I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as I looked down at the folder again then back to him.
“That would be pretty amazing.” I blinked hard. “Not yet, Sal, but I love that you want that.”
He dipped his head to rub his cheek against the swell of my breast, and I threaded my fingers through his hair, cradling him against me.
“Can you see it?” he murmured. “Can you see yourself with us?”
I could. It was crazy because I didn’t do ki—all right, I wasn't even buying that anymore. But I’d been convinced of it for so long, it was almost impossible to wrap my head around the one-eighty my life had taken.
I’d done more than wrap my head around it, though. I’d fully embraced these people. They were chaotic, unusual, a little strange. It was no wonder we’d been drawn to each other. They were my kind of people.
Mypeople.
“The thing is,” I started, my voice low, “that house was my dream. You know that, right? It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived that was mine.”
He stilled. Listening, waiting, his face over my heart and arms around my waist.
“But dreams change,” I whispered, cupping his cheek and tracing the sharp edge with my thumb. “Lately, mine’s been looking less like black bricks and everything on this side of the street.”
He sighed into my flesh, and his arms tightened around me.
“Thank you for giving me my house. It’s a huge, generous gift. I’m not sure I quite believe it. But it’syou, so I do, because that’s who you are. It’s why I love you. You’ve given me so much I never knew I wanted, Salvatore.”
He lifted his head, his eyes intent on mine. “Because I know you.”
“You do,” I whispered. “When the kids are ready, I’ll move in here with you guys.”
He exhaled like I’d knocked the air out of him.
Then he kissed me like I’d given it back.
Chapter Forty-five
Salvatore
Iwasinnorush and no mood to go hard. With her taste on my lips and her under me, warm and so soft, all I wanted was to sink into her and stay there forever.
Our hands were entwined above her head, legs tangled, bodies joined, ebbing and flowing, lapping at each other’s shores.
I dipped my head to tug her nipple in my mouth, sucking gently. Her hips rose, and I became more firm, pulling her higher.
She gasped, breath hitching like she was surprised by how good I made her feel. In a way, I understood her reaction. Nothing could ever compare to this. Nothing could even touch what I shared with Bea. And each time we were together only built on the time before as we discovered hidden corners, intimate secrets, our bodies’ tells.
I released her nipple with a light pop, then curled my tongue around the beaded point before moving to the other, my hips never losing their rhythm, that unhurried glide that kept us both on the edge of too much and not enough.
Her fingers tightened around mine where I held them pinned above her, and I could feel the tremor in her arms, the quiver in her thighs. She was beautiful, always, but this way was one of my favorites. Trembling and open, so warm and soft, welcoming me easily into her, showing me just how mine she was with every rise of her hips to meet mine.
Her blue hair fanned out in rolling waves on my white sheets, the contrast almost too perfect to be real. Like it should have been art on my wall, not something I could look at and touch and muss and change and move.
“What are you thinking?” she breathed.
“That you’re art, but better because you’re real.”
“Sal…” Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes stayed open, holding mine like she could see every piece of me, even the parts I wasn’t aware of and the ones I had kept locked away. The strangeness she coveted like a treasure. The quirks and imperfections I hated that she not only accepted but loved. She saw everything, and she still looked at me like I was the best discovery she had ever made.
Her lips were swollen from our kisses and a little parted, like she was waiting for more. So I gave it to her.
Lifting my head, I kissed the curve of her jaw, the corner of her mouth, the spot just beneath her ear that always made her breath stutter.
