Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He still says nothing, but the curve of his lips, the soft smile he offers in the darkness, brightens the air between us. It's beautiful. So beautiful.
It's everything.
He's everything.
He finishes inside of me, still staring down at me, a look of ecstasy passing across his face that I marvel in. His lips part, eyelids drooping, as the softest whisper of a moan escapes in the form of my name. "Karissa."
Afterward we lay there, me on my stomach beside him on the bed, the blanket draped around me. I'm half asleep, exhausted and content, when I feel his feather light touch on my back, his fingertips tickling as he caresses my skin. My eyes close, the sensation causing my toes to curl as I bite down on my bottom lip, forcing back a giggle.
He's drawing something, or writing on me... what, I don't know. I try to follow the pattern, make sense of his movements, as he coats my flesh with goose bumps.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, not at all surprised when he doesn't answer my question. He keeps drawing patterns for a few minutes, nearly lulling me to sleep, before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me onto my side toward him, my back flat against his warm chest.
"I was connecting the dots," he says quietly. "Your freckles are like stars. They tell a story, depending on how you connect them."
I smile to myself as he takes my hand, linking our fingers together. "What did they tell you?"
"They told me you're beautiful," he says. "And I'm a lucky son of a bitch to have you all to myself."
I stand in front of the long mirror, tugging on my dress, trying to situate it on my body. It feels tighter than I remember, showing more skin than I usually show. I'm all put together, my hair pinned up and makeup on, my lips the same blood red shade as my clothing.
In this light, it makes my skin look as pale as porcelain.
Picking up my powder compact, I brush some more light makeup on around my neck, nervously covering the faint black and blue hue. It doesn't hurt, and it doesn't much bother me, but I worry about others.
I know how it looks.
I know what everyone else will think.
I'm lost in my thoughts, my mind drifting back to last night, when I catch glimpse of the form appearing in the doorway behind me. My attention is drawn to Naz's reflection in the mirror, and I'm momentarily staggered.
I've never seen him so casual before.
Dark, loose-fitting jeans and a belt, white shirt and a midnight blue blazer clad his toned body. He hasn't shaved, and maybe it's my imagination, but his hair looks more out of place than usual. As that thought passes through my mind, he runs a hand through the locks, confirming my suspicions.
He's disheveled.
It's sexy.
So fucking sexy.
But it's not what I'm used to. He always carries himself with an air of perfection, everything in order and under control. This man in front of me is organized chaos, what seeped through the cracks when his armor fractured.
I stare at him for a moment, my nerves flaring. He was gone most of the day, leaving me to entertain myself. Not sure where he went, or why, but I was glad when he returned. Things feel so much colder when he's not around. "Ignazio."
He strolls into the bathroom, gaze fixed on mine in the mirror. "Is there a reason you're calling me that?"
"It's your name," I say as I put on my earrings. "It's what everyone else calls you."
"They usually call me Vitale." He pauses behind me. "And you're not everyone else."
He reaches around me, his hand coming to rest at the base of my throat as he gently brushes his thumb across the bruising on my neck. He says nothing, but the words are written in his deep dark eyes and the frown on his lips. I've never seen it from him before, but he looks almost remorseful.
He doesn't apologize, though. He lets out a sigh, pressing his cheek to my hair as I relax back against him. I watch his reflection as he closes his eyes, holding me.
It's peculiarly intimate.
He looks so vulnerable.
I stand still, just staring at him, falling more in love each passing second.
"Come on, birthday girl," he says eventually. "The night awaits."
Nineteen feels no different to me than eighteen. Not that I expected it to, but it's strange. It doesn't feel like my birthday. I guess every day is a special occasion when I'm with this man.
Naz leads me down into the casino, holding my hand as we stroll along. I can't keep my eyes off of him, and he notices, laughing after a few minutes and nudging me. "What's up with you tonight?"
"Nothing, I'm just... surprised."
"By what?"
"You," I say. "I'm used to the fancy suits."
"Yeah, well, suits are for business."
"And jeans are for what... pleasure?"
He smiles. "Something like that, although clothing tends to be optional in that case."
We're led back to the same area he gambled at the night before, to a vast courtyard surrounding an elaborate mansion. It looks like an Italian villa, like we were ripped straight out of Vegas and thrust into Under the Tuscan Sun. The scent of flowers with a hint of lemon clings to the air in the glass enclosed property. It's breathtaking.
The evening sunshine feels nice on my face as we're seated out on the patio. It'll be dark soon, the lights already glowing on the building, but I'm enjoying what's left of the warmth while I can.
Naz sits across from me, ordering for the both of us, requesting a bottle of wine. No one here questions it.
Maybe nineteen is different.
Maybe I look old enough to drink tonight.
Or maybe he's just too intimidating to ever second-guess when he asks for something.
We drink and eat, talk and laugh, the air surrounding the table relaxed. There are other people around, I'm sure, but I can't see any, nor do I hear them. We're tucked away into a secluded space, where nothing else seems to exist.