His gaze drops to my bikini wax. He wets his lips, raises a brow. “That for me?”
“It’s all for you,” I tell him, parting my legs.
His mouth curls into a crooked smile, the kind that unleashes a million butterflies inside my chest, making me feel so fucking giddy.
Then he’s on me.
Lips, mouth, leaving long, hot kisses.
His weight pressed against me, the hard length of his cock grinding against my skin.
I’m completely insatiable, starved, ravenous, the hunger that rolls through me is so painful that I cry out, digging my nails into his back. The need inside me aches something deep and fierce and we can’t quite move fast enough to quell it.
It’s a desire that consumes me whole.
He pushes himself inside me and I gasp, my body practically revirginized now, despite the very heavy usage of my vibrator collection and our frequent phone sex.
I melt into him, the pain slipping into pleasure as he rocks into me.
We don’t talk.
There is no need.
Our bodies do the talking, as they always have, as they always will.
The room fills with the sound of our love, the creak of the bed, the slick wet noise as he pumps in and out of me, his raspy breath, my light, airy moans.
Home.
I’m home.
A tear falls from the corner of my eyes as I grab hold of him tighter, wanting him in deeper, until we’re one and can never be parted.
“I love you,” he whispers roughly to me, kissing my lips, my neck, my breast.
“Amo-te,” I tell him.
He grins at me and I feel a dam burst in my heart, flooding me with love from head to toe, this wild, feverish love I have for Luciano.
Both of us have waited so long, however, that neither of us have any patience left.
We’re not taking our time.
We have eternity for that.
With a slick slip of his fingers, I’m coming.
Then he grunts as he pounds into me, stiffening as he lets go.
We come together, our bodies in sync, our souls swirling around each other, tangling tighter and tighter until we’re forever joined.
He rests on top of me, his breath heavy, my heart wild, and we lie like that for as long as we can, until the world we created comes back into focus, the stars bleeding in.
I reach up and brush his hair off his forehead. I grin through my tears, so fucking happy, kissing his chin, his cheek, his mouth.
His eyes sharpen briefly, his love for me palpable.
“Ruby,” he whispers to me. “Will you marry me?”
I beam at him. “I’ve already said yes.”
“Will you say yes again?”
“Yes,” I say softly, joy radiating outward until it becomes me. “Always yes.”
He kisses me on the forehead, grinning, and then he rolls over to his bedside table. I hear him open a drawer, rummage around.
Then he rolls back over, holding out a ring.
A beautiful sparkling diamond that catches even the dimmest light in the room.
I gasp, staring at him open-mouthed.
He gives me a nervous, shaky smile and grabs my hand, slipping it over my ring finger, covering the tattoo.
“There,” he says. “Now it’s official.”
“It’s real,” I say, another set of tears wanting to drown me as I stare at my hand.
“It’s always been real,” he says, bringing the ring to his lips and kissing it. “You and me. It’s always been real, Ruby.”
Real.
We’re raw and messy and lost and found but what we’ve always been is real.
What we’ve always been is us.
Epilogue
Luciano
Six Years Later
“Papá!” Afonso yells at me. “She’s being a brat!”
I twist around in the saddle to look at my son, who is trying desperately to raise the head of Pimenta, his pony. I knew that buying him a mare named after a pepper was probably a bad idea, but Afonso has always been so insistent that he have something wild. I think he’s watched The Black Stallion too many times.
“Pull her head up,” I tell him. “Yank on the reins. No, no, not so harsh. More of a gentle yank.”
Ruby snorts from behind her son, rolling her eyes. She’s riding her gelding, Ferdinand, another wild one. But the black Lusitano suits her just fine. They both have matching ebony manes, both are a little on the flighty side.
And they both keep me on my toes.
As does Afonso. I don’t know how a five-year old can so perfectly tire me out more than any Champions League game I’ve played, but it’s true. Somehow he takes it easy on his mother, but when it comes to me, it’s a whole other story.
“Perhaps you are too young to be riding off the lead line,” I tell Afonso with mock disappointment, knowing it’s going to rile him up.
“No!” he cries out, and gives the reins another, not-so-gentle pull.
Finally, Pimenta lifts her head and we go back to plodding along the trail, though I know it’s only a matter of time before the pony tries to eat another patch of grass. We go riding on this trail about once a week, an easy jaunt past the pastures at the base of the mountains, but until today Afonso has always been led by either me or Ruby. Today we wanted to let him finally be on his own.
At least the pony is fat and lazy enough that she won’t go running off, even though she loves to kick up a fuss.
“Should we head back soon?” Ruby asks. “You have your game tonight.”
She’s right. I glance at Afonso who gives me a pleading look with his hazel eyes, the mop of black hair sticking out from under his helmet.
“We can do another ten minutes,” I say, trying to compromise. Afonso and Ruby are coming to the game today anyway, and the football pitch is our son’s second favorite place to be, after the barn.
We ride along, taking in the sounds of the birds, the morning winter sunshine that’s blissfully weak yet still warm. It gets hot as sin here in
