He moved to the washbasin and brushed his teeth. Watching him doing that felt more intimate than being naked in front of him. His expression was guarded. Only briefly during sex it had been anything else. I slinked out of the bathroom, giving him privacy. I’d already gone through my evening routine. I’d mostly managed to keep my hair dry during our shower and didn’t want to blow-dry it with him in the room. How could all these mundane activities feel too personal after what we’d just done?
Dropping the towel on the bench, I grabbed my nightgown from the floor and pulled it over my head. Trying to ignore the stain on the sheet, and still seeing it, because I simply couldn’t not see it, I slipped under the covers.
I’d been tired before. I wasn’t now. My body still hummed with adrenaline. When Cassio emerged ten minutes later in low-cut black pajama bottoms, my eyes traveled over him. Many men gained weight once they were married, not enough to be frowned upon by their Capo, but enough to cover up whatever muscles they’d worked hard for in their younger years. Cassio hadn’t. Every inch of him was pure muscle. Nothing soft about this man—not his body, expression, or eyes. If he noticed my silent scrutiny, he didn’t comment. Instead, he got into bed but left enough room to fit another person between us.
Weren’t we going to snuggle against each other? It was something I’d wished for from a marriage.
In the last few years, snuggles had been absent from my life. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend, who might have given them to me, and I was too old to seek that kind of closeness with my father. My mother had never been the type to show her affection on a physical level to begin with.
I’d hoped that marriage would open the door to affection that went beyond sex. I wanted to be held and cuddled. Maybe I had been foolish to think Cassio was someone who would be up for that.
Cassio twisted his head to me, but remained on his back. “What is it? You don’t have to be scared of me seeking you out again. We fulfilled our duty.”
Duty.
Honor. Duty. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d heard those two words in my life.
“That’s not it,” I whispered. “I just… I…”
Cassio’s dark brows drew together. “I’m not a mind reader, Giulia, and I don’t have the patience to guess your thoughts.”
His voice was rough.
Tears stung in my eyes at his rebuff.
He let out a small sigh, pushed up on his elbow, and peered down at me. “Are you in pain? Did I hurt you more than I thought?”
Of course, he’d think it had to be something physical bothering me.
“Giulia?” His strong hand touched my bare shoulder, and I shuddered under the gentle touch. Misunderstanding my reaction, he pulled his hand away, but I grasped it.
“Can we—” I couldn’t ask a man like Cassio to snuggle. Instead, I moved closer until I could sense his warmth, my fingers still clutching his hand. “Be close like this for a little while?”
For a moment, he didn’t react, only regarded me with those ocean-blue eyes. Then, without a word, he lowered himself to his back, but this time he raised his arm, opening up a spot for me. I slid even closer until I was pressed up to him, my face on his strong chest, one of my legs thrown over his muscled thigh. He smelled good, so good. Strong, warm, and manly. I held my hands awkwardly pressed against my breasts, unsure where to put them. Cassio curled his arm around my body, loosely at first, but then more tightly when I let out a small sigh. Gathering my courage, I rested one hand on his chest. Soon my fingers grew restless—curious.
Until this day I hadn’t been allowed to touch a man, to discover his body. I idly traced the smattering of hair on his pecs, realizing that I liked the feel of it. In the media I’d only ever seen guys with smooth chests and tried to imagine how they would feel. Cassio was all man, strong and with body hair. Not that he was overly hairy… he wasn’t. My fingers glided lower, over the ridges of his stomach, following the trail of hair until I bumped against his waistband.
Cassio gripped my hand. “Giulia.” It was low, dark and almost pained. He pulled back, dipped his head at the same time as I tipped mine up. He scanned my face.
What had I done wrong? Didn’t he like to be touched like that?
I felt the groan more than I heard it. It was on the verge of a tortured laugh. I blinked, trying to figure out my husband. He lifted my hand and firmly pressed it, palm flat, against his sternum. “It stays there.”