His reiteration riles a small bubble of humor in me, and I slit my eyes to give him a more demeaning look. I see he notices, and I smirk lavishly at him. “Will you stop fucking caressing and just claim me then.” Finally, I put my arms around his neck, still keeping my gaze on him, just now it’s wrapped with a little more tease. “I like a man who’s a little less talk and a lot more action.”
“You’ll regret saying that, Sweetheart,” Zane remarks amused.
“Prove it,” I coerce, garnering more power to get what I want.
“Fine, but keep the heels on.” He grunts his words as our bodies burst with electricity and he begins to propel me backwards. “I love fucking you in those.”
No other words are spoken, but I’m thrown back against the dresser where I left my clutch, and I’m promptly perched on the wooden edge. I have no time to think how uncomfortable it could be as he grips my thighs, throwing them up around his waist. He takes the moment of easy access to penetrate me whole and my head flies backwards, my needs met with one simple full-length thrust.
As he pushes my legs further up, he hooks his arms under my knees and grips my hips as his momentum picks up. We’ve had foreplay to keep us well invested in one another, but this is the first time Zane’s given it his all since the shooting. Apparently, his stamina is back with a bang – because he’s banging the life out of me.
I grab onto his arms as the orgasmic explosion becomes feral, almost at boiling point, and after a few more thrusts my body convulses, my insides clenching down around his length as my hips buck involuntarily as he continues to pump me. My breaths leave my body in low moans, pushed from me with each of Zane’s thrusts. I forget to breathe properly as he works me to a higher realm of bliss.
And just as I begin my comedown, I feel Zane release, his grip hardens on me and stays thrust into me for a moment. I see the sweat bead his forehead like morning dew on cobwebs. His exertion amuses me, knowing I can render him to this leaves me with an everlasting lust to his kryptonite. But then I notice this isn’t sexual tiredness, his body is completely spent. He pulls away, allowing my legs to lower so I’m standing on solid flooring again. I take the time to place my arms around his neck and take a good, hard look at him and I result in frowning.
“You okay?” I ask him curiously, noticing how remarkably tired he is. “Have you overdone it?”
“Never,” he tells me, scooping me up and carrying me to his bedroom. “I love you,” he murmurs to me as we cross the threshold and he places me on the bed. “That was well worth the wait.”
***
When I was a little girl, my grandfather used to always say these weird and wonderful proverbs, and I never used to understand them. One in particular always stuck with me -‘Frutto proibito è il più dolce’. My grandfather told us all we would find ourselves tortured by that one saying. ‘Forbidden fruits are the sweetest’ after all, and Zane is mine. Giovanni has many, Bruno has Allana, and I have Zane. However, my grandfather never actually said if they would be a good or bad thing.
As I look at Zane, I know it’s not all bad. I know he’s the forbidden part of my life, but I greedily want him to know that he’s mine forever because there is no life after Zane Maverick. I tried to move on, but my heart only beats correctly when I think of him. Now as I lay here, my fingers tracing his tattoos while he sleeps, I realize I never want to become familiar with that life without him.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” he mumbles sleepily, not even opening his eyes.
“Good morning, baby,” I say and lean in a little closer to his kiss him. “I was going to go make you some breakfast.”
He shakes his head and furrows his brows as he finally opens his eyes to look at me. “You stay, I’m going to make you breakfast for once.”
“Zane,” I scold, remembering how exhausted he became after that little exercise.
He gives me another headshake. “No,” he counters, turning on his side to face me. “You’ve been cooking and cleaning for weeks. I’m clearly better.”
“You’ve clearly got a little more recovery to go,” I admonish, giving him a pointed look. “You can’t rush these things.”
“And we’re not,” he tells me, giving me a bright grin as if it’ll defuse my concern. “We tried and tested my body last night and even though, okay, I’m not ready for full-time activity like I was, I’m still on the road to recovery. I reckon I can go back to desk duty soon.”
I pout at that comment.
“Don’t give me that look. I could stay in bed with you forever, but some of us don’t have an endless money supply called Salvatore Abbiati.”
“I really need to sort that out,” I mumble unhappily, falling onto my back. “I’m twenty-four and don’t have a job.”
“You do. It’s just not very well accepted in society.” His joke is followed by a cheek laugh, and I hit him. “You know I’m right. It seems so twisted, us being together as it is. A cop sleeping with a murderer.”