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Sleep comes easily, but not for long. A few hours with Evelyn in my bed feels natural, like her place has always been beside me. When I turn onto my side, looking to pull her body even closer, she's not there. My eyes shoot open immediately, wondering if something's happened. It takes a second for my sight to adjust. It's just after two in the morning, and her side of my bed is empty.
I push myself onto my feet, stalking through the hallway, past my closet and into the bathroom. I keep going until I'm in the bedroom I had Lorenzo put together for her. The bed is empty, and my heart thumps against my chest. I walk out of her door and down to Lorenzo's room.
I knock, but when there's no answer, I crack the door open to peek inside. He's not there, and the coldness of the space says he hasn't been there for hours. Lorenzo has a permanent home here, but he doesn't exactly live here. There's a property nearby that he rents for those days that he needs to be alone.
However, the security monitors answer the question that's gotten me out of bed at two in the morning. Evelyn's in the kitchen.
I take the stairs down, a pair of pajama pants hanging off my waist, approaching her with curiosity as to why she's in the kitchen at this time of night. She's so oblivious to her surroundings that she doesn't notice me approaching. Her eyes are glued to the mass of dough she's rolling out on the island countertop.
The closer I get, the more quirks I see with her whispering to herself what she's doing as she does it.
"Butter, fold, fold, fold, roll." She huffs as she puts some muscle into rolling out the thick slab of dough until it's flat and repeats the process.
"Mio dolce."
She snaps at the sound of my voice, holding up the rolling pin like a baseball bat. "Shit! Jee-zus. Alessandro, you scared me."
"I'm sorry." I chuckle. "You have to start paying attention. What are doing?"
"Making puff pastry for croissants." The nonchalance in her voice is jarring.
"Is leaving your husband alone in the bed in the middle of the night a part of the recipe?"
She peeks up with a cheeky grin before resuming her process. She talks as she rolls. "I couldn't sleep. Then you have this amazing kitchen, and no one can hear me when I use it in the middle of the night."
"Was it anything in particular that woke you up?" I ask her. "I know that shootouts aren't in your typical Sunday plans, and then getting attacked the same day can be a lot. New York, in all of its wonder, can still be a nightmare at times."
A subtle tremor ripples across her shoulders. She shakes her head like she's trying to stop the overwhelming feeling of fear invading her body. I walk around the counter to approach her from behind. My chest presses against her back, and my arms wrap around her, tight enough to restrict her movements.
"Listen to me, Evelyn. Listen to the sound of my voice. I gave you my word and I have every intention of keeping it. You're going to be on edge for a while, but just know that you are safe here with me."
The way her chest expands and contracts with the deep breath of relaxation consuming her puts me at ease. "Thank you. I just like to cook or bake when I feel like this, like I have to get this energy out."
"The playroom's a perfect place to give up some control and release some of that tension if you want some help."
"What would we do?" she asks, turning her face toward me.
"Clean up and meet me downstairs," I tell her with devious ideas floating around my brain. However, I know this is more about releasing tension than sexual gratification. I want her to feel good, safe, okay to fall asleep.
A few minutes later, she comes into the playroom with nothing but my T-shirt on. I smile and move behind the cross, pulling a lever that detaches it from the wall and locks it onto a space in the floor as a table. She approaches me slowly, and I help her out of the shirt and onto the table.
She lies down on her back with her ankles and wrists bound to the table, leaving her naked body on display. My own urges push to the recesses of my mind as I focus on her. Pulling the switchblade from my pocket, I see her eyes light up, but I have no intention of using it.
Instead, I open a drawer in the stand between the armchairs and pull out warming massage oil. I take my time learning her body, starting from her neck, only using my thumbs to rub firm, small circles down to her neck and between her breasts. The smooth, glistening glow of the oil does nothing to stop her nipples from hardening where I simply tweak them, rubbing and pinching them as I caress her.
When my hands travel down her stomach, I take my time rubbing her waist and hips, dipping under her to make sure I rub that tight little ass before moving down to her thighs. I can feel the tension building in her body as I work my way down to her feet.
Every nudge, rub, and roll of my hands over her body draws out a moan of relaxation and release. However, the ultimate release is on its way with my hands massaging the insides of her legs, up to her thighs, and to that beautifully pink pussy that I have to stop myself from tasting.
This isn't about me.
Time passes as I slide my thumbs inside her folds and around her clit. The softness of this sacred space that invites me to dine makes me hard in the worst way. The longer I take rubbing every square inch of this pussy, the more tension builds until I slip two fingers inside her walls. She cries out in ecstasy as I rub and gently press around her clit. There are so many nerve endings that Evelyn begins to buck as I stroke one of the most powerful orgasms I've ever seen come from her.
"That's right, mio dolce. Give this all to me."
She comes, dripping her release all over my fingers until her legs tremble and her breasts move up and down, desperate to catch her breath. I make her come a few more times before the session ends, and I carry her over to the bed. She falls asleep within minutes, her beauty simply stunning to me.
I lean down, kissing her gently on the forehead and whispering to her, "I love you, Evelyn."
