Page 15 of The Satyr Next Door
When the tremors finally eased, I collapsed against his chest, boneless. His hand stroked my hair, soothing, possessive, as if my shuddering body was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“Goddess,” he whispered against my temple. “You’ll destroy me.”
I might have told him I wanted to. I might have begged him for more.
But the distant screech of brakes shattered everything.
I jerked upright. The school bus.
“Damn,” I whispered, fumbling for the basket, my shirt, anything to make me look less like a woman caught in the middle of something dangerous.
Cal didn’t move quickly. He leaned back against the tree, breathing hard, eyes blazing.
“They’re home,” I babbled, shoving bread into the basket with shaking hands.
“Then fate is cruel,” he said with a grin that made my knees weak.
“Cal—”
He caught my wrist, pressed his thumb to my pulse, steadying me. “We’ll finish this later,Bella.”
My body ached in agreement. My mind spun excuses. My heart hammered like it wanted to leap back into his hand.
By the time I slipped through the gate into my own yard, the kids were trudging up the steps, loud and oblivious.
I pasted on my mom-smile, basket clutched to my chest, the taste of fruit and wine and Cal still hot on my tongue.
And for the rest of the afternoon, no matter how many arguments I mediated or math worksheets I checked, my body thrummed with memory.
We’d finish this later.
Chapter 9
Gina
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of half-remembered domesticity.
I must have folded laundry, there were neat piles on Aria's dresser that hadn't been there before. I must have signed permission slips and argued with Luca about screen time, told Aria three times to stop leaving her sneakers in the hallway like land mines waiting to trip someone. I definitely made dinner, spaghetti with jarred sauce, nothing fancy, and washed dishes while the kids bickered over whose turn it was to feed the neighborhood cat.
But all I really remembered was Cal.
The heat of his hand cupping my breast through thin cotton. His mouth on mine. The shocking weight of him pressing hard against me where before I’d foolishly thought there was nothing to worry about.
I moved through my evening like a woman underwater, present, but not really there. Every sound in the house was muffled: sneakers on the stairs, dishes clattering in the sink, Aria’s music drifting down the hall. Beneath it all, the same thrumming awareness. The truth I couldn’t escape.
I had wanted him. Desperately. Shamelessly. Completely.
More than I’d wanted anything in years.
To be seen as a woman instead of just Mom.
By the time the kids went upstairs, kissed on the forehead with extrati amosto atone for the sinful thoughts crowding my head, the ache inside me was unbearable.
When I finally collapsed into bed, still in the clothes I’d worn in his garden, I was vibrating with restless energy.
The taste of him lingered on my lips. I could still feel the brush of his horns on my fingers, the reverent press of his thumb against my pulse, like he wanted to memorize the rhythm of my heart.
And my answer to him had been yes. Every cell in my body had screamed yes.
