Page 38 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Because I like how you sound when you’re like this, and you deserve it after what you did to my book.” His fingertips danced up her spine before tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck with a firm tug, pulling her head higher. “Just feel me for a bit, Cara. Christ, all I can feel is you.”

It was the dip in his tone, the way it roughened and edged, that made Cara shiver. She knew he liked that—enjoyed seeing it—and so she didn’t even try to hide it.

His thrusts came deep, but slow, at first. Measured with every flex, and quick on the pull, like he wanted to dive right back in again. Each one brought her higher, right back to the peak of bliss where he’d stop, tease her with his hands and his words, and then start all over again.

And then his thrusts came harder, faster, and even deeper. He tossed his phone to the pillows, so he had another hand free. Cara’s gaze caught sight of the video playing on the screen of the device, her senses caught between watching and feeling. His fingertips dug into her ass, pulling her back with every flex of his hips. The trembling in her legs had spread to every other part of her fucking body, and she couldn’t breathe again, not when all she could think about was release, and when she could finally get it.

Gian’s hand slid from her hair to her throat, his fingers curving around the delicate line there as he pulled her up from the bed. Her back fitted against his chest as his fingers tightened, and there it was … enough pressure on her throat to make her impending orgasm continue on for what felt like forever.

That little trick of his made her crazy.

“Now you can come,” she heard him say, his words a husky murmur in her ear. “And then you can beg me for another and another, Cara.”

She would.

He was a drug to her system.

And she did beg for him to tease her and fuck her all over again—again and again and again.

Gian had moved the chaise in the sitting room to the old windows that could be opened. Despite the time of year, a warm breeze came in from the windows. Cara found it was a nice place to sit, with her feet propped up in on the windowsill, and her head tucked against Gian’s chest.

“So, a therapist, huh?” he asked above her.

She shrugged. “That’s the goal. I want to have a main focus, though. Addiction. Recovery. Maybe some child-work.”

“Is that because you feel you owe something for your raising, or because it’s something you want to personally do?”

“A bit of both.”

“As long as you know,” he murmured. “When you do something because you feel you owe it, or you have to, you’ll never be as satisfied as you want to be.”

Gian’s fingers roved through her hair as they chatted.

“I know you wanted a break from … everything that happened,” Cara started to say.

“I did, yes.”

“But you can’t only talk about me, Gian. It’s not fair.”

He laughed, rocking them both on the chaise. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

“Well, anything.”

“Like what?”

“Your grandfather, maybe. You seemed like you were close, especially if you needed to take a break after burying him. That sounds like someone who needed to get away from their feelings.”

Gian cleared his throat. “Interesting way to put it.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re very right, actually.” He sighed, shifting beneath her a bit. “I don’t have time to grieve, in a way, because there’s much more happening, now that he’s gone. And that feels terribly shitty of me, that my focus can’t be on a man who practically raised me for a bit, because responsibility and duty wait on no one.”

Cara frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Believe it or not, but this break, is not entirely a break. I’ve thought a lot more about my grandfather this weekend than I would have been able to, had I stayed in Toronto. Less bullshit—less noise in my head and from other people.”

“I get that.”