Page 44 of Hell Hath No Fury

His gaze flits from my eyes to my lips and back again, and after a few moments of this, I finally ask, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“The moment,” he whispers, a mere hair’s breadth from my lips. “I’m waiting for the moment.”

“Is this not it?” I whisper back, pushing down my urge to surge up on my toes and take what I’ve been waiting for. This is his moment, and regardless of how much I want to steal it, I have no right.

He shifts his feet, his grip on my neck tightening as he pulls me up, and I find myself on my toes, my hands gripping his wrists to keep myself steady. “I don’t know, Lilith. Is it?”

I open my mouth to respond in the affirmative, but nothing comes out. His eyes bore into mine, his hands flexing while I attempt to speak and fail, wanting to say the right thing and having no clue what that even is.

He presses a kiss against my forehead, then relaxes his grip, easing me down. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

“What do you mean, you’ll wait?” I ask incredulously. “Wait for fucking what?”

He releases me and steps away, his expression neutral, but his eyes don’t lie. They’re pained. Exhausted. “For you to know.”

I push down my urge to scream, but it’s a near thing as I gape at him, my hands fisted at my sides. I know it’s more than a question of the moment. It really has nothing to do with when or how, and everything to do with why.

He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing the back before releasing me with a warm smile. Then he nods, turns toward the door, and walks away.

It takes me a few seconds to fully grasp what’s happening. I stare at his back, the agony in my chest suffocating, little bits of me being ripped to shreds at the sight.

“I don’t know, Antonio.” My words are a harsh whisper, and at first, I’m not sure if he even heard me, but then, he stops walking and slowly turns to look at me. So, I add, a bit louder, clearer, “I don’t know how to explain what I feel foryouspecifically. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I can’t express what I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

My breath catches in my throat, a quiet sob breaking free as I attempt to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. I open my mouth, wishing all the words would tumble out and that everything in my brain would fall out into the world as chaotic poetry, but it doesn’t. Instead, I stutter incoherently, mouth agape, lips quivering as I attempt to wrangle my unleashed emotions.

He continues to stand in the same spot patiently, his eyes soft and his stance open. After a moment, I manage a slight shrug, and he raises his brows, his lips twisting as he once again turns to leave.

“I know,” I spit out roughly, taking a few rushed steps toward him as he pauses. “I know I want you. I know I want you to stay. I know I don’t want to live without you.”

He’s closing the space between us before I’ve gotten the second sentence out, and no sooner have I stopped speaking than his arms are around me, yanking me against him.

His fingers delve into my hair, and just when I think he’s going to ravage my mouth, he stops, his lips hovering over mine as he whispers, “Sei la mia vita.”

The first brush of his lips is tentative as if he’s still offering me an out, and I respond by pressing my breasts against his chest, my hands gripping his sides, holding him in place. I raise myself up on my toes, my lips meeting his firmly, and his lips part, brushing, nipping, and caressing until we’re both breathless.

I move my hands around so I’m gripping his mid-back and we’re flush against each other. His head tilts just so, and we sink in, tongues tangling, lips clinging, bodies vibrating.

Slowly, we pull apart, though only so far as our mouths are no longer touching, our panting breaths intermingled. My breasts remain against his chest, his erection prominent against my stomach, and desire thrums through me, hot and unfettered.

“What now?” His whispered question is gruff, his body tense, but his eyes remain steady, his hands in my hair massaging rather than pulling. I brush my lips over his again, enjoying the feel and taste of him, even while absolute terror flows through my veins.

My first instinct is to bail, to turn tail and run as fast and as far as possible, to run and never look back.

He must see the panic on my face because his hands tighten slightly, his desire-darkened eyes narrowing. He shakes his head, his mouth opening to speak, but I squeeze him with my arms. My vision suddenly blurs as the panic eases, making way for the flood of emotion I’ve spent my entire life suppressing.

I laugh, tears overflowing, and for a brief moment, I get a clear glimpse of his face, wide-eyed, slightly panic-stricken, and I laugh louder. Euphoria rushes over me, and I kiss him again, easing the worry lining his face at my random outburst.

I step away, and my hands move from his back, sliding up his chest and over his shoulders until my arms are wrapped around his neck, and I pull him down, pressing my lips against his ear.

“Now, we do our best not to fuck it up.”

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