Page 78 of From Italy With Love

Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made her gasp and arch beneath me. I savored every second, every sensation, committing it all to memory. I watched her face, watched the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her mouth fell open, the way her body responded to every movement I made. Her skin was flushed, a beautiful pink spreading up and across her chest, up her neck. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps that matched the rhythm of my hips. I’d missed this. God, I’d missed this so much. The feel of her cunt around my cock, so hot and tight and perfect. The sounds she made, those little whimpers and moans that drove me absolutely wild. The way she fit me so perfectly, like we were made for each other, like every curve and angle of our bodies were designed with this moment in mind. But slow wasn’t enough. Not tonight. Not after months of separation and longing and desperate, aching need. Not after all those nights alone, thinking about her, wanting her, needing her so badly it physically hurt.

I pulled almost all the way out, feeling her tighten around me, trying to keep me inside. Then I thrust back in hard. She cried out as her nails dug into my back, leaving marks I would wear proudly tomorrow.

I did it again. And again. Building a rhythm that was rough and desperate and probably too much, too intense, too raw. But she was meeting me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to take me deeper, her legs holding me tighter around my waist, her body demanding everything I could give and then some. I leaned down and kissed her, swallowing her moans, tasting her pleasure.

My hands were everywhere, in her hair, on her breasts, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. I wanted to mark her. Wanted to leave evidence of this night on her skin so she couldn’t forget, couldn’t pretend this didn’t happen.

I pulled out suddenly and flipped her over. She went willingly, rising up on her hands and knees, before she looked back at me over her shoulder with eyes that were glazed with pleasure and need. I gripped her hips and forcefully entered her from behind, the new angle making us both groan. I could go deeper like this. I could watch the way her body took my cock. I could see the curve of her spine, the way her hair fell forward, the way her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up.

I fucked her hard. Harder than I probably should have, but she pushed back against me, met every thrust, as her moans got louder with each stroke. I reached around, found her clit, and then rubbed it in tight circles as I continued to pound frantically into her. She was close again. I felt it in the way her pussy tightened around me, in the way her moans turned into desperate little cries.

“Come for me,” I wanted to say. But didn’t. I couldn’t break the silence that had wrapped around me like a cocoon. So I just fucked her harder, fucked her deeper, and poured everything I was feeling into the movement of my body against hers.

She came with a scream, her body going rigid, her inner muscles clamping down on me so hard I saw stars. I followed her over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that was almost painful as I emptied myself inside her, marking her in the most primal way possible, claiming her as mine even though she had always been mine, would always be mine no matter what happened next.

I collapsed on top of her, both of us shaking, both of us gasping for air. Our hearts pounded against each other, a frantic rhythm that slowly steadied. The room felt impossibly warm, the air thick with the scent of our sweat and intimacy. After a moment, I rolled to the side and pulled her with me so we were lying face to face. Our legs remained tangled together, neither of us willing to break the connection just yet.

Her eyes were wet again as fresh tears slid down her cheeks, catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. I wiped them away with my thumb, the gesture gentle and deliberate, then leaned forward and kissed her gently. Softly. A contrast to the roughness of what we’d just done, to the desperation and hunger that had consumed us moments before.

She kissed me back with a tenderness that broke my heart. Her hand cupped my face, her fingers trembling slightly as they traced the line of my jaw. There was something fragile in this moment, something precious and terrifying all at once. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Words would only cheapen what just passed between us, would try to define something that existed beyond language. Our bodies said everything that mattered, confessing truths our mouths could never articulate.

I missed you.

I love you.

I need you.

I pulled her closer and tucked her head under my chin, then wrapped my arms around her as if I could keep her here through sheer force of will. Like if I just held on tight enough, the rest of the world would forget she existed. She burrowed into me, her body fitting against mine as it always had, as it always would. Her fingers curled into my chest, as if she were afraid I would disappear if she let go.

Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of the city waking up to celebration. Fireworks went off as midnight approached; their muffled pops and crackles filtered through the walls as people celebrated the New Year, shouting and laughing in the streets below. New beginnings. Fresh starts. All that hopeful bullshit people told themselves when the calendar flipped. But in here, time had stopped. In here, the clock on the wall might as well be broken. The numbers didn’t matter. The date didn’t matter.

In here, there was only us.

Only this moment, suspended in amber, perfect and fragile and fleeting. Only the feel of her skin against mine, warm and soft and real. Her breath on my neck, shallow and uneven. Her heart beating in sync with my own—a rhythm I had memorized, that I heard in my dreams when she was not here.

I knew this wouldn’t last. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise. I knew that tomorrow would come with all its complications and impossibilities, crashing through the door like an unwelcome guest. I knew she would go back to her family, that we would once again be separated by distance and all the things we couldn’t control. I knew that this was just a brief reprieve in a war that was far from over, a war we might never win. But right now, I didn’t care. Right now, none of it mattered. Right now, she was here, in my arms, solid and real and breathing.

She was mine, and I was going to hold on to this moment, this perfect, precious, impossible moment, for as long as I possibly could. I needed to. I had to. Because it had to sustain me through whatever came next. Through however many more months of separation and longing and desperate, aching need. Through all those endless nights when I would lie awake staring at the ceiling, counting down the days until I could see her again. Through the war I was going to wage to bring her home permanently. Through everything that was still ahead of us, all the obstacles we hadn’t even encountered yet.

I pressed my lips to her forehead and closed my eyes, breathing her in.

The fireworks outside grew louder, more insistent. Midnight. A new year began while the old one faded away, but I barely noticed. Because I was too busy memorizing this. The weight of her in my arms, solid and real and here. The scent of her hair, that mix of her shampoo and something uniquely her I could never quite describe. The sound of her breathing, soft and steady and peaceful. The feel of her skin against mine, warm and alive.

All of it. Every single detail. Every sensation. Every tiny thing I could catalog and hold onto. Burning it into my memory so deeply that nothing—not time, not distance, not fate or circumstance or anything else this world threw at us—could ever take it away from me. She shifted slightly as her hands rested over my heart, her fingers splaying across my chest. I covered it with my own, holding it there gently but firmly, feeling the steady beat beneath our joined palms.

My heart that beat for her. Only for her.

I love you, I wanted to say. I love you so much it’s destroying me. But I’ll let it destroy me if it means I get to hold you like this. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if tomorrow, you have to leave again. Even if this is all we ever get. You’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. You always will be.

As the night stretched on, endless and eternal, the fireworks faded into wisps of smoke against the velvet sky, as their brilliant colors dissolved into memory. The city grew quiet as it settled into that hushed stillness that only came in the hours before dawn, when even the most restless soul finally surrendered to sleep. And we lay there, tangled together in the rumpled sheets, two people who had been torn apart by circumstance and fate and all the cruelties of an indifferent universe, and yet who were now briefly, miraculously, impossibly reunited. Two people who knew, with a certainty that sat heavy in our chests, that this moment was precious and might never come again. That tomorrow brought no promises. That the world was vast and unforgiving and had already proven its willingness to separate us once before. Two people who were holding on to each other like their lives depended on it, fingers digging into skin, breath mingling in the narrow space between us, hearts beating in a rhythm that felt synchronized and sacred.

Because maybe they did. Maybe our lives really did depend on this.

Maybe this was what kept us alive through the darkness—the memory of moments like this. The knowledge that somewhere out there in the chaos and noise and endless march of days, someone was waiting for us. Missing us. Loving us with a fierce, aching desperation that defied logic and reason and every obstacle that fate had thrown in its path.

I tightened my arms around her and pulled her impossibly closer, as if I could somehow merge us into one being that could never be divided again. She pressed closer still, her face buried against my neck, her breath warm and steady against my skin. And in the silence, in the darkness, in the space between heartbeats and the whisper of sheets and the distant sound of a car passing on the street below, we said everything that mattered without speaking a single word.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE