Gemma: A Mafia Forbidden Romance

You wanted to feel something.

I’ve been numb for so long. Hiding behind locked doors, thick blankets, and shitty television. I’ve been drowning myself in vodka and anything to help me forget.

Grief is a funny thing, it causes destruction in a variety of ways.

I don’t feel that way here with Liam.

I don’t want to escape.

“No,” I tell him. “I feel like I’m waking up again.” He lifts his head so he can meet my eyes. “I’m not whole.” I whisper. “I’m still learning to love myself. You’re not my drug, you’re not my fix. I’m working on myself and you’re just coming along for the ride.”

A small smile works its way across his lips. “I’ll come along for that ride.” He presses soft kisses along my neck and my jaw until he meets my lips. “You’re not broken, Gemma. There’s nothing here that needs to be fixed.”

The giant soaking tub in the bathroom sits in front of a window looking out to the city. It’s a beautiful view paired with the warm water and the scent of lavender wafting through the air. The hum of the AC in the other room provides a constant stream of white noise. I let myself sink further into the deliciously warm water while the foamy bubbles cascade over my skin. The knots in my shoulders ease as I slip into relaxation. The feeling is luxurious.

I have a bathtub at home, but honestly I can’t remember the last time I soaked in it. Most nights changing my clothes feels like an insurmountable task, let alone filling the bathtub with water and adding bubbles.

Everything the last six months has felt harder and overwhelming.

I’ve spent most days drowning out my sorrows with whatever I could find to take the edge off. I never wanted to die, but I also didn’t have the energy to live. It was a successful day if I ate one meal and stayed awake for more than an hour.

My hands have barely pruned when Liam walks into the bathroom. He’s carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and the ice bucket in the other. He looks like sin in a pair of low slung black jeans and a loose Henley. I can make out the top of his tattoo through the v-neck of his shirt, and I can remember the feeling of his skin beneath my fingertips when I traced the lines of his ink.

His hair is unruly, probably from me running my fingers through it while I rode him only a few hours ago. His eyes have a dark, unholy look to them while they scan over my body in the bathtub.

“You forgot glasses.” I smile, eyeing the contents in his hands.

He looks down confused and then back to me with a slight smile. “Shit.”

“Distracted?” I tease.

“Just a little.” He sets the bucket of ice down on the counter and begins to twist the cork off the champagne. “Fuck the glasses, who needs ‘em?”

I chuckle and lean further back into the water. “Not us.” I laugh.

The cork releases from the bottle with a loud pop and a hint of smoke. He takes a chug before raising the bottle toward me, “Cheers.”

I take the bottle from him, tipping it back and letting the fizzy alcohol coat my tongue. “Cheers,” I repeat. “To bad decisions.”

“Horrible ones,” he says with a sly smile taking the champagne back from me. “But no regrets.”

“None.” I add.

He kicks off his tan low cut boots and peels off his socks next.

“Are you joining me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles. “Will I even fit in there?”

The soaking tub is huge, but then again, Liam is built like a linebacker. “You’ll fit,” I say.

He strips off his remaining clothing, leaving me with a glorious view. Liam is fit and covered in sharp lines of muscle. His toned thighs lead him toward the tub and I watch the way they flex as he crosses the bathroom floor, steps over the edge, and sinks down in front of me.

I take in the sharp features of his face, committing them to memory. His angled jawline, the scruffy beard that matches his ash brown hair. His arms expand, leaning on each side of the tub while he lays back. He looks handsome as ever as he relaxes back into the warm water. I doubt he’s ever taken a bath like this or participated in self-care in his life.

I kick each of my feet up to sit on his strong legs and lean my head back to rest on the edge of the tub. Liam takes one of my feet into his hands, rubbing the sore muscles. I think I could stay in here, like this, with him all damn day.

“What are you thinking about, Princess?” he asks me, still rubbing his thumbs along the arch of my foot.