Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Saylor

I wasn't going to let a couple of little orgasms get in the way of my plans, of my career.

Okay.

Fine.

They weren't little orgasms.

They were massive ones.

I may or may not have teleported to another galaxy at one point during one.

You might look at the accident-prone Anthony Costa and think that he would be clumsy in bed. But, holy hell, you would be wrong. That man knew what to do and did it well.

I hadn't been prepared for the show of dominance, the hair pulling that had my pussy aching, the dirty words that had me almost crying with need.

That man had the ability to make the entire world fall away when his hands and lips were on you.

Then after, when his arms went around me and held me tightly against him? Yeah, I expected to feel trapped, to want to escape. But all I wanted to do was stay right there like that forever.

I was still having that absolutely terrifying thought when I saw movement in my peripheral. Like the universe knew I needed a distraction, and sent it to me.

Though fucking practical Anthony didn't want to rush in there and get this shit over with once and for all.

I mean, to be fair, the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with him. Even if I did get my supply back, and took out two of them in the process, there were at least three more of them. And they would know exactly who'd taken the inventory from them. Not to mention killed their comrades.

It wasn't like I worked under some assumed identity. When they didn't find me at the warehouse, they could come to my condo. If I wasn't there, they could get to me through my mother.

We had to do this the smart way.

But as someone who wasn't exactly patient by nature, all the sitting around, watching, and waiting was kind of killing me a little.

Eventually, Anthony remade the bed and passed out on it, giving me at least a couple of hours not to feel weird about him and whatever the hell was going on with us.

My phone started to buzz on the couch, making me reach to quiet it before it woke up Anthony.

"Hey, Mom," I said, voice low.

"Why are you whispering?" she asked as I tiptoed through the studio to close myself into the bathroom. "Saylor?" she asked when I couldn't come up with a convincing lie quickly enough. "Are you in bed with a certain devilishly handsome Italian man?"

"No. I'm in the bathroom," I told her.

"And where is Anthony?"

"In bed," I admitted. I mean, she'd walked in on us almost getting busy on her desk, why lie to her about it.

"Your bed?"

"No."

"What's his place like?"

"It's decent," I said. "But we're not there either."

"Do I want to know?"

"Not really," I admitted. We talked about a lot of things. But I tried not to involve her in my work much. It hurt too much for her. "But to sum it up, we are temporarily staying in a rental studio for a bit as we figure some things out."

"Is there only one bed?" she asked, voice teasing.

"There's a couch. Which is where I will be going after we finish talking."

"Why not share the bed? It's getting chilly out. I'm sure Anthony could keep you nice and warm."

She had no idea.

"It's… complicated."

"Is it complicated, or are you overthinking it?" she shot back.

"Valid," I grumbled, looking at myself in the mirror, my skin still a little flushed. When I looked closely, I could see a bit of beard burn on my neck from Anthony neglecting to shave for the past two days.

"What's the problem? Is he not good in bed?"

"That's definitely not the problem," I admitted.

"Then what is it?"

My gaze cut from the mirror, not able to even look at myself when the next words escaped me. "I like him."

"Oh, heaven forbid!" she teased, then exhaled hard. "I worry sometimes that by never dating again after your father passed that you may have developed an unhealthy sort of hyper-independence."

"This isn't your fault," I said, always quick to defend her. She'd busted her ass to raise my brother and me without any help.

"I should have worked harder to have positive male influences in your life. Maybe you would have grown to trust men more."

"It's not that," I said. "I do trust him," I admitted. It was true. I knew he would have my back. I believed he wouldn't intentionally try to hurt me. If for no other reason than his mother would beat him with a spoon for it.

"It's okay to want people in your life, Saylor. It's healthy. You're not supposed to go through life alone."

"I'm not alone."

"Yes, you have me. But it's different. You know it is. Let me ask you something…"

"Okay," I said, sucking in a deep breath as I leaned against the bathroom door.

"If you and Anthony got more involved… what is it you're afraid might happen?"

That question stopped me cold.

Because I honestly had no idea.

I just knew that when things felt too good with him, something within me said to panic, to run, to put my walls back up. I never stopped to ask why.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"Is it because you're worried about losing someone again?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe." Even just the mention of it had my belly twisting into knots.

"Honey, I feel like it's my place to remind you that the fear of loss is not a good enough reason not to love."

"Who said anything about love?" I asked.

"Saylor…"

"As someone who has lost many of the loves in her life," my mother went on, "I have to tell you that the grief is proof of how much love there was, that there still is. And believe me, having that love is not something I would ever take back. I would still do it all over again. All that happiness was worth every tear I had to cry at the loss. Just keep that in mind, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, mind flashing back to how good it had felt to be held by Anthony before my anxiety about the situation kicked in and stole that joy. Even standing alone in the bathroom, a part of me ached to feel that comfort again.

"Okay," she agreed. "And, hey, if all it is is sex, enjoy that too. You work too hard."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, shaking my head.

"Anytime. Tell Anthony I said hi."

"I will," I agreed.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

As I hung up, I realized how true her words had to be. No matter how much it would hurt to lose my mom, no matter how much it had hurt to lose my brother, all the years of happiness before made the potential and actual grief worth it.

If I was scared of the future loss, all I was doing was robbing myself of the present joy.

And that felt like a really chickenshit kind of thing to do.

With that in mind, I made my way back out into the studio, glancing over at the couch before making my way toward the bed, climbing in slowly, trying not to touch or wake Anthony up.

But he was already awake.

And he rolled over to curl up behind me, his legs cocked under mine, his arm across my chest, caging me in, but I didn't feel trapped; I felt safe.

"Who were you talking to?"

I should have known the sound would carry.

"My mom," I told him. "She said hi."

"You know you don't have to hide in the bathroom to take a phone call."

"I didn't want to wake you up," I said, closing my eyes, enjoying the feel of him just being close without any expectation of more.

"Is everything alright with her?" he asked.

"Yeah, she was just calling to check in. We usually see each other most days when I go to the gym to workout. But when I don't, she always calls. She worries."

"Understandably. My ma worries too."

"Because of your job, or because you are constantly hurting yourself?" I teased.

Which was the wrong move.

Because Anthony Costa wasn't opposed to using tickling as retribution.

I writhed and laughed and gasped for breath as he ran his fingers over tickle spots across my stomach until I was suddenly flat on my back looking up at him.

"You'll pay for that," I warned.

"Yeah? What are you gonna do? Beat me up?" he asked, leaning over me.

"Nope. I just won't save you from your next calamity," I declared, making a smile tug at his lips.

"Figure I'll be pretty safe if we just stay in bed," he said, lowering down to press his lips into my neck, making a little flutter move across my chest.

"You could always fall off," I said even as my hands started to slide up his strong, bare back while his lips created little sparks of interest.

"I'll just fuck you on the floor then," he said, teeth nipping my ear gently.

I probably should have come up with something witty to say to that. But his body had shifted over mine, his hips positioning between my legs, his hard cock pressing against me again, making the desire grow quickly as his lips claimed mine.

There was nothing hurried about Anthony then, though. He kissed me long and deep, until my lips felt swollen and fuzzy, until an unexpected warmth that had nothing to do with desire spread across my chest, and sank into my heart, chasing away a chill that had been there for years.

He moved down my body, pushing up my shirt to expose me, so he could lazily explore with his tongue and lips until I was writhing and whimpering for more.

But he didn't give it to me right away.

He lavished attention over my breasts, down my belly, over my ribs, my hips, down my thighs, then up the insides.

My fingers fisted in his hair, torn between wanting an end to the torment and wanting more of his sweet attention.

He sat back on his knees, reaching down to press my knees into my chest, then reaching to slide my panties off of my legs.

Gaze on me, he reached for my knees, slowly spreading them wide on the bed. His eyes traveled slowly over me, settling between my thighs. That sexy little rumble moved through him just a moment before he was flat on his stomach, his face between my legs, tongue tracing up my slick cleft to run slow circles over my aching clit.

It was a slow climb toward the edge of the cliff, Anthony's tongue teasing softly, in no hurry. But the more time passed, the more overwhelmed with sensations my body felt. Every inch of me felt poised and shaky by the time I was starting to crash.

The orgasm was a white-hot pleasure from the core of me and working outward, overtaking me completely, making me shudder, making a long, almost pained moan escape me as I held him against me as he worked me through it, dragging it out until I was spent.

Sensing I couldn't take more, his lips moved away, kissing down to my ankles, then back up again. Over my hips, up my belly, over my breasts, then up to my neck, before finally claiming my lips again.

His weight crushed into me again as my arms and legs wrapped around him, holding onto him tightly, like some part of me was terrified of losing this moment, of these sensations I was feeling for the first time in my life suddenly slipping away.

"Anthony, please," I begged against his lips as my hips started to rock against his hard length, the ache inside becoming impossible to ignore for any longer. "Please," I whimpered again.

His lips went to my neck for a moment as he reached toward the makeshift nightstand he'd made out of empty shipping boxes he'd found in the lobby, grabbing a condom, then moving away only long enough to slide it on before coming over me again, claiming my lips until the need was overwhelming once more.

Only then did he shift, the head of him pressing against me, then sliding in inch by inch, making me hyperaware of the feel of him, the fullness of him inside me, until he was buried deep. And I swear I didn't just feel him in my body. I felt him in my soul.

"You feel so good," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to my lips as he stayed buried inside me until I started to writhe against him again.

But he refused to rush through it.

His thrusts were slow and gentle.

And as I climbed toward the edge, I felt the same shakiness in my muscles, the warmth across my chest.

Then, as the orgasm started—a slow, deep pulsating—I felt a wetness flood my eyes.

Shocked and a little horrified at my emotional reaction, I buried my face in Anthony's neck as he buried deep inside of me and came, his full weight pressing into me for a few moments, and I welcomed the pressure as I tried to pull myself together.

I thought I'd done a decent job.

Until Anthony pushed up, then sat back on his heels.

Reaching outward, his thumbs traced under my eyes, catching the wetness still clinging to my lower lashes.

He gave me a soft smile as he climbed off the bed, then leaned over to press a kiss to each of my eyelids before walking toward the bathroom.

Alone, I pressed a hand to my chest, that warmth seeming to expand and intensify.

I had the sneaking suspicion that it meant I was starting to do something more than just like Anthony Costa.

And that was scarier than the idea of charging across the street and demanding to have all my guns back.