a man. Every time she slept with someone, they rarely made it under the covers. Sometimes they didn't even make it to a bed.

She might have had sex more recently than him, but her sex life was still pretty empty. She'd never been good with intimacy.

Even with Finn, she had struggled with his expectations of her. Too much eye contact and emotion scared her. She didn't know how to receive such sentiments, nor did she have a clue how to give them back. She faked feelings as much as she faked orgasms. It was a wonder why she had sex at all.

Sometimes, she supposed, it was just nice to be touched softly, to shut her eyes for a moment and pretend someone cared about her.

Maybe the rum was hitting her, or maybe it was the fact that he'd called her hot and pretty all in the last hour. Her fingers brushed across the sheet, coming into contact with Giovanni's.

One soft swipe and he laced his fingers with hers, holding her hand as if it were something they'd done a hundred times before.

A secret smile hid in the corner of her mouth. This buried side of Giovanni reminded her of a soft teddy bear. There was something caring and gentle about him. She bet he was a total momma's boy.

She thought about the protective way he talked about Mariella. She'd never known him to be much of a fighter, but he was passionate about those he loved.

"Are you and your sister close?"

Keeping hold of her hand, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckle. "Pretty close. I mean, we don't see each other as much since I moved away, but we keep in touch. She calls me about twice a week."

That was really close compared to her and Harrison.

"What about you? Do you keep in touch with your brother?"

She couldn't recall the last time they spoke on the phone. He never called to check in. And whenever she texted him to complain about Dad, he blew her off, saying something cold that made her feel responsible.

He's never going to change, Erin.

I thought you moved out…

Why are you still living there?

"We've grown apart."

"So, who do you hang out with?"

No one… She didn't want to talk about her miserable life because it only made her sad. "Tell me a joke."

He laughed nervously. "Nothin' like putting me on the spot."

"Come on. Make me laugh. Give me some of your best material."

"So I was with this girl the other night?—"

"No, uh-uh. You already told me how long it's been, so I know you're making that up. Tell me something real, something funny about your actual life."

He thought for a moment and then relaxed. "Okay, so you know how my mom's Irish but my dad's Italian? Well, my Nona's right off the boat. I mean, the woman speaks in hand gestures and broken English. She doesn't understand the concept of feeling full, so when she sees you, the first thing she does is feed you. When you clear your plate, she fills it again. It's like sitting through an inquisition with no escape. You eventually start to feel your organs shutting down from all the processed meat, but you're in too much of a food coma to get away. In our family, turning down an Italian woman's cooking is a greater sin than lying to a priest."

She giggled, finding something warm and homey about the picture he painted. "She lives with your parents?"

"Oh yeah. My mom's pretty tough, but she's no match for Italian Mary. When Mom married Dad, Nona said to her, ‘ You might be marrying him, but I loved him first and I'm'a gonna love him last. I plan to cook for him until the day I die.'"

She laughed at the way he imitated her Italian accent. "Does she ever get upset?"

"My mom? Sure!"

"No, Italian Mary."

"Does she?" He let out a long, low whistle. "One time, my dad told her he was going out. This was back when he was a kid. Nona told him they had plenty of food at home and he wasn't leaving her house to go snack on some puttana . They had a big blowout on the front lawn and he left anyway, but not before Nona tossed a lit cigarette into the back seat of his 1965, blue Impala. My dad loved that car."

"Loved?"

"The entire back seat burned to ash. It spent years in our family's garage waiting to be fixed. It's still there. My mom hates it, and Nona spits on the hood every time she passes it."

She loved the dysfunction he spoke of and her stomach hurt from laughing. "Why don't you talk about them in your standup?"

He shrugged and reached for his soda bottle. "It's just regular family crap."

"You're lucky." Somehow their entwined hands had worked their way against her stomach. He moved his fingers ever so slightly, shifting her shirt out of the way and brushing a soft caress over her bare hip.

"Why am I lucky?" he whispered, looking into her eyes. His breath smelled sweet with traces of rum.

"Because not all families are as close as yours."

"Your family's not tight?"

She shook her head. "My mom left when I was little. She never calls or sends a Christmas card. I don't even know if she's still alive."

"Damn. That's rough."

She wasn't telling him for sympathy. She honestly didn't know why she told him. She never spoke of her mother to anyone, not even Harrison.

"But your dad's nice."

Her heart stilled. The air in her lungs hardened into something heavy, like cement.

Everyone in Jasper Falls thought Ward Montgomery was such a standup guy. Why wouldn't they? He had shovels and salt when they needed it. He fixed the tears in their screens and knew how to keep the houseflies away. He was everyone's hero in a pinch, everyone except for his kids.

"Tell me another joke."

"Why did the Italian cross the road?" He looked into her eyes expectantly, his breath teasing the wisps of hair surrounding her face.

"Why?"

"To kiss the pretty girl." He closed the distance and she stiffened. But when his hand slipped around her back, pulling her into him, she softened.

His lips were warm and gentle. He kissed her tenderly at first, teasing and coaxing, nuzzling her cheek with his nose as he found the right angle and traced his tongue across her mouth.

Her nipples pebbled tight under the cotton shirt and her toes curled. He pulled her closer, the scent of his skin all she could smell. Their legs entwined and his chest pressed into hers.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered, dragging those full lips over her thrumming pulse and nibbling the lobe of her ear. The trace of his warm breath sent chills down her spine.

They should stop, but everything he was doing to her felt too good. She reached for him, closing her hand around the thick muscle of his upper arm. For now, she wouldn't stop him, but she was too scared to give him an actual green light.

"Kiss me back, Erin" His mouth found hers again, and this time he was more aggressive, opening his lips and showing her what he wanted.

Her tongue shyly teased his and he groaned, rolling her to her back and trailing his touch down her front. With no panties protecting her, his fingers easily found the warmth between her thighs.

She should stop him. This wasn't right. They didn't even like each other. But she liked the way he teased and stroked her softly. It was different from the way most guys touched her, and it had been a long time since anyone had been so… gentle with her.

He teased her folds, stroking softly and sliding his fingers over her flesh with a feather's touch. Her body responded. The trace of his skin over hers was so soft, she wanted to feel everything he was doing. She parted her legs and he studied her as if checking that he was reading her signals correctly.

She closed her eyes, too afraid to confirm that she liked his hands on her, and too afraid to speak and possibly ruin the moment. He pressed a finger into her, and she sucked in a breath.

Burying his face in her shoulder, he whispered, "Jesus, Erin." The corner of his mouth quirked against her throat as he slowly teased her, grinding the heel of his palm over her clit in a way that heightened her pleasure.

He scooted down her body, pressing kisses into her ribs and on the underside of her breasts. "Take this off." He nudged the T-shirt up, but she didn't move.

The moment she actively participated, she would be consenting. She couldn't own that right now. She couldn't deal with the fact that Giovanni was touching her and she liked it. Plus, she didn't want the chemistry to shift. He was doing fine on his own.

He drew a hard nipple between his lips and teased the tip with his tongue. Her spine arched, pressing into him, and he sucked harder.

His mouth moved to her other breast and then lower, kissing a trail down to her navel and across the bridge of her hips until his lips kissed the sensitive spot between her legs.

Her back arched as her lips parted, a breathy sigh escaping as he drove his tongue into her. He licked her like he'd been starved for a woman's flavor, as if she possessed the elixir of life and he wanted to drown in every drop.

"Jesus, you taste incredible…"

His words only confused her more. Giovanni never said nice things to her. He didn't deserve to see her this way. Or maybe this was exactly what he deserved. Let him pleasure her. She had no intention of giving him anything in return.

"Erin…" He lifted her like a chalice, sipping from her body as if it were the holy sacrament.

Other men had, of course, done this to her before, but never with the attention Giovanni was giving her now. He worshipped her, anointing every sensitive inch of her skin with kisses, and whispering secrets against her flesh as intimately as a man prays to God.

"Jesus, I can't get enough of you."

He dropped his knees to the floor, pulling her to the edge of the bed. The blankets disappeared and he cupped her ass, lifting her closer to his seeking tongue and soft lips.

No one had ever done this to her with such devotion to her pleasure. He wasn't after an orgasm. He touched her for the sheer ecstasy of it—hers and his. He made her head swim and her heart pound.

The pleasure became too much and she scooted away, only to have him catch her ankle and haul her back to him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I can't… It's too much…"

"You can." He delved between her thighs, licking and nibbling, teasing and soothing.

Her body tightened like a coil that wouldn't hold. She was going to snap, but not in a pretty way. When his tongue drifted even lower, her spine stiffened. "Wait!"

He chuckled as if he liked teasing her, making her worry over the level of intimacy he might push.

She licked her dry lips, her lungs tight and unable to draw in a full breath. She was thirsty, hungry, empty, needy…

He pressed another finger inside of her and she moaned. His lips closed over her flesh and pulled in soft little suckles. She couldn't take it.

Meaning to shove him away, she reached for his head, but when her fingers forked through his thick dark hair he moaned against her sex and she came.

It wasn't with the rushed, darting accuracy she experienced when she touched herself. Nor was it with the dull, tentativeness she shared with past lovers. This was different. Deeper. Longer. It went beyond her trembling muscles and resonated in her chest, dislodging something, and cramming her throat full of uncomfortable emotions she couldn't let out.

But he wasn't finished. His satisfied smile pressed against her skin as he licked her. Her cries filled the room, building and growing until she came again.

She hadn't noticed him strip off his shirt, but when she looked down at him, his shoulders were bare. A surprising amount of muscle shaped his arms and chest.

He trailed his lips to her thigh, to her hip, and circled the sharp point of her nipple with his devilish tongue. She was unprepared when he kissed her on the mouth, sharing her flavor and groaning as if they were tasting something heavenly together. It was one of the most erotic kisses of her life and when he pulled away, she was breathless.

He flopped to his back and stretched, folding his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

What the hell? Were they done? Was he waiting for her to finish him?

She glanced at the bulge in his briefs and quickly looked away, shoving her T-shirt back over her chest and covering her lower body with a pillow.

"Hand me my drink," he said, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

She grabbed the half-drunk bottle of soda and passed it to him.

He took it, guzzling the rest of the cocktail down. "You've got some catching up to do."

She scowled at him, thinking that was his way of asking for a blowjob, but then he handed her the bottle that held her cocktail and she realized he'd been referring to her soda bottle.

"Drink up."

She took several sips, welcoming the refreshing liquid as it soothed her dry throat and needing a shot of the numbing alcohol hidden inside.

"You have really nice tits."

She flinched at the crassness of his words. "Uh… Thanks?"

Startling her, he rolled to his side and pushed her shirt back up, as if he now had an open invitation to touch her. He plumped her breasts together and grinned.

"Beautiful." He popped her nipple into his mouth and sucked it into a hard point as if giving out chef kisses or something. "I love how they look in my hands." He kissed the other one, sucking the tip and pulling away with the same satisfied grin.

Her brow pinched. No one had ever behaved like this with her before. There was no bravado about him, no smooth game or fa?ade. He touched her for the simple pleasure and fascination of it.

Leaning down, he blew raspberries on her stomach and she couldn't help the squeal of laughter that ripped out of her.

Then she sobered and she shoved him away. "What are you doing?"

Appearing startled by her response, he shrugged. "Just…playing with you."

She reached for the sheet, unsure why his playfulness bothered her so much. "I'm not a toy."

"Sor-ry," he said, breaking the word into two syllables. "I thought you were enjoying it."

Her hands shook as she covered her legs and sat up.

A look of confusion crossed his face and his expression blanked into something unreadable. He looked away from her as if regretting everything he'd just done.

Guilt churned in her stomach as she worried she might have embarrassed him.

She sighed. "I did enjoy it. I just…no one's ever blown on my stomach like that."

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes distrusting. "It's cool. Moment's over."

Why did she suddenly feel like the worst person in the world? "You're mad."

"No, I'm not."

"Hurt then." When he didn't deny it, she said, "Let's rewind."

He shook his head. "It's cool, Erin. If you're not into it?—"

"Stop." She hated the idea of him thinking she hadn't enjoyed what he'd done. "I liked it." She'd liked it too much. "You're…good at it."

That got a smile. "Really?"

"You know you are."

"No, I don't." He jumped back onto the bed, and leaned up on one elbow with his hand under his ear like a teenage girl getting gossip about the hottest football player on the varsity team. "You came, right?"

Her face flushed. "Oh, my God."

"Did you?"

"Giovanni…"

"Yes or no. It's a simple question."

"Fine. Yes. Now, drop it."

"I knew it. You can tell when women fake it."

This was so weird. She didn't know what to say or where to look. She took another sip of her cocktail.

He pushed the sheet off her leg and drew whirls around the cap of her knee, his fingers gliding higher and higher up her thigh until he teased the V of her sex. He looked up at her with those big brown eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I wasn't finished," he said, nudging his finger between her thighs, silently requesting she pull them apart.

Her heart jittered in her chest. This was so incomparable to every other guy she'd been with, she wasn't sure how to act. Sliding down the bed, she lowered to her back.

He didn't kiss her or touch her right away. For a moment, he merely looked at her.

"I want this off." He peeled up the T-shirt, stripping her bare. "My God." Lying on his side, he looked down at her, his stare so intense she had to shut her eyes.

The soft glide of his finger down her torso caused her spine and nipples to stiffen. Warm breath shot shivers over her skin as he nuzzled her neck, making her body cold and hot at the same time.

He cupped her breast, massaging softly and teasing. When he kissed her mouth, he did so with tender care, savoring every lick and drawing out every pleasure.

It wasn't long before he was between her legs again and her body was writhing under his sensual touch. Giovanni wasn't a man who enjoyed women, he loved women. The man had unmatched skill.

She lost track of how many times he brought her to climax, and never once did he ask her to touch him in return. In the end, he didn't have to.

Her body ached to be filled and she needed him as much as he seemed to need her. Reaching into his briefs, she stroked his hard flesh and he shivered, letting out what she assumed was an Italian curse.

He shoved down the material, shameless and hungry, revealing every inch of him—and there was a lot. She should have taken care of him the way he took care of her, but they both seemed to want something else.

"Condom?"

He dashed over to his suitcase and rummaged around. When he returned, he paused at the foot of the bed, rolling the condom over his hard flesh. "Ready?"

She nodded and rolled to her stomach.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

She looked over her shoulder. The room was getting dark. "I like it this way."

"But I want to see you."

Her stomach pinched. She couldn't do the whole look-into-my-eyes thing. It hurt too much.

But he had been so sweet to her. She supposed she could close her eyes. She rolled to her back and stretched her arms overhead.

He smiled, and damn her, but she smiled too. Despite all his good looks, there was something downright cute about him.

He didn't slide inside of her right away. First, he kissed her. Most men treated women like microwaves, spending no time at all on foreplay. But Giovanni went above and beyond. He wasn't just a slow cooker, he was a master chef whose greatest tools were his hands. He created a slow burning fire that grew hotter and hotter as he worked his unmatched skill.

When he finally nudged her sex with his, she was beyond ready. The first inch of him told her it was going to be a tight fit.

"I don't want to hurt you."

His words hit like a bullet through the lungs, siphoning all the air away until her heart pinched.

I don't want to hurt you…. His actions over the past few hours had made that clear. He was so delicate with her, so reverent and tender. Maybe that was why this felt different. Even the nicest men could get handsy and rough at times.

"You won't," she whispered, shutting her eyes and swallowing hard against the confusing emotions threatening to choke her.

What a strange promise to make. Where had this flimsy trust come from? Yesterday, they hated each other.

He nudged forward, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunching as he braced his weight, careful not to crush her. He pressed forward, filling her in one smooth motion as his flat stomach glided against hers.

He glanced down at their bellies sealed together and, when met her stare again, something electric fizzed up her spine and she looked away.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded tightly.

He caught her chin and slowly turned her face back to him. "Open your eyes, Erin."

She knew better than to look at him, but her lashes lifted anyway.

His warm smile waited and he greeted her with a sensual kiss. It was dark and tempting, but then it turned playful as he pulled at her lip with his teeth and groaned, sliding back and burying himself to the hilt.

She pulled her mouth away, only so she could break the intensity. Lifting her hips, she edged him on and he started to move. If she ever imagined what sex with Giovanni might be like, it was not this.

He didn't ram into her like a chimp on the loose. Nor was he selfish. He was the opposite of selfish. And when he moved into her, he did so with long, luxuriating strokes that seemed to reach her soul.

There was no rushing to the finish and no showing off his virility. When his hands moved over her, palms flat and fingers splayed, he watched her body's every reaction. He soaked in her every moan and took his time as if there were no such thing as time at all.

He eventually shifted to his back and pulled her on top of him, guiding her hips as he stole kisses and suckled at her breast. Her fingers ran through his soft, dark hair as she stared at the headboard, riding him slowly, and dragging her sex over his hard body whenever she could steal a bit of friction.

He dropped his touch to where she needed it and teased her softly.

"Hey," he rasped, using his other hand to direct her stare to his. "What are you looking at?"

She hadn't been looking at anything, which was the point. Her gaze darted to the pillows beside his head and he turned her face once more. "I'm over here."

She tried, but couldn't bear the intimacy. Climbing off of him, she rested on her elbows and hitched her hips. "This way."

He studied her for a moment, but then moved behind her, filling her in a hard stroke. "Erin…"

"No more talking."

"What?"

"Just…do it." Her chest was too tight and this had gone on too long.

He scoffed and she didn't need to look at him to know he probably rolled his eyes the way he usually did when she frustrated him. "We're in no rush. Let's enjoy it."

She wasn't used to this taking so long. The more intimate it felt the less enjoyable it became. "If you aren't going to fuck me then this is pointless."

The soft set of his face hardened. He stared at her for an excruciating second, then pushed her shoulders down and jacked her ass up. "Fine."

She let out a sharp gasp when he thrust again, filling her in one hard motion. Any sense of connection severed as he shoved into her.

"Is that what you like?" he asked, drilling harder with each thrust.

Her body swayed into the bed as his weight pressed down on her. Harder and harder, he plowed into her, until she was certain she could have been anyone and it would have made no difference.

Somehow the hollow connection comforted her. It took away any value so there was nothing to lose. But, unlike all the other times, this time she felt as if something had been lost.

Tears welled in her eyes because she didn't know why she was so screwed up. She'd known cruelty all of her life and, because of that, nothing made her more uncomfortable than kindness.

She didn't trust people or their intentions. If she raised her expectations, there would be a further distance to fall when others let her down.

This was what she needed—meaningless comfort. It was exactly what she'd asked for. So, why, when he gave her everything she wanted, did she feel like complete crap?

Because that glimpse of how he wanted her earlier showed her there could be more. It showed her what other women might feel when a man touched them. But men didn't touch her like that. They used her the same as she used them, and she hated him for making her want such tenderness when it was nearly impossible to find. She was better off not knowing how it could be.

It was all bullshit anyway. Giovanni didn't care about her. He didn't even like her. They were just passing time.

His hands squeezed her ass and a tear rolled down her cheek. Her breathy moans peppered the silence, punctuating the sheer force at which he entered her. The slap of flesh beat back the memories of his gentle caresses and any lingering playfulness disappeared.

When he came, he shoved into her with a grunt, then pulled out, and his weight was gone. She sank into the bed, feeling used and dirty. The toilet flushed and the faucet ran, washing away any traces of her.

This was the moment she'd typically leave, but she was stranded with nowhere to go. Another reason why this was a mistake.

Reaching for the T-shirt, she covered her body, and curled onto her side, moving as close to the edge of the mattress as she could without falling off the bed.

He returned and pulled the sheets over his body. She wasn't sure if he put his underwear back on or remained naked. He didn't reach for her and he didn't speak.

The fading sun no longer peeked behind the curtains and the room was dark. It comforted her like a hiding place and gave her a much needed shield.

Despite the warmth of the sheets and the heat of her body, she shivered at the unmistakable chill in the air. It was probably better that they were honest about what just happened. No use wasting time pretending it meant more than it had.

This was good. Clear. No confusion.

So why did she feel like she was spiraling?

She welcomed his silence but desperately wanted him to say something to her. If he could just touch her or press a kiss to her shoulder and silently let her know he wasn't mad…

Every second passed with grueling confirmation that the time for conversation and closeness had ended. She knew it would. She agreed it should. But something inside of her hated it all the same.

"I'm not good with intimacy," she finally confessed.

Had he fallen asleep?

A full minute passed before he said, "It is what it is. Tomorrow the roads should be clear."

Her heart pinched. There was nothing more to say.