Page 111 of The Ache That Stayed

His hand left my wrist and landed at my waist. Pulling me closer to him. It slid upward, from my waist, slow enough that I felt every inch of it—until it settled over my breast. He held it there, like he was giving me time to stop him. I didn’t. The warmth of his hand seeped through me right to my core.

Logic didn’t disappear all at once. It fought. It reminded me who I was. Who I loved. Who I was supposed to be.

But every warning in my head was drowned out by the heat building low in my stomach. My body answered louder, pulse thudding against his fingers like it was begging him not to stop.

I was losing the fight as this heat, this pull, this overwhelming, consuming need, drowned everything else out.

Guilt. Fear. Consequences.

All of it blurred at the edges, fading under the weight of something far more dangerous.

Hunger.

I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt, anchoring myself to him. And that was the moment I realised—lust wasn’t just winning. It had already won.

His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric first. Testing. The contact sent a sharp, electric jolt through me.

I bit my lip, swallowing the sound escaping my throat. Then—he circled. Slow. Measured. My entire body reacted instantly. An electric jolt coursed through me, and every inch of my body became a nerve ending, sensitive and throbbing with arousal.

I should stop him. I knew I should.

Marcello’s name rose inside my head like a warning—a life built on solid ground. But it slipped through my fingers.

Because Santino’s mouth was still at my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and every kiss he pressed there made it harder to remember why I was fighting in the first place.

Resistance stopped being instinct. And it became effort.

And God help me—I was getting tired.

My breath came out uneven as his thumb moved again, and my resolve cracked. Another slow pass—firmer this time. A broken sound escaped me. He smiled against my skin and bit down on the sensitive point below my ear, which made my stomach tighten.

“You react differently to me,” he murmured, voice low, cataloguing my every response.

His thumb circled again, before flicking his finger on it.

“Your breath gives you away.”

My fingers tightened against his chest, gripping, pulling him closer, desperate for more of that touch. My breast felt heavy, desperate, aching to be pinched, sucked, claimed. My body chasing the sensation before I could stop myself.

“There’s this blush,” he murmured, his nose brushing my cheek, “like your body forgets how to lie.”

His thumb slowed over my pulse in my neck, his gaze locking onto mine, knowing.

“There’s something in you that answers to something in me.”

The words shouldn’t have made sense, but they did.

“You may not believe it,” he murmured, his nose brushing mine, “but at some fucked-up, karmic level, I think our souls recognised each other before we ever did.”

His gaze held mine, frighteningly certain.

“And maybe that’s why I was never able to leave you behind. Maybe I was always going to find my way back to you.”

His thumb stroked my pulse once. I choked on my breath.

“I’ve seen it, in your eyes,” he murmured. “And I know you’ve seen it in mine.”

His grip flexed—just slightly.