When the kissing wasn't enough, I pulled her shirt over her head, my fingers making a slow trail down her stomach, memorizing that feeling right there and holding onto it, just in case.
She didn't fight me. She didn't even flinch when I started slowly pulling down her yoga pants.
"Andi," I whispered against her lips, "I have to tell you something."
"What?" Her hands cupped my face.
I was lost in that look, the very look that said she loved me, would die for me, knew she was but wanted to take that risk anyway — the risk that before death her heart would be broken, and she wouldn't get a second chance to fix it or to allow me to put the pieces back together again.
Had there ever been a love like ours before?
I doubted it.
And if there had been, I pitied those people, because every touch felt like the last… when it should have been the first of many.
Every kiss that should have been hello was goodbye.
Once her pants were dangling by her ankle, I reached for her bra and removed it. "You're too beautiful for me."
"For an Italian like you?" she countered, then slid off her underwear and crawled on top of me, her breasts pressing against my chest. Andi kissed up my neck, her hands drawing my T-shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
I closed my eyes and ran my hands slowly down her hips, my fingers pressing into her soft skin. With a sigh, I took her mouth in a slow, agonizing kiss, a kiss that I had a hard time stopping — because stopping meant ending, and ending just reminded me of the time that kept slipping through our fingers.
"Sergio?"
I opened my eyes and paused while my heart cracked against my chest.
"It's okay to be scared, right?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. "Yes." I tucked her hair behind her ears. "But we're together. When you have a partner, things are less scary because suddenly you aren't facing giants all by yourself."
"I like the idea of facing them with you." She sniffed and looked down. A single tear slid down her cheek and landed on my chest.
It may as well have been acid; I felt the burn of that tear in the depths of my soul, crushing in its weight, devastating in its truth.
I kissed her harder, deeper. Our bodies slammed against one another. With a grunt, I flipped her onto her back and kissed between her breasts, sliding my hands down her legs. I refused to stop until I gave her every ounce of pleasure she deserved.
She cried out when my hand slid between her legs.
"I thought you just screwed," she said, breathless.
I retreated then pressed forward again, this time replacing my hand with my mouth.
Every arch of her body, every whimper was music to my ears. When she was finally ready for me, our bodies slid together in a perfect match.
I moved, deeper, harder.
Andi's eyes closed.
I could have sworn in that moment I felt the air; I could taste its bittersweet reminder that time was against us.
It wasn't just about sex.
Not anymore.
Not ever, if I was being completely honest with myself.
It was about sharing every single part of my soul — my body — with her, and hoping she did the same with me.
Because she was it.
We were quiet, passionate; both of us realizing we were experiencing one of those rare moments in life where words were useless and actions meant everything.
Her hands clenched my arms as I continued my slow, languid movements, taking time to relish each sensation of our bodies connecting, communicating. It was bliss — it was everything.
"Feels so…" She exhaled. "…good."
"Italians are always good."
"Had to joke," she hissed, her nails digging into my flesh. "Sergio, I'm—"
I felt her body clench around mine as a shudder wracked her body. I watched, absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty before me and utterly wrecked that it wouldn't last.
"Andi…" Sweat trickled down my cheek and landed on her bare stomach. My body soon followed hers as I collapsed onto the bed, trying not to crush her. "…I love you."
Her hand drew slow circles along my back. "I know."
I lifted my head. "That's it? You know?" I smiled tightly. "Harsh, Russia."
"Let me finish." She pressed a fingertip to my lips. "I love you too. And I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
She shrugged. "My love is short."
"No." I shook my head and gripped her hands between mine. "Just because our love feels short doesn't mean it is. Our love is forever."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andi
I WATCHED HIM SLEEP. I WASN'T sure I believed in heaven. I'd seen too many horrible things in my short life — but if heaven was real, Sergio had to be a gift from above, because he was everything I didn't know I even wanted.
And at the same time needed, more than oxygen.
His breathing was heavy. He'd woken me twice in the middle of the night, both times kissing me, making love to me, not caring that I was fragile, but acting like he was desperate for every inch of my body.
I was exhausted.
In the best way possible.