23. Bella

23

BELLA

G abriel is quiet during dinner, almost uncharacteristically so—although he's been quiet more than usual, lately. He doesn't say much until he joins me upstairs for bed, going into the bathroom to change into his sleep pants and a t-shirt. When he comes back out, he looks tired, the circles under his eyes dark, as if he hasn't been sleeping well.

"I talked to Gio today." He sits down on the edge of the bed, his back to me, running a hand through his hair. I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him—but ever since this afternoon, after what we did by the lake and what was said on the ride home, he's been distant from me. I can't blame him; I told him flat-out that I plan to leave him. Regardless of the reasons for our marriage or how he feels about me, whether it's just lust or something more, I can't imagine that feels good. The thought of leaving is breaking my heart, and I imagine that it hurts him, too.

"What did he say?" A knot coils in my stomach, the anticipation of something bad. The possibility of that looming stormcloud finally breaking.

"Your father, the don, and Igor have come to a truce over you."

For a minute, I'm not sure I heard him correctly. "What?" My hands tighten in the blanket, a cold feeling sweeping over my skin. "I need you to repeat that."

"A truce." Gabriel lets out a slow breath. "I imagine you're having the same thoughts I am about it."

"There's no way Igor is going to abide by that."

"I was right." Gabriel chuckles drily. "One of the times I wish that I wasn't. I'd probably feel better—maybe even think I was being paranoid—if you hadn't also come to the same conclusion so quickly."

"What—" I take a deep breath. "What made them think that was a possibility? What made them agree, or decide—" I can't get my thoughts straight. There's no way that this is all coming to an end so easily. No way that Igor will just back down, after what I'm sure he considers a humiliation. That a man who isn't even from one of the major families broke into his home and stole away the woman he planned to force into a marriage.

"There was no formal betrothal between you and Igor. So the don's edict was that nothing was stolen from him. My marriage to you is legal, in the eyes of the Church and the law. So, according to Salvatore, Igor must now back down, because you're my wife. Any further action he takes is yet another act of war against the mafia, and will be dealt with accordingly."

"Like they dealt with him after what happened in the church." I don't bother to hide the bitterness in my voice. I don't know much of what was said and done after that; my father didn't feel it necessary to fill me in on the details. I didn't ‘need to know' since I wasn't a part of those negotiations. It didn't matter that he'd hurt me so viciously, or that knowing might have helped to ease my fear and trauma. In my father's eyes, the fact that I was home and back under his protection should have been enough. But the fact that Igor has as much power as he still does, that he's been left unharmed, tells me that nothing much was really done. That it was all just more talking.

Just like this.

"Salvatore is taking his men back," Gabriel says heavily, exhaustion lacing every word. "He says the truce is enough, so there's no reason to keep his men here in Italy, when he could use them back at home."

My heart falls at that, fear washing over me in a cold wave. "What is he thinking?" The question is rhetorical—I know exactly what he's thinking. But it feels like a blow, that he would withdraw his protection from me so quickly.

"He's thinking that Igor will be a man of his word, as Salvatore is." Gabriel lets out a heavy breath. "But Igor isn't. He should know that by now, but—honorable men often have a blind spot, when it comes to these things."

"Or I just don't mean very much to him. A cousin to the family—no one worth protecting." The bitterness in my voice thickens, making me feel cold down to my bones. Heavy, in a way that I remember feeling before Gabriel, before my life started taking a turn for the better. "He did what he was required to do, and now he doesn't have to any longer. He's not going to go out of his way to keep me safe."

"Maybe, maybe not." Gabriel pauses. "But I will, Bella."

I look at him, that heaviness intensifying. I can't help feeling, in this moment, that we've gone about this all wrong. That we've ended up in this place, where neither of us can tell the other what we really want, where we're hurtling towards the end of something that we're not even clear about what it ever really meant. I know what I always felt for Gabriel—but I'm not sure of him. And it only gets more confusing, every time.

"Bella, I—" He starts to speak, but I cut him off, unable to take any more conversation—any more of anything at all, really.

"I need to be by myself for a little while. I'm going to go take a bath." I get up, not quite looking at Gabriel as I do. "I'll come to bed in a little while."

He nods silently. His gaze drops to his hands, and I can see that he's lost in thought. About what, I couldn't begin to guess.

The distance between us has never felt so wide as it does at this moment. And, as I walk to the bathroom, sore from the horseback ride and aching to soak in some hot water, I push away the thought of Gabriel's hands on me today, out in the grass—of everything he said, as we headed back home.

It doesn't matter now. The estate is going to be sold, and when we go back to New York, this will be over.

What I should be worrying about is Igor, and what his next move will be.

—

The next day, I take Gabriel on a tour of the villa.

Agnes and I have done all the renovating we can in the amount of time we've had, and I'm insanely proud of it. I took pictures of the villa in the state that it was in when we arrived, before we began the project, and I collect my camera before I start the tour with Gabriel, wanting to take the finished pictures for a before-and-after. This project, along with our looming return to New York and the changes in my own life that will bring, has made me think about what I might want to do when I'm no longer Gabriel's nanny. Career aspirations have never been something that could be a part of my life before, but now, everything is open to me. I have a well-padded bank account, and when we go back to the city, a life of my own that I can shape however I choose. I had always thought that I would choose photography, if I were going to have a career, but now I've started to believe that I could try blending that with something else, like interior decorating or home renovations.

Whatever the final outcome of my relationship with Gabriel is, I've realized, however we leave it—I can't ever regret that I've had this. He's changed my life for the better in so many ways. I have possibilities that I would otherwise never have had, because of him.

I just wish that some parts of it—the parts that are pushing it towards that inevitable end—could be different.

Gabriel is waiting when I come downstairs, leaning against the staircase with his hands in his jeans pockets. My heart trips in my chest when I see him, the way it always does. It makes me wonder how long we'd have to be together before that stopped happening. If it would ever stop happening.

He turns to look at me as he hears my footsteps, and his gaze instantly lands on the camera. "I noticed you hadn't been taking pictures as often," he says quietly, glancing up at me. "I wondered why. I thought for sure you'd be photographing everything."

"I've been busy." I bite my lip, looking down at the camera. The truth is—I haven't been sure that I wanted to capture the moments here. Not because I wasn't happy, but because despite everything, I've had some of the happiest moments of my life here. And they're all going to be gone soon.

I take pictures of things to make the impermanent permanent. But I don't know if I want to look back and remember what I used to have.

"Come on," I murmur, blinking back the heat burning in my eyes. "I'll show you around."

I take Gabriel through the house, snapping ‘after' pictures of everything as we go. I show him the new farmhouse sinks installed in the kitchen, the long butcher's block dining table that was delivered yesterday, and the iron cabinet handles that we replaced. I show him the re-upholstered furniture in each room, the tiles we changed out and the ones we managed to save, the new drapes in the living room and library, and the carefully cleaned and reorganized shelves. I can feel the tension in him when we reach the library, and I focus on taking pictures, a little afraid to look at him. I feel certain that if I do, we might end up on one of those freshly re-upholstered couches. The memory of what we've done in this room before is far too close.

"You did an amazing job," Gabriel says quietly. "You and Agnes both. You've breathed new life into it, without losing any of the history. It's still the house I remember growing up in, just—refreshed."

I can't help but smile at that. "That's what we wanted." I gesture to the dark green wallpaper with a thin vine print on the far wall of the library, framed by the other light-painted walls. "Cecelia picked out the wallpaper. She picked out a lot of the colors for things. I think she has a knack for this."

"So do you." Gabriel's gaze lands on mine, and my heart trips in my chest. I know what he's thinking—the question of what I'm going to do after all of this. "Maybe you have a possible future in home design."

"That's what I was thinking." I try to keep my voice light, but it's hard. I can hear the heaviness in his, and I have a feeling that I know what he's about to say before it comes out of his mouth.

"I found a buyer, Bella."

Even suspecting that's what he was about to say, it hits harder than I could have thought. The finality of it feels like a punch, like I didn't realize how much I hoped that there would be a fairy-tale ending to all of this, no matter how unlikely, until reality came in and slapped me.

"When—"

"I'm flying to Rome in the morning to meet the buyer." Gabriel lets out a heavy sigh, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I'll leave most of the security here with you and the girls, just in case. And then when I come back?—"

"We go back to New York." I swallow hard. "Gabriel?—"

"I know what that means." He presses his lips together. "You'll find your own place, and—that will be it." He looks at me, and his face is so carefully shuttered that I can't read any of the emotion there. "I'll keep my promise, Bella. You don't have to worry about that. If you want a divorce, I'll give you one. I won't make you stay with me."

"I know." I look away, unsure of what to say next. A part of me, one that I know is illogical, half wishes he would try to make me stay. It makes no sense, because it's his kindness, his patience, his respectfulness, his willingness to let me be whoever I want to be without forcing anything on me that has made me feel what I do for him.

That has made me…love him.

But at the same time, I want to know how he feels for me. His actions say one thing, and his words another. And a part of me wishes that he would look at me and say he's not letting me go.

"Is that still what you want?" His voice is quiet as he says it, and I wish I knew what he wanted me to say. I wish I knew that if I spilled my heart out to him, he would give me his in return.

I'm too scared to take that chance without knowing for sure. Because every time I think of it, all I can remember is Gabriel at the very beginning, telling me with utter sincerity that the only way we could have anything at all together is if I understood that there was no future in it. That love was not something he was interested in exploring, ever again.

"I want—" My throat tightens. "Yes." I force the word out, my eyes burning as I do. Tell me you don't want it, I want to scream. Tell me that you want to try. "That's what I want."

It's the first time I've ever lied to Gabriel. But I don't know what else to say. He'll give me anything I want. He'll stay in this arranged marriage, if he thinks I want the protection and safety of it to continue, if he thinks I don't want to leave the children. He'll keep dragging out this charade, all in the name of making me happy, even if it tears us both apart.

It can't work. Not like this.

Gabriel nods slowly. "I promised you," he says quietly. "But?—"

Please. My heart leaps in my chest, waiting to hear what he'll say. Waiting to hear him tell me that he doesn't want me to go.

"One more night, Bella," he says, his voice still low, and when his eyes meet mine, they're full of so much longing that my heart squeezes like it's clenched in a fist. "Before I leave tomorrow. One more night here, together. Where we got married. Where we were—" He breaks off, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, desire and disappointment warring in my chest.

It's not a declaration of love. It's not a plea to stay. But it is what we both want. I can't pretend that I don't.

It would be another lie to say that I want to go home, to dissolve this, without ever feeling Gabriel inside of me again.

"Okay," I whisper. "One more night. Just—just the one."

Gabriel nods. "Once we get on that plane home?—"

I close my eyes briefly. Can't he see my heart breaking? Can't he tell how much this hurts? When I open them again, I think I see that hurt in his, too. But if that's what he feels, he's not saying it.

"That'll be it." I bite my lip, hard. "I—" I turn to look at the rest of the library, desperate for anything to turn my train of thought away from what's happening right now. "Is there anything you don't like about the house? Anything you want to change?" Other than the subject, which I'm changing, right now. I blurt it out, unable to look at Gabriel, my heart racing as I try to wrestle my emotions under control.

Maybe it's better that we can't figure this out. I don't seem to be equipped for a relationship this intense. I don't know how to navigate it. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

I guess I just don't have enough experience.

"The house is perfect," Gabriel says quietly. "Everything you've done here has been perfect."

And then, from where he's standing behind me, I hear his footsteps as he turns and walks away.

—-

After that conversation, I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen tonight. I don't see Gabriel again until dinner, and he keeps the conversation steered away from anything serious, instead talking to Aldo about things happening with the estate, and complimenting Agnes on her help with renovating the house. He goes outside after dinner to have a drink with Aldo, and I rush upstairs as soon as I'm done helping to clean up dinner, once Agnes sees my face and tells me that she'll handle the kids for the rest of the night.

I take a long, hot shower, staying under the water for as long as I can. My nerves are raw, my heart racing—I feel almost more nervous than I did on my wedding night. More nervous than the first time, for sure. That time, I knew where we stood. I knew what we both expected—or at least, I thought I did. But everything has become a thousand times more complicated since then, and I no longer know what Gabriel wants. I'm not entirely sure of what I want—except that I don't want to go back. And I don't think I want this to end, either.

But if we were to keep doing this, he would need to feel the same things I do.

I remember the nightgown I bought, as I get out of the shower and dry off, tucking a towel around myself as I dry my hair. I'm tempted to put it on tonight. After all, if we're going back to New York in a couple of days, this will be the last chance I ever have to wear it for him.

But putting it on tonight feels like admitting that. Just the thought makes my heart twist in my chest. If I don't wear it tonight—that feels like leaving just the slightest bit of hope. The tiniest possibility, that maybe something will change, and Gabriel and I will get a happily ever after.

So when I walk back out into the bedroom, the towel still tucked around my chest, I plan to put something else on. But I don't even get that far.

I've just stepped out when I hear the bedroom door close. My hand flies to the knot of my towel automatically, my heart thumping, and I look to see Gabriel standing there as he closes the door. He looks at me, immediately misinterpreting the startled expression on my face.

"We don't have to do this, Bella. If you don't want me?—"

"I want you." It comes out in a rush, because if there's one thing I do know, it's that I want him, and he wants me in return. That part of our relationship, at least, has never been confusing. Whatever else we've been unable to say to each other, whatever else has remained unclear—the desire has always been there.

I think it's been there since the day I ran into him in the hallway of my father's mansion, not knowing that my entire life changed in that instant.

The moment I say it, Gabriel's face changes. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening, and he goes from the gentle, patient man that I see every day to the one that I only see in these moments, a man who keeps his desire tightly on a leash, who, for this brief space of time, is letting that leash go.

He crosses the room to me in three long strides, one hand on my waist and the other sinking into my hair as his mouth comes crashing down on mine. He's still fully dressed, in his jeans and a t-shirt, and I'm painfully aware of the fact that there's only a towel wrapped around me. That knowledge, the feeling of having so little between his hands and my naked body, makes my pulse kick faster, makes my blood race in my veins as the idea thrills me.

I'm already wet, just from his mouth on mine. Just from the heat of his hand, sinking through the towel. He backs me against the bathroom door, shoving it closed with my weight, his body leaning into mine as his mouth devours me.

"Bella—" He moans my name against my lips, and I can feel how hard he is for me, a thick, straining ridge against my thigh, the towel not nearly enough to keep me from feeling it. "I'm going to make you come so many times."

His hand drops from my hair as his mouth crushes against mine again, grabbing for the knot of the towel and yanking it. He moves a fraction away from me, just enough to let it drop away, and then he's pressing into me again, the friction of his clothing a stark contrast to my bare skin.

Gabriel slides his hand into my hair again, tilts my head to one side as his mouth glides along the side of my jaw. "Can you feel how much I want you, Bella?"

I can feel all of it. The brush of his cotton t-shirt against my bare breasts, the rough grind of the denim of his jeans against my thighs, between my legs. His hips roll into mine, the thick ridge of his cock pressing into the soft skin of my thigh, the denim covering the zipper of his jeans pushing between my folds.

I gasp, the second I feel him rub against my clit. "You're going to come for me like this," Gabriel murmurs, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear. "You're going to come for me before I even get undressed. I want you to soak the front of my jeans. And if you come for me, like a good girl, you can have the rest."

The only response I can manage is a sobbing moan. This is the Gabriel who made me come in the library, who fucked me like I belonged to him right after he told me that we were getting married. The man who trusts me to tell him if it's too much, and who gives me everything we both need.

Right now, I desperately need him to give me all the pleasure he's promising me.

I'll be sore in the morning. I know that, even as the rough fabric rubs over my sensitive, swelling clit, but I don't care. It feels so good—it feels like everything I need—and I let my head fall back against the door, gasping as Gabriel's hips roll against mine. I can feel him throbbing against my thigh, his own desire barely leashed, and all that need only fuels mine.

"How fast can you come from this?" he murmurs against my ear, rolling his hips again. "Because I don't know how long I can wait to taste you. I want you wet and sensitive for me, when I give you my tongue. I want you begging for your second orgasm from my mouth."

" Gabriel!" I cry out as he grinds into me, one hand squeezing my hip as he pushes me closer, my body clenching with the desire to be filled as I hurtle closer to my orgasm.

I never knew he had the kind of filthy mouth that whispers things like that into my ear. I never knew I would want it. But every dirty promise, every word that his hoarse, lust-filled voice murmurs, sends shocks of pleasure through me that only heighten the jolts coursing over my skin.

I'm so close. He rocks his hips again, rubbing that rough fabric against me, and his hand slides up to my breast, pinching my nipple between two fingertips. He presses his mouth against the corner of my jaw, still rubbing my nipple as he grinds against me—and stars burst in the darkness behind my eyes as I fall over the edge.

One of my hands claws at his back, the other pressed flat against the door, my hips bucking as Gabriel sucks gently at the soft flesh of my throat, a counterpoint to the rough, ceaseless grind of his jeans against me. I feel the rush of wet heat, feel my entire body shuddering, my knees going weak, and Gabriel's arm goes around my waist, holding me upright as he slows the rocking of his hips.

"Good girl," he murmurs against my ear, his voice deep and husky. "You came so hard for me. My fucking jeans are soaked, sweetheart. That was so fucking good."

He pulls away, for the briefest second, and my eyes dart downwards. He's not lying—I can see where he was grinding up against me as I came, my arousal soaking the fabric. The line of his cock, still straining as if it might rip the fabric, is streaked wet.

My cheeks flame, and Gabriel smirks, his eyes dark with lust. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he murmurs, sinking to his knees as he grabs my hips with both hands, holding me back against the door. "Now soak my face like you soaked my jeans, baby."

"Gabriel—I—" I barely have a chance to try to protest, to tell him that I don't know if I can take it, before his mouth is pressed between my legs.

He doesn't go right for my clit, as if he knows that I can't take the direct contact yet. Instead, he slides his lips over my folds, his warm breath sensitizing every inch of skin, lightly sucking and nibbling at the seam of my pussy. His tongue slides down, swirling around my entrance as he spreads my folds open with his thumbs, exposing my swollen clit to the cool air as his tongue stiffens against me, and he thrusts it inside.

"Oh my god !" I cry out, one hand grabbing for his hair as my knees nearly buckle, my body clenching around his tongue. I needed something inside of me, needed to be filled, and he thrusts his tongue into me like a smaller version of his cock, his nose bumping against my clit as he starts to tongue-fuck me in earnest.

I don't know how I'm going to stay upright. My thighs are trembling, my entire body shaking already from the sensations, and I know he's going to make me come again like this. One of Gabriel's hands slides up my hip, holding me there as his tongue curls inside of me, still thrusting as I cry out, another helpless moan slipping free.

"Please—" I gasp, as he thrusts again. "I need?—"

His eyes roll up to meet mine, and his thumb slides upwards, pressing against my clit as he keeps fucking me with his tongue. He rolls it under his thumb, quick, hard circles, and I feel my eyes roll back as another orgasm builds to the point of release.

How many times is he going to make me come before he fucks me? I have no idea—but I don't want him to stop. It's so good—almost too good—and I cry out, the sound forming into something like his name as he rolls his thumb over my clit again, and fireworks explode behind my eyes for the second time in a matter of minutes.

My hips buck against his face, thighs trembling as I ride his tongue, soaking his mouth and chin with my arousal as the pleasure crashes over me. "Gabriel— Gabriel!" I cry out again, coming hard on his face. I expect him to pull back—but instead, he just tilts his mouth up, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers as his lips find my clit, and he sucks it into his mouth.

I no longer know where one orgasm ends and another begins. His fingers are thrusting roughly inside of me, two—now three—fucking me hard as he sucks and laps at my clit, driving me into an endless loop of pleasure that crests and falls again and again. I feel dizzy, my knees shaking, and for a brief second, I know I'm going to collapse as I buck against his face, coming again and again for him.

In one swift motion, just as I'm about to fall, Gabriel pushes himself up, grabbing my waist as he lifts me into his arms. He carries me three strides to the bed, depositing me onto it as he grabs the front of his shirt with one hand, ripping it off of his head as he crawls onto the bed above me.

"I need to be inside of you." His voice is rough, raspy with desire, his eyes dark with it. "Fuck—" He fumbles with the front of his jeans, yanking his zipper down as he shoves his jeans and boxers down just low enough to let his thick, hard cock spring free.

He's visibly throbbing, the tip wet with pre-cum, the veins standing out in sharp relief to the rest of the straining, velvet length. He grips himself hard in one hand, angling the tip down to press against my soaked entrance, and his eyes meet mine as he holds himself there.

"Tell me I can fuck you as hard as I want." His voice is pleading, hoarse, so much desire and need wrapped up in that handful of words. "Tell me I can fuck you, Bella."

He's held back for so long. Done everything he ever could to make me feel safe. I want to feel him unleash all of that. I want him to take me however he wants to.

"You can fuck me any way you want, Gabriel," I whisper, looking up at him, and an unreadable expression crosses his face, a look of such lust that it takes my breath away.

" God , I—" He leans forward, bracing himself with one hand, and I feel his swollen cockhead pushing into me in the instant before his hips snap forward, and he thrusts himself into me hard .

I gasp, crying out, and he instantly goes still, every inch of his throbbing cock sheathed inside of me.

"Bella?" He looks down at me, worry tangled up with lust, and I shake my head as I try to speak past the air knocked out of my lungs.

"Don't stop," I whisper, curling one hand around the back of his neck as I pull his mouth down to mine. "Please don't stop."

This is it, and we both know it. Everything we want happens tonight, or not at all. Gabriel closes his eyes, a groan tearing from his lips as he thrusts, drawing every hard inch of his cock out of me until nothing but his tip is still inside, before slamming himself into me again. He fucks me like that for several strokes, in long, hard thrusts that make me cry out with every one, before he suddenly pulls out, one leg swinging to straddle my torso as he grips his length in one hand and angles it towards my lips.

"Give me your mouth," he pleads. "Just for a minute. Let me see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock."

There's no fear this time. I part my lips, reveling in the look of utter lust on his face as I slide them over his swollen tip, tasting his pre-cum and my own wetness on him as he slides his cock over my tongue. I lap at the soft skin just beneath the head, and Gabriel groans through gritted teeth, his jaw tight as he pushes his cock deeper towards my throat.

"Take it—oh fuck , take as much as you can. Please . Fuck, your mouth is so hot, it feels so fucking good—you have the most beautiful fucking mouth?—"

All of it spills from his lips like a litany as I take his cock deeper into my mouth, tilting my head back, flattening my tongue as I wrap my lips around him and suck. Inch by inch, deeper and deeper, until I feel the tip pressing against the back of my throat, and I angle my head up, trying to take more as his hand slides around the back of my head and grips my hair.

"Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh god, I don't want to come yet. Fuck, fuck —" Gabriel moans, hips thrusting slightly as my nose brushes against his abdomen, and I feel him throb on my tongue.

He jerks himself out of my mouth, his hand going to the base of his cock as he squeezes himself hard. "I don't want to come yet," he groans. "I don't want it to be over?—"

Still gripping his cock hard, he slides down, his mouth pressing between my legs again as he slides his tongue hungrily over me, fluttering against my clit as he sucks it into his mouth. I cry out, my back arching, every part of my pussy so over-sensitized by orgasms, and the hard fucking he gave me a moment ago that I'm already on the edge.

"Gabriel— Gabriel—" I moan aloud, arching up, rubbing myself on his tongue as I hurtle towards another orgasm. It feels so good, and I want more. I want him to keep making me come; I want?—

I don't ever want to stop.

It's almost too much, when the next climax hits me. I let out a moan that's nearly a scream as Gabriel pulses his lips around my clit, his tongue rubbing over it as I come apart, my hands clawing at the blanket as I buck against his mouth. I hear myself moaning his name, begging for more, and he rises up over me again, his cock shoving into me hard as I feel myself clench and ripple around his length.

His fingers instantly find my clit. "I want you to come around my cock before I do," he growls, thrusting hard, his fingers rolling ceaselessly over me, sending jolts of pleasure over my skin. It's too much, but I don't want him to stop. The pleasure borders on pain, but it's still good—it's all good, and I know why he's trying to stave off his own orgasm, because I wish just as much that we could do this forever. That we would never have to stop.

"I can't wait much longer," Gabriel gasps, thrusting again as he holds himself there, sheathed in me to the root. "I'm so fucking close, come for me?—"

He pinches my clit between his fingers, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as he thrusts again, tilting his hips, and I hear myself cry out as another orgasm crashes over me.

I clench around him, squeezing his cock as he thrusts deeply into me, and Gabriel groans aloud, his back arching as he digs his hands into the pillows next to my head, his hips bucking wildly.

"Oh god, that's so good—you're so fucking wet, so tight, oh god ?—"

His cock throbs, a hot flood of cum filling me as I feel him let go. He shudders, hips rocking against me as if he could somehow go deeper, his muscles locked tight as he moans, and I feel another hot spurt.

"Fuck, Bella—" He rolls his hips, thrusting shallowly, dragging out the pleasure for us both. His hands are clenched in the pillows, and for a long moment, as his orgasm ebbs, he stays hovering over me, very still, his eyes closed.

It's not until he rolls off of me, lying on one side as we both try to catch our breath, that he seems to realize what just happened.

"Shit," he breathes, turning to look at me. "Shit, Bella, I'm sorry. I—I lost control there at the end. I didn't pull out." He looks down, and even though his expression is concerned, I see his cock twitch against his thigh at the realization that he came inside of me. He can be as worried as he wants, but I can tell that the thought of having his cum inside of me is turning him on.

"It's okay. I—" I swallow hard, trying to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat. "I don't think it's the right time of the month for it to matter, anyway."

What I don't tell him is the worry that's been slowly growing for the past few days. My period is already late. I've felt dizzy, tired, and nauseated for close to a week now. I chalked it up to stress—but it could be something else, too.

This is the first time Gabriel has ever forgotten to pull out entirely. But he's fucked me without a condom twice now that I can think of, and if I am pregnant?—

I know when it happened, if so.

I have a test that I bought in town the last time we were there, just in case I needed it. I've been putting off taking it, afraid of what the answer will be. Afraid of how that might change the decisions we'll have to make.

Whether or not Gabriel and I love each other won't be the primary factor any longer. There will be something else, something more—just as there's always been, for all of our relationship. It's never been just us. And I've been afraid of what it will mean for our future, if I am pregnant.

"That's a relief." Gabriel chuckles sleepily, his hand brushing along my hip, and my chest contracts. I know he's saying that because we agreed to avoid the possibility of children—not because he hates the idea altogether. But I can't help the feeling that if he's relieved by it, then it means he doesn't want children with me.

It will be negative , I tell myself, as I lie there next to him. He reaches for the blankets, tugging them loose and drawing them up over us both, and I swallow back the threatening tears. I'm overwhelmed and stressed. I've been in fear for my life since the day Igor held us all at gunpoint. Nothing is normal right now—none of my body's reactions, emotional or physical.

I lay there, quiet, feeling my heart racing in my chest. Gabriel hasn't moved to turn off the light yet, and I look over at him, wondering if he fell asleep before he could.

"You don't have to leave."

The moment Gabriel says it, it cuts right through the dazed sleepiness, making my heart jolt back to life. He's lying next to me, all bare, sweaty, tanned skin and muscled body, and I wait for him to say what I've been wanting to hear.

"Just because the truce has been called doesn't mean it's safe." Where there was desire before, his eyes are full of worry. "We both agree on that. If you stay—I'll keep you safe no matter what, Bella. Whether this marriage is real or not. If you don't want to go off on your own while Igor is still alive, if this truce isn't enough for you to feel safe—I wouldn't blame you. And I'll never blame you for anything that might happen because you stay."

Tears burn behind my eyes for what feels like the millionth time today. "I know," I whisper quietly. "But I can't make you guard me forever, Gabriel. Maybe—" The words stick in my throat. "Maybe I need to leave New York altogether. Get as far away from Igor as I can. Maybe that's the only way for me to be safe after all of this."

I can see the sadness that fills Gabriel's face. The longing. I can see how much he wants to reach out for me, to forget that we said just one more time. I can see desire and yearning and need—but I'm not sure if I see love, because I don't know what it looks like.

I need to hear it to be sure.

"If that's what you need, Bella," he says quietly. His hand is resting between us on the bed, but he doesn't reach for me. He doesn't say anything else. He just closes his eyes, as I reach over to turn out the light.

He doesn't say the one thing that I need to hear.

And lying there in the darkness, I can feel my heart breaking, all over again.