I felt that this was a long time coming. Enjoy.

***

she leaves, there's a knock on my door. I think maybe Natalia accidentally left something behind, but when I open it it's him, standing there, looking at me.

I can't hide my surprise—he never knocks on my door.

Damn it, he looks good. He's leaning a little against my doorframe in his jeans and a grey t-shirt, and he has that same rough splash of stubble and those high cheekbones and curved lips and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They stare at me, at my face, at the rest of me. His hair is messy like he's ran his fingers through it one too many times, and his mood is dark. Even darker than usual.

The way he takes me in, so completely, makes me shiver. For some reason, I'm glad I look kinda nice right now.

And I just stare, biting my lip, so, so curious. And there are parts of me, bad parts, that imagine the kind of things he could want, things I have no business needing from him.

"Rosalina." He gives me the tiniest of smiles, but his eyes glint, and I know he has something to say.

"Nero." I try to keep my voice neutral, steady. Because I am not gonna let him know how much his presence–just the sight of him–gets me so on edge, so flustered.

But from that sparkle in his eye, I think he already does.

I watch him take a deep breath, and he looks as tired as usual. He's young but he always has the weight of the world against his shoulders, and yeah he deserves it but I still feel bad sometimes. I shouldn't, but I do.

"What are you trying to do to me, dolcezza?" It's quiet and full of vexation. He tilts his head, and he's so sombre that I'm taken aback, my heart fluttering. He waits for an answer.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

And then, he takes a small step forward, and I stay planted. Get away from him, that piece of me says, the one that always wants to do the right thing, but the rest of me just wants. Wants to see what's going to happen, what he's going to do. Wants things I can't put into words.

And so, I watch him. I watch the golden flecks in his dark eyes, and they watch me. He's still a good foot away, but if I reach out, I could touch him, and if I step forward, I will lose that battle within myself.

His mouth tilts up at the side, waiting.

I still don't know why he's here.

"Why," he begins, his gaze fixed on mine, "do you have to make this so difficult?"

What? My eyes widen, perplexed, and he's so full of frustration that it's radiating from him, but it's not anger, just... exasperation. Doneness. It's mesmerizing, how I've managed to unhinge him.

"Make what so difficult?" I look at him through thick lashes, and my voice is soft, quiet. Any louder and he will hear it crack.

He just shakes his head, and I know he's searching for words. That glint in his eye is still there, except now it's ignited, hot. For once, he's not meeting my eyes.

And he makes a tired sound, a heavy, exhausted breath, and I'm fascinated as I watch, not knowing what comes next. He struggles to calm down, to snap out of this emotion that he's showing me.

It's usually me who's flustered. Now it's him, running a hand through his thick hair, lips parted just a little.

But he's an expert, and he reigns it in. He looks at me, and he sighs, closes his eyes. And he keeps them closed as he speaks, and I know exactly why. "You sent Natalia." A pause. "You're spending time with Natalia now." He pronounces her name with that slight Italian accent, and it makes my knees a little weaker.

I raise an eyebrow, and he opens his eyes to see the challenge written across my face. "She's my brother's girlfriend. We're allowed to hang out."

Clearly not an answer that puts him at ease. But he is obviously off his game and it makes me bold, so I don't stop. "Why is that a problem?"

He studies me carefully before he answers. I look at him, and damn it he is beautiful. "I—" He stops himself, and the fact that he can't figure out what to say just reminds me how strange this is. Nero is never speechless. He is always one step ahead.

Or at least, he used to be.

"You what?" There's fire in my eyes, and he sees it.

He rubs his hand across his face, and wow is he spent. But he looks at me, and this time, his face shows me everything, and it makes my lips part, and I can't tear my eyes away.

I see it, all of it, brutally honest and so plain and it is everything, everything that I feel. He feels it too.

But he only lets me see it for a second.

And then the mask is back up, and maybe I imagined it but I'm sure I didn't.

Our eyes meet, and there are flames that leap across the space between us, sparks that charge the air with a heavy, suffocating stillness.

"Does she know?"

I imagine that he is speaking about us, about this, but I know he's not.

"Yes."

Our eyes stay fastened, and time stands still. There were moments, ages ago, where I was terrified of him. Where the thought of telling anybody meant I would die. He would kill me, for sure. But now, things have changed.

"So are you going to slit my throat now?"

That earns me a smile. It lights up his face, brightens his eyes. Makes my insides flip.

He shakes his head slowly. A deep, loaded breath escapes him, and the way he looks at me makes me melt right down to my toes. "There are a lot of things I want to do to you, dolcezza, but that isn't one of them."

Oh.

I can feel the want, a tug, low in my gut, and his eyes hold mine, burning. I flush an impossible shade of pink. My insides clench from the dark promise behind those simple words.

And before I can stop myself, before logic and reason and conscience can take over, the words are already out of my mouth, a fluttery breath. "What is?"

His lips spread slowly into a knowing grin, and the brilliance of it steals the air from my lungs. "I think you already know the answer to that one, carina."

Mm, yes, I do. But I don't tell him that.

My heart quickens, and we watch each other. For what, I'm not so sure, but it is for something. Some sign.

And for a moment I forget about Caleb and the case and my period and the mafia. I just look at him, and he just looks at me.

"What are we doing, Nero?" My voice sounds broken, and there is sympathy in his eyes.

"I came here so that you could tell me."

"I can't."

"I know."

And like we have many times before, we both let out the deepest, heaviest of sighs.

My eyes flutter shut, because it hurts to look at him. And I hear him and sense him and feel his presence as he shifts closer to me, and I keep them closed. I can't let myself see him, not now.

And this time, I don't push him away. This time, I am so tired of all the pain and the hurt and the deep, unrelenting, insurmountable want, so when he puts his hands on my waist, when he pulls me to him and lowers his face near mine, I let him.

When his nose brushes softly against my own, and our breaths are warm between us, and I can feel the heat coming from his skin, I don't stop it.

And then our gazes touch, and whatever power I had to end this leaves me, and I thread my fingers into his dark hair and we press our faces close together and our mouths meet, and just like that, we cross the line.

And oh. Oh, oh. I wish I could tell you that it feels terrible but it is everything I have wanted, everything my mind dreams of before I tell it to shut up.

He holds me so tight, and I clutch him to me for dear life. And our lips are soft and tender yet so, so wanting, and I let him push me back inside and press me against my door, and it shuts so loudly but I don't care about anything else besides us.

I don't care because his mouth and his tongue are magical, because his hair is soft and his cheeks are rough and every part of him pins every part of me to the door, and he has my heart in his fingertips, and there's a good chance I have his in mine.

And we kiss forever, because this might just be it for us. And he tugs at my lips with his teeth, and he plants his mouth against the softness of my neck and I sigh his name, holding him to me. Needing him more than I need to breathe.

And maybe it's the danger, or the wrongness, or how forbidden this all is, but it makes it so, so much more intense. Like every touch is fire, like every time our lips meet the world is falling apart around us, and there is simply no pretending anymore. No hiding, no lying. Just us, here, for real.

I don't know how long we stay like that, pressed together, consuming the air around us and each other, devouring every little moan and sigh and whimper.

He doesn't ask any more from me than what I am giving him, and I don't give him any more than I am capable of giving without falling to pieces in his arms.

I have never been kissed like this in my life. Have never held anyone so tightly, have never needed another person's lips on me so much before.

And the way Nero's hands grasp at my waist, the way my fingers have knotted themselves into the dark waves of his hair as he tilts my head back and kisses me, deep and rough and like he wants to consume me, we are both too far gone.

And finally, we let ourselves breathe. He buries his face into the crook of my neck, and I hold him there.

And then he pulls back a tiny bit and looks at me, just looks. At the flushed, warm, tangled mess that I have become, and his eyes are so, so dark. They glimmer in a way that I have never witnessed before.

I let my hands fall to his chest, palms flat against his shirt. His gaze is gentle, tender, and he brings a crooked finger up to brush my face.

And I watch him back. I watch how red and bright his lips are, knowing mine are the same. I take him in, in all of his beauty. How something so beautiful, so perfect, could ever be so dangerous I will never know.

I bring the tips of my fingers up to touch his lips, gently, and his eyes flutter shut, and he leans into me. I have done something to him, something irreversible, and he knows it. Made him feel something with all of his being, no matter how much he's told himself he cannot possibly.

Honestly, I can't tell you what I would do, if I wasn't bleeding from the place I want him. If I could actually have him like that.

"Nero," I whisper, and his name is the softest sound in the universe coming from my tired mouth.

"Mm?" It's a small vibration, low in his throat, and I feel it with every single exhausted part of me.

I lean against him even more and let our noses brush, I hold his face with my fingers, and our breaths mix together, warm.

"I'm..." I shake my head, and my face is flushed, embarrassed. "We can't because I have my..."

I trail off, bite my lip and avoid his eyes, willing him to understand that even though it is so fucking wrong, I would have him right now if I could.

His eyes close and he moans and lets his forehead lean against mine because he gets it, he knows what I'm trying to say. "No fucking way, dolcezza." And I can feel his want pressing heavy against his jeans, and I can feel my own in the slick ache between my thighs.

His lashes are impossibly long, and he looks at me like I am the most magical, incredible thing in the galaxy. Like he sees every part of me, knows every detail, and still thinks I'm perfect.

Except we can't be with each other, not like that, not now, and that makes the world so, so unfair.

"Sorry." I breathe it against him, and his nose twitches because the air tickles, soft and warm.

He shakes his head, holding my face between the roughness of his palms. "Don't be, it's..."

The world caving in around us. "Yeah."

We are so screwed. "Yeah."

And I don't know what all that stuff that just happened between us is, but we hold each other tight, and I clutch him against me and he presses me to him, and we just breathe the same air, just for a little while.

And then, because this is so wrong and because there is nothing left, because nothing is okay and we are both still full of want and frustration, he kisses me one last time, and it feels like good-bye.

But I'm not ready for that so I grip his shirt between my fingers and press our lips together harder, for one last, intense, melting moment of sin and shame, of something that doesn't, can't possibly have a name.

And we stare at each other, saying all those same things we can never speak out loud, and he plants a small kiss on my forehead and we untangle ourselves and he looks at me one last time, dazed and wanting, and he leaves. I close the door after him and that is the end of that, and I feel so weak that my knees collapse under me and I slide to the floor.

And that is all—more than—I can ever hope to handle.

***

A/N:

Whew. I might just cry, idk about you. Thoughts? Like I said, I felt it was time. But like, now what, right?

I guess Mother Nature doesn't want them to do it.

Let me know what's going on in your head ❤️

XOXO Ami

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