I stare up at the ceiling rose surrounding the light fixture. “The facts are right there. Tragic mistake or not, I was behind the wheel. I refused to take him back to the bar.”
Finally meeting her direct gaze, I study her blotchy, tear-stained cheeks. From cowering in the corner to crawling, she moves on hands and knees.
“I get that, and I’ll never be able to comprehend the years of guilt you’ve carried with you. But you know what?” Drawing closer, she reaches a hand up to touch me. The tenderness in her warmth almost cracks the toughened exterior of my fortitude. “I’m glad you’re here. None of this changes how I feel about you. Not now that I understand.” The sensation of her nails lightly scraping my jaw halts the chatter in my head. “I thought all this was a lie. When I saw the Internet headline, I built Danny Rocco up to be a villain.” Her words spill out like sugary hot tea. “But you’re just a guy who’s been to hell and back. I’ve always known you’re a kindhearted man. I’m sorry for doubting it.”
Her acceptance collides with my doubt. I was almost certain she would run away. My muscles had braced for pain, and my heart prepared for rejection. Smiling eyes infused with warmth and honey search mine. I’ve set the truth free, and she’s still right beside me.
Fawn strands cloak narrow shoulders. A fluffy robe bunches as she clambers onto my lap. I’m weightless under her efforts to console me. Exhaustion weakens my limbs, and my head tips back.
Viv nuzzles into my neck, huddling closer. Relief leaves my lungs in a long sigh.
“You thought I was going to hurt you?”
“I was confused. I should’ve trusted my instincts. Nonna built up all these images of unsavory characters who were dangerous. You never quite fitted her stereotypes. Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.” She lifts her face into the light, her wide eyes blinking me in. “I had a feeling you’d bolt before I got the chance to love you.”
Without a word, she scoots to my knees and drops her gaze. My hands drift to her hips as she unfastens the button and unzips my jeans, folding the denim outwards. The light glows behind her body, forming a halo of radiance like forgiveness.
I’m ready for her. Hell, I’m always ready for this woman.
When her tiny hand slips inside the slit of my boxer briefs, I completely relax. I’m like butter against her warmth, welcoming the attention.
Our eyes lock. She dips her other hand inside her robe pocket and retrieves a foil wrapper. My cheeks ache with a broad grin. Whether it’s bulk packets of condoms, countless pairs of stockings, or cupboards crammed with cartons of tea, she’s always prepared. It’s the small things that catch me off guard. A glint of copper swirls in her eyes, and her tongue peeks free of her mouth as she concentrates.
I’ve fallen hard. And now that she’s accepted the savage within me, my love has quadrupled, verging on obsessive.
Once my dick is sufficiently shielded, she straddles my hips and rises to her knees.
“You don’t scare me, Danny Rocco,” she whispers, positioning the tip of my hard-on at her entrance. “You challenge me to step out of my comfort zone.”
I fight the urge to slam her onto my dick, to fill her hard and fast. This is her moment, her power over me showing no boundaries. Slowly, with a torturous descent, Viv lowers herself down, enveloping me with her love. My soul unites with the energy charging between us, setting me on fire from the inside out. Every heartbeat amplifies, bleeding out the affection I have for her. I savor the claim she has on me and offer it back in abundance.
My core tightens whenever she rises up, and I grunt out my satisfaction when she sinks back down. It’s hot and tight, emotional and sensual. Together we find a rhythm, a merciful bliss that isn’t about fucking or raw sexual desire. It’s love.
Pure, undeniable love.
The perfect man doesn’t exist.
He’ll never be a mishmash of fanciful wishes.
He’ll certainly not evolve from the pages of an obscure list I’ve created, or ideals I’ve conjured, or suggestions of positive attributes versus negative traits—that prototype persona is a myth.
I’m not blessed with the gift of foresight or the power to drill deeper into a man’s soul. I have to rely on a hunch, on a gut reaction.
Danny is my weakness. My instincts were right. It was the external factors that vilified him in my mind.
A man’s true character is driven by his heart, shaped from either love or hate. In reality, his soul won’t be without blemishes, and he’ll mask unseen scars. I understand that now. And none of it matters when his heart spills into the open, bleeding pain and honesty. I’ve figured out who Danny really is, and it won’t stop my heart from beating out his name.
Nonna was wrong. Even though he ticks a few boxes on her inappropriate list, he’s not a monster. He’s just a guy with a bumpy past and a broken soul who could easily have fallen into purgatory. Instead, he studied to become a paramedic where he saves more lives than the one he took.
To begin with, I was wary and petrified––afraid that I’d given myself to a man whose anger held no restraint, who could kill his best friend. My biased heart told me he wasn’t capable of murder, yet Nonna’s persistent lessons distorted my instinct.
Now, there are no more secrets. He revealed his soul, and I welcomed its tarnished facets with wide arms.
Dropping down one stair at a time, I watch him shrug into his jacket and roughly run a hand through cocoa colored hair. Rugged bristles are more than a day's length. His lips are swollen from our kisses earlier. A heavy frown lines his brow, and ethereal amber eyes transcend worry.
Rounded shoulders and sluggish movements make him seem exhausted and stressed. Not enlightened by off-loading baggage. I guess freedom will never be his.
