within seconds, my hips are slapping against her in wet, oily smacks that fuel our passion.
When Abigail throws her head back, I wrap my fingers into her hair, pulling her tight and pounding her mercilessly as she’s reduced to being totally in my control. The table shakes, both of us making the wooden struts creak as we drive ourselves to the limit. We’re desperate, or at least I am, fucking myself into her body, her mind, her memory. If that’s what I’m going to be reduced to, I’m going to make it count. I want this to be the moment she compares all others to. I want to be the man she compares everyone else to.
I growl because . . . fuck that. There aren’t going to be any other men, any other lovers, any other orgasms. Not for mia rosa.
“You’re mine,” I growl, tugging on her hair to emphasize my point. “Say it!”
“Yours,” Abigail cries, and I slam home as hard as I can one last time, exploding deep inside her. It’s the most intense orgasm of my life, and Abigail’s body spasms around my erupting cock as I give her what she wants.
As we give each other what we need for as long as we have left.
She sags completely, collapsing into my arms even as I stay nestled inside her. I lower her back to the table, and I soften and slip out.
It’s too soon. It feels final and I want more.
She flips over, ungraceful as she scoots her ass to the side of the table and throws a leg over my head, nearly knocking me out. The only way I avoid a potential concussion is because of my timely duck.
But Abigail’s smile isn’t one that acknowledges the silly awkwardness of the move. No, it’s her fake one, forced to her lips but not reaching her eyes.
Our eyes search each other’s, looking for . . . something. A clue that I’m wrong? A sign that maybe this could be more?
But I see only sadness. I can feel that it’s not only the hour in this room, or the amazing sex, that’s done. There’s a lot that’s over with today. Like us, like this fake honeymoon that became something else to me.
She was making love with me so desperately to tell me goodbye. It’s in her eyes, and I can feel her walls going back up.
I’ve never been the one left behind. I’m usually the one who leaves, so I never realized how much it sucks to know that someone’s walking away from you. Oh, our planes might be going back to the same town, but we’re going back to something very different.
Chapter 21
Abi
I can already hear them in my apartment and I’m still down the hall, my suitcase bumping along behind me. “Oops, shit,” I bark out as the hard side case twists in my hand and the corner bumps into the wall, leaving a black mark on the pristine white paint.
“Perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect,” I bitch aloud, not caring about Mrs. Miller’s kids overhearing my curses or anyone thinking I’ve lost my marbles for talking to myself. Especially when the rebound makes the wheel run up on my heel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I repeat, hopping on one foot and rubbing at the pain.
I knock on my own door, not willing to dig my keys out when everyone’s helped themselves to my place anyway. The door swings open, and Violet dramatically waves an arm through the air as though she’s a Price Is Right girl and I’ve won access to my own apartment. She doesn’t look like a game show girl, though, in sweatpants and one of Ross’s oversized gym shirts. She does look freshly showered, at least. “Come in! We’ve been waiting for you. We’re ready to hear everything!”
“No cheating!” Archie calls out from somewhere inside.
“Cheating?” I ask.
Violet rolls her eyes, “At Aruba Bingo. Archie’s idea. Game is . . . you don’t know the words, but you have to tell us all about the wedding, your trip, Lorenzo, the works, and we have pennies to mark our cards. Winner gets to take home a bottle of wine . . . if there’s any left.”
I smile. I swear I do. But Violet’s eyes go dark and her jaw clenches.
“That son of a bitch!” she hisses. “I’ll kill him for you, don’t you worry about a thing, girl. I’ll send his body back to Italy in pieces and Aunt Sofia will handle things on that end. She knows people.”