Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”Eve.”

”I’m here.”

She leaned down and kissed his throat, his collarbone, the line of ink that ran along his shoulder. His hands moved to her waist, then slid down to her hips, holding her carefully, as though she might change her mind.

”Touch me,” she whispered.

His palms moved over her slowly. Up her ribs, across her breasts, down again to her waist. His thumbs traced the curve of her hips. Every touch was deliberate and careful and full of a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected. She closed her eyes and let herself feel it.

When she opened them again, he was watching her with an expression she had never seen on him before. It wasn’t hunger. It was something quieter.

”What?” she asked.

”I’m trying to remember this,” he said. ”In case I don’t get it again.”

”You will.”

”Eve.”

”You will.” She took his hand and pressed it against her chest, over her heart. ”I’m not going anywhere. Not tomorrow. Not after whatever you decide. I’m here.”

He closed his eyes. A muscle moved in his jaw.

She lowered herself onto him slowly, and they both let out a breath at the same moment. He filled her completely. For a moment neither of them moved. She braced her hands on his chest and felt his heart beating hard beneath her palms, as fast as hers.

”Look at me,” she said again.

His eyes opened.

She began to move.

...

It was slow at first. She kept the pace unhurried, steady, her hips rolling against his in long, deliberate strokes. His hands tightened on her waist and then eased. He let her set the rhythm. His breath came harder with each movement, and she could feel him fighting to stay still, to let her lead.

”You can move,” she said.

”I want to let you.....”

”I want you to.”

That broke it. His hands slid to her hips and he began to meet her, thrusting up into her as she came down, and the pleasure that went through her was sharp and immediate. She gasped, and he caught the sound with his mouth.

”There,” he muttered against her lips. ”There.”

She leaned into him. They found a rhythm together, deeper now, quicker, with none of the carefulness left. His grip on her hips was firm. Her nails dug into his shoulders. The room was full of the sounds of their breathing and the soft, rhythmic creak of the bed. She heard her own voice, breathless and unfamiliar, saying his name.

”Eve,” he said. ”Eve, I can’t....”

”Don’t hold back.”

”I don’t want to finish before you.”

”You won’t.”

He rolled them in one smooth motion, so that she was on her back and he was above her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The change of angle made her cry out. He braced one hand beside her head and slid the other beneath her hip, tilting her toward him, and when he thrust again the pleasure rose so fast it startled her.

”Dimitri.”

”I’ve got you.”

”I know. I know you do.”

”Let go, Eve.”

She did.

The wave rolled through her with a force that made her back arch, her hands clutching at his shoulders. She cried out his name, over and over, and he held her through it, murmuring against her hair in Italian she didn’t understand. When it began to ease, she opened her eyes and found him watching her face, his own taut with restraint.

”Now you,” she whispered.

”Eve.....”

”Now.”

He buried his face in her neck and let go. She felt him shudder against her, felt the helpless, shaken groan that tore out of him, and held him as tightly as she could. He stayed that way for a long moment, trembling, his weight pressed against her.

...

They lay tangled in the sheets for a long time without speaking.

Eve rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart slow. His arm was heavy around her shoulders, one hand stroking absently through her hair.

”I haven’t done that in a long time,” he said finally.

”Done what?”

”Let someone take care of me.”

”You don’t have to do it often.” She kissed his chest. ”But you can do it with me.”

”I know.” He was quiet for a moment. ”I’ve always known that i could.”

She smiled against his skin.

”What will you decide?” she asked softly.

”I don’t know yet.”

”Good. Then we’ll decide.”

”We.”

”We,” Eve said. ”You, me, and Marco. And Mike, if you like.” She lifted her head to look at him. ”You’re not alone in this, Dimitri. You never have to be.”

He studied her face. The lamp was off, and the light from the window was soft, and his eyes were dark and clear.

”I love you,” he said.

”I know,” she said. ”I love you too.”

He drew her back against him, and she settled into the curve of his shoulder. His breathing evened. Her own began to slow. Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, they both slept.

For the first time in days, Dimitri slept without dreaming.

***

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Dimitri woke before dawn with Eve’s head on his shoulder and the answer already in his mind.

He lay still for a while and listened to her breathe. The room was gray and quiet. For the first time in days, his thoughts weren’t racing. They had settled somewhere overnight, the way a loose thing settles when you finally stop touching it.

Eve stirred. Her eyes opened slowly.

”You’ve decided,” she said.

”How do you know?”

”You’re not holding your breath.”

He almost smiled. ”I won’t take his price.”

She rose on one elbow and looked at him. Her hair was wild from sleep and her face was soft, but her eyes were completely clear.

”You won’t tell Dante the trail is dead.”

”No.”

”And you won’t leave Isabella on the taper.”

”No.” He turned his head toward her. ”I’m going to take the antidote.”