The Romance Revival(38)

He was always a deep sleeper, and I’m sure the exhaustion he’s dealing with now is unparalleled. To my relief, he doesn’t even move when I carefully lie on the mattress behind him. I scoot closer, careful to not touch him, but stare at the back of his head, his long, tan neck, the broad shoulders that taper into a muscular back beneath the T-shirt. My palms heat with the urge to reach out and wrap my arms around his waist, to press my face into the space between his shoulder blades.

Luca. My Luca.

The purest love I’ve ever felt, and I didn’t see it until I almost lost it.

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight to fight tears.

Reluctantly, I shift back and carefully slide off the bed, giving him space but hoping he comes back to me soon.





18 LUCA




The heat of her skin is unreal, the rosewater smell of it intoxicating.

Emery’s tongue slides over mine, teasing and then overtly sensuous, and I let out an involuntary groan, arching my hips into hers, pushing deep into her warm heat. I don’t even know how we got here—on this mattress, undressed, making frantic love—but I wouldn’t stop it if there was a gun to my head. Emery gasps, her nails digging into my back, her legs spread wider as she works to pull me as close as she can get me.

“Sei splendida qui sotto di me,” I tell her. You are splendid here beneath me.

She looks up at me, sunlight catching the copper-penny flash in her right eye, and she smiles, so elated, so happy. Cool air blows over my back as I bend and press my lips to her neck, sucking, biting, desperate to consume her somehow. I snake my hand between us, feeling where I move in her, stroking her in gentle, fast circles.

“Ti piace, amore?” I murmur into her neck. Do you like it, my love?

She nods, her cheek brushing against mine. “Yes. Yes.”

With a tight cry, she starts to come, her body growing taut beneath me, and relief blooms through my bloodstream, the promise of pleasure streaking electric down my spine—

My entire body jerks, and I suck in a sharp, surprised breath, blinking into bright light.

It takes a few beats for me to figure out where I am—and where I’m not.

I’m not on a bare mattress outside, I’m not naked, I’m not making love to the woman with the soft skin and copper streak in her eye.

But I am in our bed. Alone.

It all comes back to me in a nauseating wave: waking up in the BioVIVE pod to a life of which I have no recollection. Emery’s lies about her career, the hidden safe in her office, and who knows what other secrets.

Still, she’s clearly heavy with remorse; every time I look at her, I register how her guilt has settled firmly into two parallel lines on her forehead between her eyes, how every admission she makes pours out of her with desperation and hope. I try to put myself in her shoes—she must miss the Luca she knows. I must feel like as much of a stranger to her as she is to me.

That she loves me is obvious.

I just need to reconcile what her love looks like with what my instinct tells me love should be. And it wasn’t just her failing me: I want to understand why I was willing to suppress the instinct that told me love should be more present, more complex, just… more.

Slowly, I push myself up and sit at the side of the bed. The clock on the nightstand says 4:12 a.m., meaning I somehow slept nearly twelve hours again. Jesus. That can’t be normal.

But I also can’t worry about the physical ramifications of being resurrected right now, because my body is still vibrating with the phantom sensations from the dream—or was it a memory? The soft, rosewater scent of her skin, the tight clasp of her body around me, her gasping, pleading sounds for more. From my throat to my groin, I ache with the need to come. I’m tempted to go find her and pull her into my arms, to ask if we can, for just an hour, pretend this situation doesn’t exist and come together in the way my body is screaming we need to.

But I know sex won’t fix anything right now. What I need is to get my head together.

Literally.

I focus on the feeling of the ground beneath my feet, on the awareness of the muscles in my legs, the solidity of the bones, the strong chain of my spine to my neck, deep breaths, the clarity of my vision. I push to stand, feeling a pulse of victory when I’m able to do it without rocking back and forth on the mattress to gain momentum.

I turn, giving Honey a soft whistle to come, before following her out of the bedroom and closing the door with a quiet click. I don’t know where Emery is, but the house is silent.

Everything in my body feels haywire; my brain screams for distance to think, but my body needs more of her. Closing myself into the bathroom, I shove my sweats down my hips and wrap my hand tightly around my length.

There’s a brief moment where I wonder if this is even safe, if my heart is ready to handle this sort of thing. I decide I don’t care. A hell of a way to go, I think with a laugh, before closing my eyes to remember the way dream Emery looked gazing up at me, the way her sounds turned hoarse and fevered as she started to come, the feel of her so wet and hot around my dick. I can still hear the sounds, can still smell the soft rose scent of her skin, can taste the salt of her sweat. With a tight breath, after only a frenzied flurry of strokes, I bite back a groan, coming hard into my hand.

Dizzy, I take a second to catch my breath before washing up, brushing my teeth, and hoping I’ve managed to clear my thoughts enough to face the rest of the day, whatever it involves. At least one important part of me is working.