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"Spread your legs," I command, standing at the foot of the bed.

She complies without hesitation, her thighs falling open for me. I crawl onto the bed, positioning myself between her legs. Running my hands up her thighs, I relish her shiver under my touch.

"You're so fucking wet," I murmur, sliding two fingers inside her. She's still sensitive from her first orgasm, and her hips buck at the intrusion.

"Please," she begs, her eyes locked on mine.

I withdraw my fingers and replace them with my cock, entering her in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her back arching off the bed.

"Look at me," I demand, setting a relentless pace. "I want to see your face when you come again."

Her eyes flutter open, glazed with pleasure. Hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, I change the angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars.

"Sam, I can't—" she gasps, her words cut off by a moan as I drive deeper.

"You can and you will," I insist, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb.

Her walls clench around me as her second orgasm builds. I can feel my own release approaching, but I'm determined to make her come again first.

"Come for me like a good girl, Olivia," I command, increasing the pressure on her clit.

She shatters beneath me, her body convulsing, my name a broken cry on her lips. The sight of her coming undone pushes me over the edge, and I follow her into oblivion, emptying myself inside her with a guttural groan.

The sound of our breathing is the only noise that fills the room. Once I’ve come back down to earth, I grab a wet clothfrom the bathroom and clean Olivia up, discarding the rag before pulling her into me. She's cuddled against my chest, her hair flowing across the comforter in long dark waves. My palm rests on her bare skin. It feels comfortable like this, and I let myself close my eyes and sink into the feeling.

I can't remember the last time I relaxed.

And then her fingertips trace the raised flesh on my chest. The touch sends a chill down my spine, memories I've buried deep, threatening to surface.

"What happened?" Olivia's voice is soft, curious.

I stare at the ceiling, the warmth of her body against mine suddenly feeling far away. The scar tissue beneath her fingers holds the weight of that night. My mother's blood, her final breaths, the burning pain as the bullet tore through her and into me.

"Sam?" She props herself up on an elbow, those blue eyes searching my face.

My jaw clenches. I don't talk about that night, don't talk about my mother. The scar is the only physical memory of what happened, and I've never let anyone close enough to see it. My chest aches at the thought of opening old wounds, every instinct screaming at me to push her away. But then I see those blue eyes filled with worry. And there's another part of me that wants to tell her. To let her in.

"It's from when I was a kid." The words come out rough.

"You don't have to tell me?—"

"No, I want to," I cut her off. She's silent, her hand continuing to trail circles over my chest while I attempt to gather my thoughts.

"When I was ten, I was kidnapped by a motorcycle club."

Olivia inhales sharply, but doesn't speak.

"They took both me and my mom. My father had begun training me to take overla famigliathat summer. Part of hislessons included what to do in a kidnapping situation." I rub a hand over my face. I've wondered if he suspected danger from the MC and that's why he began those lessons, to prepare me for this situation. I never asked him. That would’ve meant talking about what happened that night, and that's something we never did. Ignoring our pain was much more the Costello way.

"I tried to get us out. I was able to get my binds free, and I went to undo hers, but my father showed up at the same time. There was a shootout, and their leader came back to move my mother and I, but found us unrestrained. He pulled his gun to shoot me, but—" I choke on the words I've never said out loud.

"It's okay. You're safe." Olivia nuzzles into my neck, her palm running soothing circles over my chest.

"She stepped in front of me." I suck back the tears that threaten to spill over. "The bullet went through her first." My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears. "Before it hit me."

Olivia's hand spreads flat against my chest, right over my heartbeat. She doesn't say anything, doesn't offer empty condolences or platitudes. She just stays there, her touch grounding me to the present while the past threatens to drag me under.

I stare at the ceiling, letting the memories wash over me. Olivia's steady breathing and warm touch anchor me to the present.