Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I needed to leave her the fuck alone.
I needed to get some fucking sleep.
But as I climbed into the bed, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from curling toward her, from wrapping an arm around her.
She made those sweet little kitten noises in her sleep, wiggling back against me.
And, yeah, my cock stirred to life.
But it was something other than that.
A feeling that moved through my gut and up across my chest.
It was a sensation that didn’t have me running my hands over her, waking her up, and burying inside of her.
Instead, it had me holding her close, drifting off to sleep with the feel and scent of her all over me.
And I had no fucking idea what that meant.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lore
“Hey, Mrs. Lombardi,” Elian greeted me, giving me his usual smile, but there was a tightness around his eyes.
“Hey, Elian. You look like you didn’t sleep well last night,” I said, going toward the coffee pot, but finding it cold already.
More proof that Renzo had been gone for hours.
I wouldn’t have even known that he’d been home at all if not for the clothes on the floor.
I’d dreamt of him endlessly the night before.
Not the sweaty, frustrating, fantasy dreams I’d been plagued with thanks to not having had any relief for so long now. Something that had my mind running wild with ideas of Renzo being sick of me. Of Renzo going and finding someone else to have sex with. Thoughts that had been making me too queasy to even eat since they came to mind almost a week ago now.
No, these were softer, sweeter dreams.
Ones of him holding me tight.
No sex.
Just intimacy.
Just… closeness.
But, of course, I woke up alone yet again. With no hope of seeing him. Yet again. Let alone have him hold me.
“I didn’t,” he admitted as I started to reach for the coffee, but then thought better of it.
“Hey, you want to go get some good coffee with me?” I asked.
“Good coffee?” he asked.
“You know. The kind with lots of cream and sugar and whipped cream. More calories than a whole meal. That good kind.”
His lips curved up at that, his smile a little softer. But then went sad.
“I can’t leave the door,” he told me, his face falling all the more as I felt my own mood plummet.
Right.
The door.
The only reason Elian was even here.
Not for me.
Not to be my friend.
I didn’t have friends here.
I didn’t have family.
I didn’t really even have a husband.
The weight of that crashed down on me, leaving me feeling a hundred pounds heavier, making my chest go concave.
“Right,” I said, forcing a smile, figuring Elian was likely sick of seeing me sad. Almost as sick as I was of being sad. “How about I bring you back one?” I asked, putting some extra pep in my words, even if I knew he could see right through it.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he said, giving me that sympathetic smile of his that only ever felt like knives to my already tender heart.
Because he, practically a stranger to me, saw how unhappy I was. While my own husband was oblivious.
“What’s your favorite flavor? I think I’m leaning toward mocha today. I could use some chocolate.”
“I could go for that.”
“Whipped cream? Fair warning, I will judge you if you opt out of whipped cream. It’s the best part.”
“Whipped cream sounds good.”
“Hot or cold? I know it’s like twenty degrees out, but I am feeling a frappe today.”
“Get me what you’re getting yourself,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“You better not be reaching for money,” I said, small eyeing him. “My treat. Well, Renzo’s treat,” I said, just his name causing a pang.
“Alright,” he said, not wanting to push it, likely seeing my achy heart in my eyes.
“Okay. I will be… twenty minutes,” I told him.
I hadn’t been going out a lot.
A coffee run here and there.
But it no longer felt weird leaving the apartment.
I slipped into my shoes.
Then grabbed my heaviest hoodie.
“That’s not warm enough,” Elian said, frowning at it.
“Oh, ah, my coat zipper was ruined when, well, you know,” I said. “I haven’t gotten around to getting another. Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s a couple of minutes. I’ll be fine.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, then walking through the apartment and into Renzo’s study.
I’d been in there a few times. Once out of curiosity. Then the other times to clean. It was a simple space with a desk and a big monitor, a couch, and, well, not much else.
Lately, I’d been avoiding the space, not liking the way it smelled like him, and how some sad, pathetic part of me wanted to curl up on the couch and breathe him in.
“Here,” Elian said, coming back out with a lined leather jacket, the leather worn, cracked, and soft from age, and holding it out to me. “Put this on.”