Desiree

I wake up in Junior’s arms. It’s an incredible feeling. The brush of his soft chest hair against my cheek, the faint scent of his fading cologne along with the addictive scent of his skin.

I kind of can’t believe he’s the type to hold a woman all night long, but here we are. My leg tossed over his hips, his cock lined up ready to go between my legs. The moment I stir, his cock bobs, morning wood activated and ready to go.

I reach between us and grip his cock for a squeeze. It swells against my leg, nudging my entrance.

“Cristo, baby. You’d better be ready for the monster you’re awakening.”

I giggle and slip out of bed to run to the bathroom.

“You’d better be coming back to bed,” he yells after me.

“Or what?” I call back. I use the toilet and rinse my mouth out with the mouthwash on his counter. He passes me on my way out. “Get back in that bed, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Hmm, this is a tough call,” I say as I saunter toward the bed. I want to go back to bed, but I also like when there’s hell to pay.

Junior laughs from the bathroom. When he comes out, he has a handful of condoms in his fist.

I hold up my finger and thumb like I’m measuring something. “A little hell?”

“I’ll give you hell, bambina.”

Bambina. That’s cute. Is that where they got the name for Bambi?

Junior pulls my legs up by the ankles and slaps my ass a dozen times. Way too hard. I scream and yelp and squirm.

“Mac and cheese! Peanut butter. What the hell was my safe word?” I giggle.

Junior drops my ankles, laughter dancing in his affectionate gaze. “Was that enough hell?” he rumbles, low and seductive.

I nod, eyes focused on his face, drinking him in. My dark, handsome lover. Dangerous, wonderful.

Perfect.

He climbs over me and knees open my thighs, then rolls a condom over his fully erect dick. “You sore today?” He rubs his thumb over my slit.

I’m already sopping wet. I swear my sex drive has multiplied by twelve since I came to this house. I know they say a woman’s sex drive increases with age, and I’m in my early thirties now, but until this week, it was minimal.

Now? I’m ready every time I hear Junior’s deep rumble. Or see the strong lines of his face.

I nod. “Sore in a good way,” I tell him. I’m tender between my legs and deep inside, because he’s so long he bumped my cervix.

He leans down and plants a kiss at the apex of my labia, over my clit. It’s chaste and sweet and not enough. But then he follows it up with a flick of his tongue. A suck. A nip. Then my lips are splayed open by his thumbs and he’s going to town on me.

I shriek and jerk, my pussy clenching and releasing, my thighs shivering.

“P-please, Junior.” I’m already begging.

“Oh you don’t have to beg, angel. I’m definitely going to give it to you.”

“N-now?” I moan. Yes. I’m that desperate for his cock. The need to be filled by him is ever-present. Cunnilingus is awesome but not enough.

He sucks hard on my clit, then raises his head, his lips glossy with my juices. “Patience isn’t my strong suit, either, doll.” He slaps my pussy lightly and climbs over me, his sheathed cock bumping my entrance, homing in on where it belongs.

“F-fuck me.” I sound so wanton.

Junior’s grin is smug. He eases in gently, which I’m grateful for. I guess I am still pretty sore even though it also feels amazing. He’s watching my face closely, like he’s looking for signs of distress. “You okay?”

I nod, unable to look away from his warm gaze. I’m basking in it. Drowning in it. The connection between us is unbelievable. I’ve definitely never had this with anyone before.

He rocks into me, filling me, stroking my insides, satisfying my need to be possessed by him. We never break eye contact. I rock my hips up to meet his in a dance we both know. A rhythm we share. It’s more sensual than sexual. It’s not the hot, frenzied need of yesterday. But something deeper. Sweeter. More significant.

“Desiree, I’d do anything for you, baby.”

I reach for him, stroke the bulging muscles of his arms, his shoulders, his chest. I flick my fingernails over his taut nipples. “I know,” I whisper.

Because I do. I’m sure this man would kill for me. Break the law for me. Protect me with his life. I try not to listen to the voice in my head that tells me a man like him is far too dangerous to love.

“I’m sorry I pulled you into all this.”

My chest expands and twists. The apology he owes me. At last. Of course it comes when I no longer need it. Have already forgiven him. Hell, I forgave him that first night when he watched me eat ice cream like I was the most beautiful thing on Earth. But I have a feeling apologizing is an unusual occurrence for him. Same as using please and thank you. So I receive the moment, treasure it as another gift he’s given me.

“Apology accepted,” I murmur, reaching for his face, wanting to pull him down for a kiss.

He shifts to rest his weight on his hand beyond my shoulder, but doesn’t give me the kiss. Instead, he cradles my face, his touch infinitely gentle, even as his thrusts grow harder. “Except if I had to do it again, I’d do the same thing. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

My chest splits open—bursts because my heart swelled too big for it. I blink back tears. “Me neither,” I admit.

It’s the truth. I may not like that I’ve fallen in love with a mobster, but I have. And I’d do it again.

Junior closes his eyes, like what’s between us is too much for him, too. When his eyes open, he picks up speed with his thrusts, all the while keeping his fingers on my face, in a gentle exploration of my cheek, my lips, the side of my neck.

“I don’t want it to end,” he rasps.

I can’t tell if he means the sex or us.

I don’t want them to end, either.

But of course, everything must end. It’s one of those truths of living you can’t fight. Can’t ever defeat.

He comes.

I come.

It ends.

And we’ll probably end, too.

We need to end, too.

But for now, we can just pretend that ending isn’t coming.

“Cazzo.” Junior pulls out.

“What?” I lean up on my elbows to see what he’s cursing about.

“The condom came off. Shit, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Jesus, what are the chances? That was the calmest sex we’ve had.”

He screws up his face in a wry grin—it’s sweet and innocent and for a second I think I have a flash of what he must’ve looked like as a youth. “Let me fish it out. Maybe it still caught most of my cum?”

In the least sexy moment of our relationship, Junior slides his fingers in me to locate the missing condom.

He curses again in Italian as he pulls it out.

There’s weight on his shoulders as he walks to the trash and throws it away. When he comes back, his face is ancient again. “We’ll get you the morning-after pill. I’m sorry this happened.”

Another apology. I could get used to the sweet side of Junior.

I’m still blissed out from the orgasm—no, from more than the orgasm, from the intimacy and sharing we just had, so it takes me a few moments to process what he said.

“No morning-after pill,” I say, rolling up out of bed.

“Desiree…” My name sounds so heavy on his lips. Like he’s exhausted from years of fighting.

“Seriously, Junior.” I’m not willing to block a pregnancy. Not when my heart bleeds for my baby. Not when I consider how much joy that little boy has brought me. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” I tell him, even though logic says I should think this through. Having Junior Tacone’s child would tie us together for life. And what if it pulled my child into the life he hates? I couldn’t allow that.

But still...I wasn’t through having children. I just knew better than to have another one with Abe.

Junior turns to face me and pushes his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “Baby…” Again, he sounds so tired. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

I turn away from him and pick up my clothes from the floor. “It’s not your decision. My body. My choice. End of discussion.”

“Desiree.” He reaches for me, but seems to change his mind, and instead lunges to block my exit to the bathroom.

I steel myself, chin lifted, nostrils flaring.

He holds his palms up in surrender, but I see equal determination in the set of his jaw, the firm line of his lips. “I can’t, Desiree. I’m serious.”

“Why not?” I demand. I’m getting mad now. “Because you’re still married?”

“No—fuck no. Not that.” His throat bobs like he’s working to swallow. Turmoil burns behind his eyes. “I...I had a child.” His voice sounds strangled. I suddenly sense his pain like a tidal wave bowling both of us over.

My breath leaves my chest, mouth drops open. “Y-you did?” My voice comes out a mere whisper.

He nods, blinking rapidly. “Her name was Mia.”

Was.

Oh God. He lost a child. It’s the worse thing I can ever imagine.

I’m crying before he can even get the next word out.

“She drowned in our backyard pool. My wife went in to answer the phone and she fell in and—” His words choke off.

I lunge for him, wrap my arms tight around his waist. “I’m so sorry,” I sob. “That’s so awful. I’m so sorry.”

He draws in a ragged breath. “She was three. Sweetest little girl on Earth. Blonde curls and a happy little voice that never stopped chattering.” His voice breaks. Restarts. Chokes.

I rub his back like he rubbed mine last night. Press my cheek against his chest, hard. Like I can somehow sink into his chest and take the pain right out of his heart.

His arms are so tight around me, I can’t breathe, and I don’t care. It’s exactly what I want.

“That’s why your wife is depressed,” I realize aloud.

“Yeah.”

“That’s why you won’t divorce her.”

“Yeah.”

My heart bleeds for these two ruined people, broken by the death of their tot. I can’t imagine anything more horrific.

And now I know why Junior could handle my pain. Why he wasn’t afraid of my tears or my mourning on Jasper’s birthday. He’s been through something far worse. And he still hasn’t come out the other side of it.

And just when I don’t think I could be any more shocked, feel any deeper range of emotion, Junior says gruffly, “I love you, Desiree.”

“Junior,” I weep. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you. But you’re making it so hard.”

He eases me away and lifts my chin, a sad smile on his face. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for that. I just wanted you to understand. Why I couldn’t...I can’t.”

I nod, but if anything, my resolve is stronger. I believe in free will, but I also believe in a higher power. I believe I could choose against a pregnancy if I didn’t want it. No harm done. That soul would find another place to land. But I also believe that sometimes things are meant to be. Babies can be gifts. To both the mother and the father. What if the events of today resulted in a miracle that changed all our lives for the better?

It’s possible.

And I’m willing to allow the cards to fall where they may.

I grip the sides of Junior’s face and rise up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips.

And because I don’t know what else to say, I just kiss him again. And then I turn and get in the shower.

Junior

I can’t believe I told her about Mia.

I can’t believe I said I love you.

But it’s the truth. And no other words expressed how I felt in the moment.

Desiree crying real tears for my pain. I love her so much it hurts.

And yet she takes away my pain, too. Because just telling her about Mia—sharing that wound—makes it a little easier.

Yeah, it opened it up again, for sure.

But it also eased some of the pressure.

I listen to the sound of the shower running, and just think about Desiree in there. The most amazing, big-hearted woman on the planet.

I don’t deserve her.

Which is why I’m not going to get the girl in this scenario.

She may be falling in love with me, but she doesn’t want to be. I need to listen to what she said.

But nothing’s going to stop me from taking care of her. Making sure she finds her boy and gets her happily ever after even if it’s without me.

I pull on some boxer briefs and an undershirt and check on Gio. I’m relieved to find his fever’s gone. He blinks his eyes open and looks at me. “Hey, fratello.”

“How’re you feeling, Gio?”

“Good. Better. Where’s your little nurse?”

“In the shower.”

Gio nods. “You’re gonna keep her after all this, right?”

The heaviness I’ve been trying to resist descends. “Not gonna happen. And mind your own fucking business.”

“Seriously, Junior? She’s great.” He emphasizes great, like I might’ve missed how fucking amazing she is.

“Yeah, she is. And she wants no part of La nostra. So I gotta let her go.”

Gio stares at me. “Fanculo. You really love this girl, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Gio,” I say, but there’s no venom behind the words. I only feel tired.

Tired and defeated. Because the woman I love is going to walk out of the house within days.

And I may never see her again.