Page 39 of Forgotten Vows

"I have a dad?" His voice is slightly shaky, and I feel something crack in my chest. "This is my dad?"

Adriana swallows hard. "Yes," she says finally, glancing at me and then at Matteo. "This is your father, Matteo. I?—"

His chin wobbles almost immediately. "Why—why didn't you tell me? Why—" His gaze darts back and forth between us, his eyes suddenly glossy, and the room feels tense with the possibility of all the things that could be said.

Adriana takes a slow breath. "It's very complicated," she says finally. "You'll be able to understand it better when you're older, sweetheart. But your dad had to leave, so that he would be safe. And I couldn't talk to you about it, in order to keep him safe. But now he's here." Her voice shakes a little at the end, and I can tell that she's saying this not because she believes it, exactly, but because she needs Matteo to believe it, to feel safe.

Matteo sits there for a moment, his little hands clenched together, thinking all of this over. He looks at his mother, and then he looks at me, his face serious.

"Okay," he says finally. It's not acceptance or trust exactly, not trust, but it's a willingness to consider the possibility that I might be telling the truth—that I might actually care about him and his mother. That I might be different from the other men in his life.

It's a start.

We spend another hour together with me watching him play his game after Adriana leaves to give us a little space together, and occasionally asking questions. I can see him starting to relax a little around me. And for that hour, I let myself forget about the war that's coming, about Adriana's anger and hurt, about all the ways I'vefucked this up. I just focus on being here with my son and trying to be the father he deserves, even though I have no idea what I'm doing.

But when I finally leave his room and make my way back to my own, I'm alone again with nothing to distract me from my thoughts. Everything comes crashing back—the conversation with Gio, the war preparations, Adriana's accusations, the security that she sees as control rather than protection, the unbearable sexual tension that's driving me slowly insane.

I can hear her moving around in her room as I pass by it and hear the soft sounds of her getting ready for bed. I'm painfully aware of the fact that she's so close I could reach her in seconds. If I wanted to, I could demand that she let me in, that she talk to me and acknowledge this thing between us that's been burning for ten years.

But I don't. She's already so far away from me emotionally, and pushing her will only make things worse. I have to believe that the longer she's here, the more she sees what I'm willing to do to keep her, the lengths I'll go, she'll soften toward me again. She'll see how much I love her.

I stand there for a long moment, and I lean my forehead against the door, hearing the soft rustling of the bed as she gets into it. The thought of her there hardens my cock instantly, and I clench my teeth to keep from groaning as pain and desire flood my nerves all at once.

This is driving me mad. I need her. I'm starved for touch, for intimacy, and nothing will do except the woman I love…thiswoman. My cock throbs and I curl my hands into fists, feeling my heart beat in time with the throb of blood lower down. She has everything of me—my heart, my body, my fucking soul, and I don't know how long I can take this.

She has to relent. Shehasto. There's no way we can have come this far, finally be together again, only for her to reject any possibility that this was always meant to be.

Finally, I manage to drag myself away from her door and down the hall, retreating to my own room. I close the door and let out a ragged breath, undressing hastily as I go to the bed, my fist already around my cock and stroking before I'm even lying down.

I'm so fucking sore, even with pre-cum slicking my reddened shaft, but I can't stop. I run my fist raggedly up and down, desperate for the orgasm that will give me a sliver of relief, enough to hopefully sleep tonight. My fantasies are a muddled montage of things we did together over the years—stolen kisses, her hand sneaking down my jeans and mine up under her skirt, that night in the garden when I was finally inside of her—and feverish fantasies of things we've never done. Her on her knees, my cockhead pressed against her tongue, her bent over a bed, bent over in the shower, on top of me, breasts bouncing as she rides the same cock that's throbbing desperately for her right now. I stroke and stroke, gasping as I moan her name, one fist balling up in the bedsheets as I finally feel the hot surge of release that will give me a momentary reprieve.

I come hard, harder than I should considering how many times a day I've been doing this since I found her, spurts of it spattering over my rock-hard abs and chest. The last couple drips over my hand, the wet heat soothing my battered cock momentarily, and as I feel it start to soften, I let out a breath.

Maybe I'll get some sleep tonight. I'll dream about her, and I'll wake up in the morning hard again, but at least I can rest for a moment.

I won't be able to really rest until she's truly mine, though. Not until she believes me that I still love her, that I'll do anything to make her love me again, to keep her.

Not until she's lying in my arms again, breathless and satisfied with my cum inside of her instead of dripping off my abs.

11

LACHLAN

The morning comes too early, dragging me out of a restless half-sleep that's done nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing down my bones. I'm in the kitchen making coffee when Adriana appears in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back from her face, wearing her usual clothing. There's plenty of variety in what I bought for her, but she's stuck to jeans and a too-big T-shirt every day. I don't understand why.

She looks tired, with shadows under her eyes that tell me she didn't sleep any better than I did. She looks hesitant, like she wants to ask me for something but isn't sure she can.

Finally, she takes a breath and seems to gather her courage. "I need clothes," she says without preamble, her voice carefully neutral. It almost sounds like she's rehearsed this, which confuses me. "Not just what you bought me. I need... I need things that are mine. That I picked out for myself."

Her complexion has gone paler, like she thinks I'm going to lash out at her for it, and her hands are clenched at her sides, her jaw is tight with tension. It stokes the embers of the anger I carry around with me all the time now, ever since I found out she was being kept prisoner in that house.

She's afraid to ask me for this, and I don't fully understand why. On the surface level, I know it must be because of Gio, butwhyexactly, I don't know. And I hate that she's looking at me like that.

"I need to go shopping," she says, and my stomach sinks. I'm going to have to deny something she wants, and I know that's going to make things worse, not better.

"I can have someone bring you things to choose from here," I say carefully. I see her face fall the moment I start to speak. "It's dangerous right now, Adriana. I can't risk what might happen if you leave, even with considerable security. You know your brother better than I do; do you really think that's a good idea?"

Her lips press together, and I can tell she doesn't want to admit that I might be right. "This really is a prison," she snaps. "You could send as many guys as you want with me, Lachlan, but that's not enough, is it? You have to keep me locked in here."