The ridge of his erection straining against his slacks was impossible to miss, never mind the way his tongue snaked out to wet his lips like he’d seen something he liked. She might have been embarrassed another time, but not then.
The doors were open here.
And she wanted to do this again.
All of it.
With both.
“Food is hot,” Corrado said, “whenever you would both like to join me.”
That said, Corrado turned, and left her view.
Ginevra made a sound under her breath. “What happens now? What do we do now?”
Alessio laughed again. “Nothing. Everything. Anything.”
Well, that told her all she needed to know, didn’t it?
13.
Alessio
Sex was sex to Alessio, and he rarely, if ever—because he couldn’t remember a time when it happened—felt awkward afterward. He understood why other people might feel that way, though. Which was why after he’d tucked himself away, and slid Ginevra’s cotton shorts back up her legs, he helped her down from the table in the hallway, and with a press of his palm against her lower back, directed her into the nearest bedroom.
Hers.
She twisted her fingers, fidgeting as he moved around the room to pull clean clothes from the dresser before setting them on the edge of her bed. Not that she had a lot of clothes—a few things, he supposed. Enough to get her by here as Corrado told him.
“You need more clothes,” Alessio muttered.
Ginevra let out a soft laugh. “And what would you know about that? You only wear black; everything looks the same.”
He tossed her a heated look over his shoulder, and he liked the way she stilled when his gaze landed on her. All over again, the taste of her seemed to flood his mouth, and every sweet sound that came out of her when she was being fucked filled his ears again.
Yeah.
Alessio was screwed.
“Really, I just always look the same?” he asked, arching a brow.
Ginevra grinned, some of her nervousness bleeding away. “You’re far too cocky for your own good.”
“But with reason.”
She didn’t deny it.
Alessio pulled a white, cotton thong from the top drawer in the dresser, and tossed it to the pile of clothes, too. Coming to stand in front of Ginevra, he found her nerves made an appearance again when she wouldn’t look up at him.
That was fine.
He could fix it.
Sliding his hands under her jaw, he tipped her head up, so she had to look at him. Those wide brown eyes of hers reflected everything she wasn’t saying, and he saw it as clear as day staring back at him.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Ginevra wet her lips. “Yeah?”
“Everything is fine.”
“I know that.”
“Nothing happens unless you want it to.”
She nodded. “I know that, too.”
He grinned. “That’s all that should matter, then. Everything else is details, and noise. Don’t overthink it. That’s my job.”
Her soft laughter had his semi-hard dick perking in his jeans again, making him all too aware that he still needed to go dispose of the condom, and clean himself up. Fuck. He’d much rather stay right here with her and handle whatever she needed.
Still, the bigger deal they made about this, the harder it might be for Ginevra to see this was all normal. Perhaps not for other people, but for them ... it was fine.
“I just ... what if I mess up?” she asked.
Alessio frowned. “How would you do that?”
“I’m not sure.” Her fingers tittered in the air when she waved her hands. “Maybe I give him more attention, or I sit beside one and not the other. Or—”
“Stop. That’s ridiculous.”
Ginevra blinked, hurt coloring up her expression. “It’s not ridiculous just because you already know how to handle something like this. I haven’t, Les.”
Okay.
“So, that’s the wrong word,” he said, dropping a kiss to her lips that lingered as he continued quieter, “these aren’t things that matter here, I swear. Corrado and I ... we can handle each other, or get what we need. Whether that’s from each other, ourselves, or from you. This thing isn’t a tit for tat, sweetheart. We’re not keeping score.”
“So, I can just ... keep doing what I’m doing.”
“If that’s what you want. The only things that change are the things you want to be different.”
“Okay.”
Alessio smiled and pressed another kiss to her grinning lips. “Get dressed—you need to eat, huh?”
“Yeah.”
It might not fix her nerves, but he hoped it helped a little. His fingers drifted over her cheek, tucking the wild strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears before he left her side, and headed out of the bedroom. She needed time by herself, he figured.
And he needed to get cleaned up.
After doing that in his own room, Alessio arrived back in the kitchen alone, although Corrado was already there, sitting at the large dining room table with the newspaper spread out in his hands. To his benefit, Corrado didn’t look at Alessio as he came to sit on the left side of the man and reached for the plate of pancakes in the table's middle.
That didn’t mean he stayed silent though.
“And?” Corrado asked, his voice a murmur, his gaze still taking in the paper.
“Give her a minute. Let her absorb it all.”
Corrado hummed his agreement, then turned to peer at Alessio as he smothered a pancake in maple syrup. The thing he loved the most about Canada, next to the fact it was Corrado’s birthplace, was that they didn’t do that fake syrup shit flavored like maple.
“And what about you? Are you good?”
Alessio arched a brow. “You’re right.”
“Oh? I usually am, but do tell. It’s not every day you say you’re right and not you’re not wrong. Because one is you outright admitting you were wrong, and the other is your way of trying to keep from showing your whole ass in a conversation.”
“Fuck off,” Alessio muttered, chuckling.
He peeked up from his plate, but Corrado hadn’t looked away from him. Their gazes met, and Alessio relaxed in a way he hadn’t before.
“Not a lie, though,” Corrado said, shrugging.
“Not a lie,” Alessio echoed. “And I meant ... about her. You were right. She’s like art.”
Fucking her had been a privilege.
And not one he was sure he deserved.
Corrado made an appreciative noise under his breath, and his attention quickly went back to the paper. “I know, now so do you.”
Right.
He was a quarter of the way through his plate when Ginevra darkened the entryway of the kitchen. She hesitated only momentarily before joining the two at the table, taking a seat at Corrado’s right, across from Alessio.
Ginevra didn’t reach for the food.
Alessio continued eating, and Corrado didn’t turn his attention away from the paper in his hands. It was like any other morning, except it wasn’t.
He could feel the change, now.
It was palpable.
Corrado flipped the corner of the paper down and winked at Ginevra. “Eat, kitten. Food is better when it’s hot.”