These emotions of his are as dangerous as wildfire. I need to put them out, or keep them contained at least. And I need to stamp out the same fire he’s lit in me, too, for now.
I can’t think when I’m near him, and that terrifies me.
It could kill him if I don’t get my shit together. Literally kill him.
The next morning I wake after the deepest and calmest sleep I think I’ve ever known, and find Finch in my bed still, his back to me. I have my arm around him again, and he snuggles closer with a sleepy sigh as I tighten my hold, his well-toned ass rubbing into my crotch.
He gives an appreciative moan as my cock comes to life, and reaches back to pull my hip towards him. He’s still slick from the night before; I can feel it when I slide my fingers between his cheeks. His hole is a mess of worn lube and my cum, and it should disgust me, but it only makes me harder.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs sleepily, and his hand reaches down awkwardly between us, bumping into mine where I’m fingering him. He squeezes my cock and pulls it closer, begging without words.
Well. I’m only human.
I slide into him easy as anything, and he’s so warm and welcoming I let out a moan of my own. We rock slowly, building our pleasure together. It’s so unlike the hard fuck of the night before. This feels even more intimate, more emotional. My body is betraying me, but I can’t help hoping that he understands what it’s saying.
All the same, I’ve made a decision. I will squash any emotions I have towards him, at least until we get back to New York and I can see how the battlefield is set up. I just won’t love him until we’re safe. Love is a choice that I’ve never bothered to make before, and I’ll put it away from me again now, fold it up and shove it in the back of a drawer like a winter sweater when springtime hits.
Simple.
After I’ve emptied myself into him and wrung a long, sweet orgasm out of him as well, I roll back and stare at the ceiling. “We’re docking today,” I say casually, like nothing has happened. “Not for long. Fuscone asked me to check in on one of his business interests while we were down here.”
“Oh,” Finch says. “That could be fun. Maybe I—”
“You’ll stay here on the Maddalena.”
He flops over at that, staring at me. “The hell I will.”
I get out of the bed without looking at him. “You’ll do what you’re told.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” He flies out of bed and bolts around it to halt me, a hand in the middle of my chest. “Nope. You don’t get to dump a load in my ass and then tell me I’m confined to quarters until you feel like another fuck. You’re my husband, Luca, and this is our fucking honeymoon. So we will spend time together, we will get to know each other better, and we will enjoy it!”
He’s risen to a shout by the end of his tirade, stabbing me in the sternum with a finger.
“Take your hand off me if you want to keep it,” I say quietly.
His anger dies almost as quickly as it arose, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he pulls his finger back and his eyes drop. I step forward and tip his face up, making him look at me. “You don’t shout at me. You don’t demand things from me. You take what you’re given and you say, ‘Thank you, Luca.’ Understand?”
His mouth firms in a thin, pale line. “Fuck you.”
My fingers tighten on his chin. “Only if you behave yourself, angel,” I say lightly, and finally he gives, pulls his face from my hand. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your vows already? You promised to love, honor and obey.”
Part of me wants to tell him to wait. To just hold on to that avalanche of feeling inside him and just wait until we get back to New York, until we get back to a place where I feel secure, where I know I can protect him. But I don’t believe he can hold back his emotions, not like I can. And besides that, I can’t have him questioning every decision I make. If I need to stop and explain every move I make, I’ll never fucking move at all. No, he just needs to do as he’s told for now.
“You need to learn to trust me. To do what I tell you, and trust that it’s for your own good. Understand?”
He gives me a contemptuous glance, but he won’t meet my eyes. “There are some moments I actually hate you,” he says, almost too quietly for me to hear.
But I do hear it, and it feels like a knife slicing into me, into my heart. It’s a good thing if he hates me a little, I tell myself. A good thing.
“That’s fine. You can hate me all you like, so long as you do what I say. And what I’m saying now is, stay on the damn boat,” I tell him.
I brush past him on my way to the bathroom. When I come back out, he’s gone.
This is what you want, I remind myself. Keep him off balance. At least until we’re back in New York and you can control the environment.
We waited five years, we can wait another few weeks.
The thing is, I seem to be off-balance as well, an unfamiliar feeling gurgling in my belly. It takes a moment to place it. I’ve only felt it once before, five years ago when I walked out of Finch’s suite without a backwards glance.
Regret.
Chapter Eighteen
FINCH
Fuck Luciano D’Amato.
I hope he
