Page 67 of His Cruel Exception

“Francesco and Cosimo are dead, and whatever coup they were planning is over,” he continues, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that's escaped down my cheek. “If others rise in the future and threaten you, I will kill them before they can get near you. You belong with me, baby. I'm never letting you go.”

Whatever little resolve I have left finally crumbles. I step closer and wrap my arms around his waist, careful of his injuries, before burying my face against his chest.

He holds me tightly with his good arm, and I close my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. God, I've missed him. I've missed his warmth, his voice, and the comfort of being in his arms. I've even missed his ridiculous need to know where I am every second of the day.

“I love you, too.” I push past the lump in my throat, tightening my arms around him. “And seeing you on that hospital bed was too difficult. I'm sorry.”

“I know,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to my hair.

I lift my head to look at him, and before I can think better of it, I rise onto my toes and press my lips against his. Antonio’s good arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer as he kisses me back. I slip my arms around his neck, careful of the dressing, and part my lips when his tongue brushes against them.

God, I’ve missed this.

I’ve missed the way he kisses me. I kiss him harder, wanting to make up for every miserable day we’ve spent apart. Antonio’s hand slides up my back before settling at the nape of my neck, his fingers slipping into my hair as he deepens the kiss.

I let out a soft moan when I feel his cock hardening against me, his good hand squeezing my ass, and heat curls low in my stomach when he pulls me even closer. “Fuck, I want you,” he rasps against my mouth.

For one reckless second, I almost let him keep going. I’ve missed him too much, missed his hands and his mouth and the way everything else disappears when he touches me, but then my fingers brush too close to the dressing around his neck and reality comes crashing back.

I reluctantly pull away, but I don’t go far. I keep my hands around his neck as I try to catch my breath. “We should stop,” I say, even though every part of me is protesting the idea. “You’re injured and shouldn’t even be thinking about sex.”

His mouth curves into a smile as his hand leaves my ass and slips under my shirt. “My neck and arm are injured, baby. There’s nothing wrong with my cock.”

I laugh and close my fingers around his wrist before his hand can wander any farther. “I’m not explaining to your father and cousins that you reopened your wounds because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

Antonio laughs, then winces and brings his hand to his neck.

“See?” I say, giving him a pointed look. “You can’t even laugh without hurting yourself.”

He rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth is still twitching. “Okay,” he says with a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter

Thirty-Three

ALEX

Antonio is taking me on a date.

He went all out with it too, because my room at his house is currently overflowing with roses. There are bouquets everywhere, covering the dresser, the nightstands, the table by the windows, and even taking up space on the floor because there was nowhere else to put them. Red, pink, white, yellow, peach, all of them filling the room with the sweet scent of roses.

I stand in the middle of it all for a while, running my fingers over the soft petals of one of the bouquets, still a little stunned by the fact that Antonio remembered since I only told him once that roses are my favorite.

I should have known better. Antonio remembers things I don’t even remember telling him, stores them somewhere inside that complicated head of his, and then brings them back when I least expect it.

It’s been three weeks since he brought me back from Minnesota, and if I hadn’t experienced the Antonio from the early days, I’m not sure I would believe this is the same man.

He’s so gentle with me, even more than he was after I told him I loved him for the first time. He’s utterly besotted with me. There’s still something intense about the way he loves, but I can talk to him now without rehearsing every sentence in my head first, turning the words over and over while trying to figure out the safest way to arrange them before they leave my mouth. I don’t have to carefully judge his mood or wonder whether one wrong comment will end with me bent over something while he decides how I should be punished.

Although, if I’m being completely fair, the punishments were never entirely terrible.

Fine. I’ll just say it.

I loved some of them.

I especially loved the punishment I got for running away, which involved Antonio fucking me until I was sore, exhausted, and so close to passing out that I could barely remember my own name afterward.

I think I should run away more often.