He didn’t wait and she didn’t need him to. There was a yawning emptiness inside her, an echoing hollow space that only he could fill. And he did, thrusting deep and hard inside her. And this time he didn’t treat her as if she was made of glass. He didn’t go softly or gently, treating her as if she was vulnerable.
He gripped her thighs, hauling them up and around his waist, tilting her hips back so he could slide more completely inside her, and then he was moving in an almost savage rhythm, forceful and hard and demanding.
It felt so good. Exactly what she wanted. Because she wasn’t the scared little girl he’d brought to Capri days ago. She was different now. She was changed. She wasn’t afraid any more, not of herself and not of him, and not of what she wanted.
And she wanted everything. She wanted it all and now, because she didn’t have long to enjoy it. Only a few days. But she would take those days and throw herself into them. Take as much happiness as he could give her and then come back for more. She wouldn’t hold back and she’d deny him nothing.
She might not deserve it, but he did. Everything he’d given her she’d give back to him, because, whether he knew it or not, he needed it too.
So she put her arms around him and tightened her thighs around his hips, holding him to her, moving with him. And she kissed him, nipped him, licked him. Let him know how much she liked what he was doing to her, how much she wanted all the pleasure he gave her.
And when she’d reached the point of desperation, when her soul had been drawn so tight with pleasure she almost couldn’t stand it, she stared up into his intense face, and felt everything inside her still.
It was as if he held her in the palm of his hand, her whole being gathered up tight in his fist. Then he opened his fingers and her soul flew free, caught in a spiralling ecstasy. Only to fall into the hot darkness of his eyes.
And drown there.
For the first time in his life, Vincenzo had no idea what to do. Always, his path had been clear to him. Always, he knew in which direction to turn and which route to take.
Justice was what he was after. Justice for the woman he’d lured into that dark alleyway. Justice for Gabriella and her father. And perhaps some justice for himself, too. For the way he’d been used and manipulated.
There had never been any conflict within him. He always knew that what he was doing was the right thing, and even when there had been protests and denials from the people he’d put away, he’d never doubted that they deserved what they got.
But now he was made of doubt and the path that had always been so clear was shrouded in fog.
Lucy had accepted that she was guilty of the crimes she’d committed for her father and that Vincenzo would turn her over to the police. And not just accepted it. She felt she deserved it.
Days earlier, there had been none of this conflict. Yes, she was guilty. Yes, she deserved it. But now...things were different.
He sat on a sun lounger under the shade of a big white linen umbrella, gazing at the woman who lay face down on the lounger next to him, her head buried in the crook of one arm, her mass of dark hair in drifts over her pale shoulders. Beyond was the cool blue of the pool built right on the edge of the cliff, and beyond that the deeper blue of the sea dotted with white sails.
The past couple of days they’d done nothing but make love, eat, talk, swim, before starting back at the beginning again. He’d wanted to take her for a tour of the island, but the safety concerns were significant and he didn’t want her to feel hemmed in by his security staff, so he’d organised to take her out on his small yacht, which at least gave her the illusion of freedom and meant they could be by themselves, even if his staff followed along behind them in another launch at a discreet distance.
She’d loved that, sitting out on the deck in the sun with the wind in her hair. Then he’d got her to take the wheel while he stood behind her, his hands guiding hers as she steered the little yacht. She’d laughed with delight, leaning back against him as they guided the yacht through the waves. The wind had been up and they’d moved fast, which had thrilled her.
Afterwards, after they’d talked more, sharing pieces of their childhoods that weren’t too fraught as they’d eaten the lunch Martina had given them, he’d anchored in a sheltered, private bay and they’d gone swimming off the boat. Then, still wet and salty from the water, he’d taken her down onto the deck and made love to her under the sails as the boat rocked gently.
‘I’ve never been happy before,’ she’d told him the night she’d handed him her laptop, ‘but you’ve given me a taste of it...’
He’d given her a taste of that happiness. He, who’d only ever delivered justice, had made someone happy. And she’d wanted more of it, so she’d have something good to take with her when she went to jail...
The thought of that was unbearably painful for reasons he couldn’t describe even to himself. Because why should he care whether she was happy or not? And why did he want to be the one who gave her that happiness?
Why did he even think she deserved it? She’d hidden her father’s money and had enabled him to make more, helping him build the crime empire he now commanded whether she’d been aware of it or not. She’d helped him evade the law and she’d known that was wrong.
Yes, she did deserve a prison cell.
But she’d also watched her mother bleed to death. A death she held herself responsible for. And she’d lived in fear for years afterwards, threatened and terrorised, deprived of companionship and love and happiness, everything that made life worth living.
She’d been forced into doing things that went against her loving, loyal and honest nature, things that might have broken another person. But Lucy hadn’t broken. She’d made a promise to the mother who’d died to protect her and had survived any way she could. He couldn’t fault her for that. But it had left scars on her. The weight of a guilt she couldn’t escape, just as he couldn’t.
Lucy sighed and stretched on the sun lounger. She’d been wearing a swimsuit, but after their last swim, when he’d stripped it off her and had her up against the wall of the pool, she hadn’t bothered to put it on again, and so was lying there naked, her pale skin flushed in the sunlight.
His beautiful civetta...
She doesn’t deserve that cell and you know it.
His chest felt tight, as if his heart was pressing hard against his ribcage, a strong, steady ache. He felt as if he was looking through a window that had once been crystal clear, but had fogged up, rendering the view indistinct and out of focus. He couldn’t even work out what he was looking at now. A badly hurt innocent or a criminal who deserved prison?
She was both, and that was the issue. That was why he didn’t know what to do.
She is you, you realise that, don’t you?