Page 14 of Sins of Bliss
“You saved her,” she breathes, giving me a tight-lipped smile as she tries to hold back her tears.
“Sì, piccola ladra, I did. I am lucky, and grateful, to be alive. I escaped with only a tension pneumothorax caused by fragments from the bullet. My collapsed lung should heal within the next week or two. The only true worry is allowing the bullet wound to heal without infection.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if you had died, Sly. Hearing you were shot nearly broke me. I can’t…I can’t…” she sobs through the tears that flow freely down her cheeks.
Grabbing her face, I can no longer hold myself back and coax her to move so I can reach her lips. Kissing her slowly, I convey with my body what I’m unable to with my words. With our mouths connected, all the love I’ve never stopped feeling comesrushing to the surface, unlocked by the simple touch of her lips to mine.
Immediately, they begin their familiar dance. Long strokes of our tongues and nibbles to the lips. The exploration of hands.
I can’t bring myself to console her, to continue whispering words of adoration and declaring my undying love for her, when my subconscious screams at me that she’sstillengaged. So I let my actions speak for me.
The kiss begins tender as we allow her tears to slow, but as soon as I can feel her breathing even out, I deepen it. I feel myself grow stiff beneath her again, and with a small moan from her lips, I know she feels it, too.
Desperately, I need to be inside her. The need is carnal and raw—the desire to simply unite our bodies, even if it does not end in release. I just need to feel her.
As I pull back to gaze at her, there’s a look I don’t recognize in her eyes, but also, one I do.
Desire.
“Vinnie,” I breathe, lowering my face to meet hers as she tilts her head upward.
“Please,” she begs, her features coated with sorrow and need.
I don’t ask for clarification, nor do I wait for her to change her mind.
She’s careful not to go near my chest and the bandage that covers it, but her fingers play against my lower abdomen, and my muscles constrict from her tender touch.
From within the loose-fitting pajama pants I am wearing, my length hardens, pushing the fabric upward as it tents it.
Our kiss continues, neither of us pulling away to catch a breath of air. It’s slow, passionate, and full of unspoken words and longing. Regardless of her behavior since her arrival, and our lack of contact over these last several months, it is clear she has missed me as much as I’ve missed her.
It confuses me—the actions of her body differ so drastically from her words. Still, I try to push it from my thoughts and live in the moment with her.
What matters is she’s in my arms—and in my bed—right now. Regardless of how long it may be for.
Unable to maneuver too much due to the pain, I slide my hand from under her body and up into her shirt, stroking the soft skin of her lower back.
As our mouths continue to reacquaint, I find her jeans are stretchy enough for me to push my hand into them and grip her backside. A soft moan floats from her lips to mine, and her hand drifts down to my cock. She palms it through the fabric, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt her touch that my eyes roll back into my head.
“Take off your pants, piccola ladra.” I tug at the waistband of her jeans for emphasis. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”
“Sly,” she groans, but the sound is less a protest and more a blissful approval.
Reaching to the button, I unhook it, then push her zipper down. Carefully, she pushes her jeans from her hips and past her thighs. When they reach her ankles, she sits up to finish removing them, and I hear them drop to the floor.
My thumb hooks through the lace of her panties, and I snap them softly against her skin. “These as well.”
When her eyes meet mine, I can see the hesitation. “You’re injured, Sly. We can’t?—”
It is not lost on me that her hesitation is because of my wound, not her fiànce. “I need to feel you.” My words are practically a growl, my control hanging on by a thread, about to snap.
This woman drives me wild. We’ve spent more time apart than we spent together, yet, now, being back in her presence, it’s like we’ve never missed a day.
“Okay,” Vinnie whispers, pushing the scrap of fabric down her legs. As soon as she kicks them off, my hands are on her hips and I’m pulling her onto my body.
I suck a sharp intake of air between my clenched teeth, fighting through the singe of pain the movement sends through my chest as it stretches my stitches.
Concern floods her features and I nod my head slightly—I am okay.
