Page 13 of And Everything In Between (Love By Any Means #3)

Paige could feel herself unraveling, the pressure building again, approaching quickly. Paige braced herself, the pressure closing in, sharp and intense. Every thrust drove her higher, until all she could do was cling to the edge, shaking, blinded by pleasure.

“Giovanni p…” she gasped, voice cracking, the tears slipping down her cheeks now from the sheer force of the orgasm bearing down on her.

“Give it to me Paige,” he demanded, hand slipping down between her thighs, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing in a tender circle. “I earned it.”

“Tell me I earned it,” he urged, making her arch her back more as he moved deep and deliberate.

“You earned it, you earned it,” she whimpered as she came apart so violently, she thought she might black out. Her entire body locked up, walls collapsing around his dick, squeezing him so tight he had to grit his teeth to keep from busting right then and there.

“Fuck, Paige,” he groaned, grinding through it, not giving her an ounce of space to recover, fucking her through her orgasm until she was shaking, begging without even realizing it.

Her chest rose and fell, skin dewy and flushed, glowing from the heat they’d created between them.

Giovanni wasn’t done, though. He flipped her over gently, cradling her head in his palm like she was precious cargo.

He slid in softly as he kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth, slow, lingering kisses too tender for what they’d done.

“You ain’t gotta call me,” he whispered, so close their mouths nearly touched. “I’ll call you.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered open, dazed, glossy, still trying to gather her bones back together. Giovanni smiled that unhinged smile again, gripping her neck and pulling her ear to his lips, “And you better fuckin answer too.”

It was those words that sent her flying. Paige came again, and he was right behind her with his head tossed back in euphoria. When she finally opened her eyes, he was watching her with a smirk on his face. He was satisfied looking at his handiwork.

The music thumped softly in the background, but the world around them had stilled. Paige lay sprawled against the pool table, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls. Her thighs still trembled, her skin flushed and glistened.

Giovanni ran his tongue over his top lip, slid his boxer briefs back on before caressing the side of her cheek. “You good, P?” he asked in a scratchy voice that he’d earned from the work he put in.

She could barely nod, floating somewhere between heaven and the stars.

“I’m good. I need a minute.”

He smirked then kissed the side of her face, then her nose, then her lips,

“The next time you start talking reckless, Imma fuck you until the cops come knockin.”

He wasn’t playing. He’d let her slide all damn day, mouthing off, thinking she was running the show.

But she ain’t fool nobody, least of all him.

She slid in to his ride, batted her eyes, smirked at him, and complimented his vision.

She knew what it was. When she got in his car, she signed her fuckin’ soul over to him.

Death Row Records, baby. And he’d ensure she understood that, and it would be when she least expected it.

She was too drunk, too full of him to resist. She didn’t even want to.

Giovanni scooped her off the pool table like she weighed nothing, carrying her through the lounge in silence. He pushed into the apartment connected to the shop, carried her straight to the bathroom, and set her gently on the counter.

One hand reached for the shower knob, turning it until steam filled the air.

When the water was hot enough, he stepped out of his boxers, got in the shower and pulled her under the spray with him.

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. Her staying quiet, pliant, wrapped around him, said everything. The water beat down over them, washing away the sweat, the liquor, the mess they made of each other.

Giovanni rested his forehead to hers, the loofah tracing a slow path down her hips, her thighs, her ass. He was still mesmerized. Paige leaned into him, her body soft and trusting. She hadn’t expected this. Not from him.

She’d read him wrong. Completely.

He took his time, lathering her up with calm tender hands.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he helped her out of the shower.

“You’re welcome. Oil or lotion?”

“Uhm, oil.”

He grabbed the body oil from the cabinet and started working it in, palms gliding down her back, over her legs. She let out a soft moan when he hit her calf just right. He stopped and gave her a warning look.

“Be cool,” he said, feeling himself get excited. He could go for another round. Another taste. Easy.

She let him do whatever he wanted, too tired to keep pretending she didn’t need this. It wasn’t sex, it was something much softer. And she’d forgotten what that felt like.

Her voice cracked, almost disbelieving. “I thought you were just trying to fuck me outta my head.”

Giovanni met her gaze as he worked oil into her thigh. “I was,” he said, smirking. Then quieter, more serious, “But I’m tryna bend right with you too.”

That stopped her breath. That line. That truth. She didn’t expect that from him, not like this, not now. He barely knew her. But somehow, it still felt like they’d known each other intimately.

Later, he slipped a dry shop t-shirt over her head, the hem brushing her thighs. When they hit the bed, she tucked herself into his side, her palm resting lightly against his chest.

Paige was never quiet. Never still. She was a live wire on any normal day. And yet, here she was. Soft. Still. Safe. And shocked by how much she didn’t hate it. She had built her entire identity around not needing anybody.

Giovanni had done what no man before him had the patience or presence to do—put her right where she was supposed to be. At ease.

He wrapped his arm around her, dropped his chin to the top of her head, and let sleep take them both.