Mia’s calling my name. Fuck, I like that. I growl against her wet folds, rubbing my face harder against her pussy, and lick her deeper. Plunge my tongue all the way inside. And it’s messy and artless and primal, the way I’m eating her, no doubt nothing like how the perfect mafia princess would choose for herself, but it’s howIfeel about her.
I want to crawl inside her and never come out again.
I want her scent to saturate my skin.
“Leo.” She tugs on my hair, breathless. Behind my back, I clench my fists so tight the bones creak. “Leo, that’s—ohgod.”
Has she done this before? I don’t think so. I snarl and lick inside her again.
“Mine,” I growl, because she is. In this moment if nothing else. Mia Serpico is mine, and I am all hers, and we’re finally alone together. Blessedly alone. After months and years of wanting her, all that time, all those lonely nights scraping over my skin like sandpaper, this is pure relief.
I’ll never get enough of her.
Too bad I’ve already sworn to let her go.
The reminder cools my fever, if only by a few degrees, and I leave my messy feast behind. Bring Mia off with ruthless efficiency instead, licking and lapping and sucking on her clit. Cataloging her gasps and moans and using them as a guide, weaponizing them against her. Maybe I won’t be her husband, but I still want to stamp my mark all over her body and soul.
It’s not a soft love I feel for Mia. It’s desperate and raw.
I want to haunt this girl to her dying day. I want her to miss me.
“Oh!”
Mia arches off the cot bed, that blanket tangled around her ankles and her hands shoving me deeper against her folds. She trembles and shakes. A bead of sweat slides down the back of her knee, and through it all I keep licking.
She’s magnificent. I knew she would be.
And when she collapses back against the bed, finally batting me away, I have to fight not to snarl at her. A predator defending its territory.
“Good?” I ask, straightening up and swiping my mouth on my arm. I’m breathing hard, and my pulse is thudding in my ears.
“So good,” Mia wheezes. “So good.” Then she huffs and puffs and shuffles her body over, making room for me beside her on the narrow cot. It’s such a dramatic production, and she’s left such a small space.
“How skinny do you think I am?” I demand.
Mia rolls her eyes, shifting her head to give me another inch on the pillow.
Fine. You know what? Some lessons need to be learned in real time, so I shrug and slide onto the bed beside her, ominous creaking filling our compartment. Mia squawks at my sudden bulk, skidding over until she’s squished against the wall, and more than anything I want to wrap an arm around her as she grouses and complains. To tug her warm body against my chest.
But I’m not invited to touch her yet.
I may never be invited. I should make my peace with that.
Fuck.
Instead, I lie with my fists crossed over my chest, stretched out on my side, and stare at my bride in the darkness.
She falls asleep quickly, soft breaths puffing between her parted lips.
I watch her until dawn crests over the train.
* * *
Hours later, we sit at a wrought iron table and chairs, the sea crashing against the cliff face a few feet below. Two coffees let off tendrils of steam in front of us: a latte for Mia, an espresso for me. Sunshine drenches the outdoor cafe we chose for this goodbye.
This is Mia’s new town. If she decides to stay here, anyway.
Will she tell me if she goes somewhere else? I hope so.