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The pain in his arm is long forgotten as we ride the beast with two backs. The experience is intense. Everything about this man is intense.
Finally, we’re spent as we lie together, breathing hard. My lover is still inside me and I refuse to move away, afraid that in doing so I’ll break the spell. I want to stay this way forever. This is the only place where I have true fulfillment—here in Dante’s arms.
I don’t care what the morning may bring. All I have is now. And now is more than enough.
7
DANTE
It’s morning. The sun is up—I can tell by the light in the room—and my arm hurts like a bitch. The memories of the past twenty-four hours come flooding back. Kyle! He’s a dead man. I hope he knows that I will stop at nothing to kill him. And not just him, but those he cares about too. But there are a few things I have to do first.
Mia. Beautiful, sexy, irresistible Mia. She saved my life. I’d hate to think where I’d be had it not been for her quick thinking.
“Good morning.”
She is standing at the door, wearing a T-shirt, her legs bare. Such shapely calves.
“Hi.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore.”
“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you. Coffee?”
“Great, thanks.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black with two sugars.”
I motion to get up.
“No. Stay in bed. I’ll bring it to you.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I need to stretch my legs.”
The blood rushes to the wound as soon as I stand up, sending a sharp pain down my arm.
“Ahia,” I seethe, wishing for Kyle’s demise.
“I’ll throw in a few painkillers too,” Mia says before she leaves the room. “You must be hungry,” she calls from the other room while I put on my pants.
“Starving.”
“I don’t have much. Eggs okay?”
“I love eggs.”
I look around the room while I dress. It’s modest, but tastefully decorated. A lot of throw pillows. Definitely a woman’s room. I notice a few photographs on the dresser. There are a few of Mia holding a young child. I wonder who the kid belongs to. Mia said last night that she was single.
I’ll ask her about it later. For now, I need to get rid of the throbbing pain in my arm and get some food into my system. I leave the room wearing only my pants. I don’t feel like wrestling with a T-shirt now. My arm is too sore.
Mia is in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. She pops two teaspoonfuls of sugar in and stirs before she hands it to me.
“Thanks.”
“It’s good,” she smiles. “I’m a bit of a coffee snob.”