“Don’t worry,” he whispers, thinking I’m scared because of how close it got to becoming violent. “They’re gone. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
I urge myself to tell him now. About the baby. About everything. It’s the perfect moment. His hand in my hair, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his firm body against mine.
But then Nario and Carlo are talking business, something about changing hotels. The moment passes and Ubert hustles me into the car. I’m so sick at keeping this secret that I just climb in silently. Maybe there’s a little morning sickness, too, which I’ve learned is in desperate need of rebranding. Morning sickness, my ass.
Carlo doesn’t say much during the drive home. I just look out at Manhattan, at my reflection, imagining a thousand different scenarios where I tell him the truth.
None of them go well.
I feel like I’m diffusing a bomb as I undress for bed, taking out the honeycomb clips one by one. At least I have Carlo to help unlace the back of my dress, standing behind me, his groin a hard length of pleasure grazing through the thin fabric.
“Are you okay, Hazel?” he whispers.
He pulls my bra loose and lets it drop to the floor. Then our hands are all over each other. I tear his jacket off and rip his shirt so that buttons go flying with pings. I leap on him, grinding my panties against his boxer shorts. He still has his shoes on. His pants are trapping him, twisting around his ankles.
“I need you,” I whisper, kissing his chest. Kissing his scar. I close my mind to what it all means. I just live in the moment.
He bites my lip. I bite back.
“I don’t want you. I need you.”
He reaches down and palms me between the legs with his whole hand. The pressure is so much that I close my eyes, see red, and can’t do anything but ride his hand like I’m sitting on top of a mechanical bull. When he releases me, his boxers are around his knees and his cock is grazing my clit.
I tug at my panties, the material suddenly the most annoying thing in the universe. I don’t care if it cuts into my hips as I snap them, or that they probably cost like a quarter of my old rent.
“Fuck, those heels,” Carlo whispers, looking down the bed.
I lean up and grab the base of his cock.
“You’re always so wet for me,” he whispers as I guiding him into me.
“Always,” I moan. His chest is heaving. Sweat slides down between his abs.
He moves his hands up my legs. At first, I think he’s going to spank me, or grab my ass, but then he keeps going, trailing fingers achingly up my side and tingling up my neck. Finally, he brushes my hair from my face and cradles my cheeks. He just stares at me as I rock slowly, rolling my hips so that his cock shifts at angles inside of me. It’s like we’re exploring each other.
“I need you,” he whispers. “I need your—oh fuck, Hazel, keep doing that—I need—Jesus, you feel so good. You feel so fucking good.” He speaks slowly, his voice choked with moans of pleasure.
I grip onto his chest, leaning down. He keeps his hands on my face, only moving to tenderly brush a strand of hair from my forehead. “I’m close,” I whisper.
He lets go of my face and wraps his arms around me, hugging me as we rock back and forth.
Our releases come at the same time. I find his lips and we inhale each other as the pleasure lengthens and folds in on itself, again and again.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Carlo whispers, kissing the top of my head.
“I …” Can you? Can you? Of course you fucking can! But I keep it casual. “Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.”
The only time we move is to clean up and slip under the covers. I expect Carlo to be gone when I wake up, but he’s still there, his body a solid, very un-shadow-like mass beside me, sleeping soundly.
25
Carlo
I stand at the edge of the kitchen watching Emily, Mother, and Hazel prepare for the picnic. It’s been three days since the dinner with Nario and I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can no longer deny my feelings for Hazel. Nothing, practically speaking, has changed. It’s still dangerous. There is still risk involved. My life is one of