"Hey," I said when her gaze went to my face again.
"Hey," she said, voice softer than usual as she stayed frozen in place.
"How was Thanksgiving?"
"Did you ever see The Hobbit movie where everyone bursts into the house and has this rowdy dinner scene? It was like that," she said, smirking a bit. "It's a miracle I managed to get any food at all, really," she added. "How was yours?"
"Quieter. Sort of. Had to remind Brio that kids Avi's age don't need to learn about pressure points. Salvatore broke my mom's whole-house remote tablet. My mom made enough food to feed an army. The fridge is stocked with leftovers."
"Is that pie?" she asked, taking a couple steps forward.
"Chocolate cream," I agreed, hearing the little moan she let out. "You want some?" I asked, dolloping the whipped topping on.
"Is that really a question?" she shot back, rolling her eyes at me.
There was more pie in the fridge.
I could have gotten her a slice on her own plate with her own fork.
But I didn't do any of that.
No.
I just took a bite while she put her clutch on the counter, and shrugged out of her coat, her gaze on me, then scooped up another forkful, and held it out to her.
Her eyelids went heavy as she looked from the fork to my face.
I could see the battle then.
I felt a similar one waging inside me.
The spiraling thoughts of all the ways it could go wrong, who would get hurt, what would happen in the aftermath, what our families would think, how it would impact the Family.
But for probably the first time ever, my thoughts were outweighed by the possibilities.
Like walking home from a long day of work to see Alessa and Avi poring over their take-out menu collection, trying to decide on what to order for dinner. And both of them turning to see me. Then walking over to ruffle my kid's hair, then press a kiss to Alessa's lips.
Like taking Avi out to the museum or the movies or the park, then coming home to tuck him in, then falling into bed together, lips and hands roaming, exploring until the wee hours of the night.
Like having holidays and birthdays together.
Like building something solid and lasting and, most of all, real with her. Not something that imitated a relationship to the outside. But an actual one, one that acted as a soft place to land, that was the support system that futures could be built upon.
I saw so much potential when I looked at Alessa.
Even if it was a terrible idea.
Even if it could go down in flames.
I couldn't shake this one thought, though.
What if it goes right?
What if it went right?
What if all the things I'd fantasized about could happen?
What if there could be something good between us?
What if there could be steady foundations and happiness and love and family?
What if it went right?
Gaze on me, Alessa's lips parted, and there was some base, primal desire inside as I slipped the fork into her mouth, as her lips closed around it, as there was some resistance as I pulled the fork back out.
My cock was getting hard from feeding the woman a piece of pie.
"OhmyGod," she murmured over her mouthful, letting out a little groan that wasn't helping the desire spreading through my system.
"Here," I said, voice lower than usual as I put the fork down, reaching out to catch a bit of whipped topping from the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb, taking it, and slipping it into my own mouth.
Her eyes went molten at that.
Fucking burning bright.
"Santi..." she said, voice barely audible, but there was undeniable need in that sound.
What if it went right?
I reached out again, my hands going behind her neck, working the tie out of her hair, then gently sifting her hair down and forward to frame her face. But not stopping there.
My fingers moved back up, sifting through the silky strands, then rubbing her scalp with barely-there pressure, watching her head tip back, her eyes going hazy with pleasure as her breathing got faster, more shallow.
Her eyelids drifted close for a moment, her dark lashes resting on her cheeks as she swayed a bit on her feet, lost in the moment, in her enjoyment, in the desire I knew was spreading through her body.
When her eyes opened once again, the raw need I saw there was a punch to my stomach, stealing my breath.
One of my hands slid out of her hair, slipped down her cheek, then framing her jaw, my thumb moving outward, tracing along the edge of her lower lip as it fell open slightly.
"What if it goes right?" I asked, voice a hushed whisper, knowing her mind was as twisted in knots as my own, wanting to float the question to her, see what she thought of it.