I swallow thickly. The statement has me a little conflicted. On one hand, I’m relieved. If he doesn’t trust anyone, he doesn’t trustme, and that means I don’t need to worry about what he and Piper were saying in Italian. It means he doesn’t see what we’re doing as serious or permanent or something that requires trust, which would ultimately make things awkward and uncomfortable when I eventually leave.
On the other hand, I can feel my heartbreak.
Lucky suddenly doesn’t look like the tall, strong, solid, charismatic twenty-nine-year-old man that I’ve come to know over the years following his music career or even the moody, grouchy person I encountered upon arriving here nearly two months ago.
He just looks like a boy. A little boy with dark hair and enchanting sapphire blue eyes, who is scared, alone, hungry, homeless, and a target for people bigger and stronger than him. A young man trying to make his way in a ruthless world doing what he loves, only to be betrayed by someone he loved and nearly murdered.
I’ve never hurt anyone, Ava. Not even by accident.
The words he said to me only a week ago after the mirror incident. He never hurt anyone, despite having been so injured that he still bears the scars of it years later.
I want to cry. But knowing him—and I do know him decently well by this point, in a number of ways—I know he has no use for that. So I bite the inside of my cheek and force the tears back down.
“Meyer’s a good guy,” I say simply.
“He is,” Lucky echoes.
We stand in silence for another beat or two before I act without thinking. Closing the distance between us, I lightly trail my fingers down his torso and dip my head to kiss the marks on his chest. Lucky bristles for a moment, causing me to pause, but then his hand cups the back of my head, holding me close to him. He strokes my hair as I make my way down his chest and abs, kissing and nuzzling every scar while I slide my hands around to his back. My fingertips discover more scars at various spots on his back, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, kissing my way back up to his chest, then his neck, and finally his lips. Still holding the back of my head, he angles his face over mine, deepening the kiss while he walks me backward a few steps, and then he breaks the kiss as he scoops me up under my ass and lifts me off the floor.
“Sono pazzo di te,” he murmurs against my neck as he carries me to the bed.
I smile as he lays me down and starts removing his clothes. “I have no idea what any of these phrases mean, but I really like how they sound.”
“Here’s one I’ll translate for you.” Lucky stands over me, stark naked with his cock already standing at attention again. “Togliti i vestiti.”
My smile persists. “Okay?”
His gaze does a predatory roam over me. “Take off your fucking clothes.”
I laugh lightly, and he doesn’t need to tell me twice. I hastily strip off my tank top and shorts, then unsnap my bra, toss it aside, and finally shimmy my panties down my legs. He grabs them when I’ve got them down to my shins and rips them away from my body, and then climbs on top of me.
He sucks my breast into his mouth while gliding his hand down my tummy to the spot between my thighs, then slides two fingers into my pussy. I wrap my arms around his neck, arching into him as he pumps his fingers in and out with haste. He switches to my other breast, tongue circling my nipple while he squeezes the other with his free hand, working blinding pleasure into every part of me, and I moan and whimper. The heel of his palm presses against my clit, electrifying my whole body with a delicious, chaotic sensation.
“Bellissima,” he growls against my breast, pulling his face away so he can capture my mouth for a deep, merciless kiss.
“Lucky...oh God, Lucky,” I whimper against his lips, “More...I need more.”
He stares into my eyes, the sapphire blue of his darkened to black with lust and heat. “I’m gonna fuck you, Ava.”
My breath is shallow and rapid enough to usher in dizziness. “You better.”
“I’m not gonna use a condom this time.”
I swallow and shake my head. “You don’t need to. I have one of those…” I can’t put words together. “You just don’t need to worry about anything.”
“Good.”
He enters me with one swift thrust, and we moan in unison. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, holding me in place and pulling me as close to him as humanly possible. I rock my hips along with his thrusts, our bodies working together in perfect, complementary sync.
“Look at me, Ava,” he orders in a guttural voice that doesn’t sound quite the same as he normally does.
Panting, I flick my gaze to his. His hair falls over his forehead, and I comb it back so nothing obstructs the connection of our eyes, and I feel like I can see right down into the depths of his battered soul, and I justlovehim.
The thought startles me a little, but I ignore the fear of that feeling, because Idolove him. I’ve loved him for a long time, even just as a famous musician that I didn’t really know, but even as just a musician, he did things for me that meant everything. His vision and the execution thereof made me brave when I really needed to be, and he created that vision from a broken, lonely, violent life.
So of courseI love him. I can love him like this without it complicating anything, without it becoming something heavy, serious, and permanent.
I can love him without requiring us to be permanently bound to each other.
