Page 70 of The Don’s Omega

“I know.” I smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to swim or play tennis, but I had the club set aside clothes for us. Tennis shoes, shorts, a white polo.”

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for thinking of that.”

“Of course.” I lead him toward the changing rooms.

The room is empty when we step inside, just rows of cedar lockers and a bench down the middle, the air warm and smelling of fresh towels. Our clothes are folded and waiting near my usual locker. I strip off my shirt and reach for the polo, and across the bench Elio pulls off the shirt I loaned him.

I don’t mean to look, but when he bends over to step into his shorts, I can’t help taking a peek. My eyes roam the arch of his spine and the curve of his firm ass beneath his underwear. My bite is visible on side of his neck, and the sight of my mark on him sends a hot, possessive pulse through me. I remember so well being on top of him, buried inside him. Then I notice the bruises, and the heat banks for a moment into something more tender.

The marks from the crash are yellowed now, a green-edged shadow along his ribs, another blooming low on the jut of his hip. I want to put my mouth there. Not out of hunger, or not only that, but because some part of me believes I could kiss the hurt out of him if he’d let me. He came so close to being taken from me, and the proof of it is written right there on his skin. The fact that he could have been gone in an instant rattles me.

I look away before he catches me watching. The emotions he makes me feel are uncomfortable. They’re a tangle of sexual desire and something deeper, something more protective. Every day the bond deepens, and my need for Elio grows. I pull my polo over my head, gaze fixed on the locker in front of me.

Once we’re dressed, we head out to the tennis courts. I pull two rackets from the tennis bag a club attendant has already set beside the court. Elio is anxious, I can sense it. It’s not just excitement about playing. It’s actual nerves.

My suspicions are confirmed when he says, “I might embarrass you, Marcello. There are people watching.” He rakes a hand through his hair and I smell his shampoo. “Maybe I should just watch and you should find another partner.”

“What?” I scowl. “No. I want to play with you. I don’t care that people are watching. Besides, we’re not here to win. We’re here to have fun. You do remember how to do that, right?”

Something flickers across his face, perhaps a brief acknowledgment that no, he doesn’t really remember how to have fun. Fun has probably been a luxury he couldn’t afford since his parents died.

“I’m a little rusty at it,” he admits wryly.

“Well, try to loosen up a little and enjoy yourself.” I give him a coaxing smile. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

“Right.” He glances at the court. “I’ll try to get with the program.”

Our opponents are a couple I know, Renato and Giulia Greco. When it comes to tennis, Renato is competent and smug and Giulia has a wicked backhand. Ordinarily I’d take them seriously, and battle to win. Today, I don’t care if we lose. Today, I care about Elio having as much fun as possible, and that’s about it.

While Renato and Giulia warm up on the court, I stand behind Elio and adjust his grip on his racket. “Hold it like this,” I say, wrapping my hand over his, positioning his fingers. He’s warm under my palm and I love the feel of his body against mine. “Loose. Don’t strangle it. Let the racket do the work.”

“I feel like I’ve never held a racket before.”

I grimace. “It’ll all come back once we start playing.”

“You sure about that?”

I turn him to face me, and put my hands on his shoulders. “Yes. You’re going to do fine.”

“Last chance to choose a partner that doesn’t suck,” he says.

Scowling, I gently grab his chin. “Stop putting yourself down.”

He laughs sheepishly, dropping his gaze. “Not sure I can. It’s become a habit.”

“Then break the habit.” I drop a quick kiss on his full lips and step back. He looks surprised, and my lips tingle from that little impulsive peck. I’d love to pin him up against the fence and do more than just kiss him, but I restrain myself. “In addition to your grip on the racket, watch your feet too. Stay on the balls of your feet, ready to move.”

“I’ll float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”

“That’s the spirit.” I ruffle his hair, earning another surprised look. “Come on. Time to play.”

We start the match, and it quickly becomes clear Elio wasn’t lying about not being a great player. He’s rusty as hell. He forgets everything I told him. He grips the racket too tightly, swings too hard, and sends the first three balls either thudding into the net or sailing past the baseline like they’ve been fired from a cannon.

But instead of getting flustered, he laughs.

The sound of his laughter catches me off guard. It’s bright and breathless, and completely unguarded. He’s never laughed that way around me before and the sound makes my heart warm and tighten.

When he messes up again, he once more laughs. He shakes his head, mutters something under his breath, and jogs back into position. I’m relieved he’s not taking the game too seriously. I worried he’d beat himself up if he made mistakes. But he’s just focused and having fun. I watch him, mesmerized, taking in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.