Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

‘You really think he knew?’

‘Absolutely.’ And she watched as her words sank in, watched him blink as he opened his eyes to the truth, and it was like watching the clock go back, as if a great, filthy weight was being lifted.

‘Oh, Caitlyn…’

He was holding her, holding her so tight, kissing her face, kissing her tears, his hands everywhere—and even if he didn’t love her, would never love her, even if she should just push him off, she couldn’t. She would rather end it like this than the way it had ended before—would give him this because she needed it too, needed to feel him one more time.

Urgent, frantic sex was a great balm. His hands were pushing up her skirt even as hers grappled with his buckle. His mouth was hot on her neck, biting, bruising, thrilling. Lowering her to the floor, he was pushing her, but somehow supporting her, tearing at her stockings, her panties, and Caitlyn’s want was as prevalent as his. Pushing down his trousers, feeling his taut buttocks, she was holding him, holding the bit of him that she needed, wanted, adored—and it was beautiful—and it belonged inside her.

With each delicious thrust he called out her name, and somehow he was kissing her too, kissing her, licking her. His shoulders were over her and she was watching him, watching him and trying to capture him, to remember this for ever—and he had held back before, because even if the sex had been wonderful, this was it—this wasn’t him and her, it was them, one person almost. And maybe she had held back too, Caitlyn realised. He was so deep inside her, his hips grinding into hers, his body filled with a delicious tension that begged release. Perhaps she had held back, but there was no need to now. He knew she loved him; there were no secrets any more.

‘Oh, God, Caitlyn.’

He was calling out her name, and she was calling his, until she couldn’t, her throat closing on his name before she screamed it out, every muscle in her body tensing, her legs wrapped around him, her thighs dragging him in as he groaned his gift into her, as she accepted it, breathless, dizzy, but amazingly calm.

Afterwards they lay there—holding each other, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the world to come back.

‘Every time I look at this room now, instead of thinking about…’He gave a laugh. But it wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t sad, it was just better.

‘You’ll remember me, then?’

‘Remember you?’ He propped himself up on his elbow, stared down at her. And she wasn’t crying, she was able to stare right back, to look at him and love him simply because she did. ‘I don’t have to remember you—I see you every day.’

‘You won’t be seeing me every day, Lazzaro. It can’t work…’

‘What was that, then?’

‘Sex.’ Caitlyn stared bravely back at him. ‘Fabulous, wonderful, and much-needed sex.’

‘That wasn’t sex; that was making love.’

‘For me it was.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘But we all know that you don’t need to love a woman to—’

‘I need to love a woman to make love to her like that…’ He frowned down at her. ‘You were really going to walk away—after that?’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘You know, you’re a strange girl, Caitlyn…’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘A very good girl who is actually a very bad girl too.’

‘But in a good way?’ Caitlyn sniffed. She wasn’t actually thinking about that now. Her mind was trying to concentrate, to focus on what he’d just said, and her heart that had just slowed down was tripping into tachycardia again as she wrestled with the impossible. ‘What you said about loving…?’

‘I meant it.’

‘Meant what?’ Caitlyn asked gingerly, nibbling on her bottom lip, scared to check, scared to ask, in case she didn’t like the answer, scared to even hope.

‘That I love you.’

‘Oh.’

‘I love you,’ he said again.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you.’

‘So, what does that mean?’

He smiled down at her, massaging her raw and bruised ego with his eyes and words, and she let him. She needed to hear it. ‘That I don’t want to be without you—ever.’