Page 68 of Violent Pawn

“To not touch you at all while you’re here. Which”—his arm clamps tighter, his point made but also something he isn’t ending either—“I’m already breaking. As I said last night, I want to prove I’m not like whoever’s in your past you sometimes confuse me with.”

I stare straight out the window at the rising sun. All the possibilities of the day glow into the room, offering countless directions. So many ways to construct the moment—and the future from this moment forward.

Nero included.

“Making that promise tells me everything I need to know.” I move my arm so it’s cupping his to keep him in place, while my head buries back into the pillow.

An incessant nagging to return to my room remains, though. Vanessa might assume. I won’t hear the end of it from Lev. Even Zeno will probably harass Nero about what isn’t. The weight of those concerns makes my body restless, hips and legs continuously moving.

“Maybe I should kick you out. You certainly can drive a man wild.”

“Prove it.” What?

All caution gets thrown to the wind when he abruptly rolls me onto my back, remaining on his side while hovering over me. The position gives me enough room to get away should I wish to, confirming it’s purposeful on his part.

But I don’t want to. Trapped not by the memories this time, but my desire for him. Curiosity regarding what his next move will be.

Nero pinches my chin, keeping my focus trained onto him as his eyes search my face, desire so blatant on his. “No.”

Then he rolls from the bed.

I reach before I really think it through. I should agree with him and let him go. After last night, emotions are high and escaping this shitshow of a trip to Italy should be my entire focus.

As I tug on his shirt, I push up on my hands to meet him halfway, fusing his mouth to mine. Sparks and heat and fireworks reminiscent of New Year’s Eve burst from us. And like that night, I’m ready to properly try with him.

He pulls away almost immediately, panting. “Don’t make me do this. I’m trying really fuckin’ hard here.”

“Show me how you’re different from them.”

Nero crashes against me, no longer tender, no longer hesitant. His fingers slide through my hair as he grips the back of my head to keep me in position. He kisses me hard and deep while stroking down the side of my body, coming to rest where the base of his shirt meets my thighs.

“You’re nothing like I expected,” he murmurs, breaking from my mouth to angle my head upwards and nip fire down my jaw and neck.

“I feel the same about you.”

He bites my pulse, reminiscent of that night in a club. Back then, it was games between us, but this no longer feels like a game. This is the official end, neither of us a winner nor a loser.

He grips the material by my hip. “Can I?”

I rest my hand over his and guide it up. Consent is lodged in my throat because no one’s ever asked. Definitely not from before, and any casual fuck within the past couple years were controlled by me.

I move to help him pull the shirt overhead, until I’m completely bared and in nothing but panties. Blue flames are the hottest kind, and I believe it, given his eyes. The inferno that ignites dries up the ocean they used to remind me of and instead becomes the flames found in the underworld. We’ll go there together, where rules don’t matter and trauma is forgotten. There, everything can be normal.

He murmurs a string of Italian, ending with the semi-familiar words he’s used before. “Cara mia.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I’ve never seen something so beautiful.”

“No, the thing at the end. You’ve said it before. Cara…”

“Mia,” he finishes. “Term of affection.”

A term of affection he’s used for a little while now.

He strokes a finger between my bare breasts but doesn’t touch either of them. My nipples harden, begging for his attention, but he’s entirely focused on the hand gliding to the waistband of my panties.

“You want me to show you how I’m different from the men you knew, which means this stops here.”