What We Left in the Dark

Thirty Eight

As I approached my apartment door, my heart raced from the events of the last few days. Everything weighed heavily on me—Giancarlo's sudden reappearance in my life, the complicated emotions tangled between him and Luca, and the growing sense of danger closing in. My fingers fumbled for my keys, but the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps behind me sent a spike of panic through my chest.

I whipped around, my breath catching in my throat, only to be met by Gian's intense gaze as he marched toward me with purpose.

"Did you forget something?" I asked, my voice tight with unease.

He didn't respond. Instead, his eyes locked onto mine with a ferocity that made my stomach tighten. Without a word, Gian reached out, cupping my cheek with a hand that was both gentle and demanding, and pulled me into a deep kiss—one filled with emotion, torment, and the weight of long-suppressed love.

I barely had time to react before he picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He pressed me firmly against the front door, his body hard and insistent against mine. I gasped as I felt his arousal through the thin fabric of our clothes, his hips driving into mine with an urgency I hadn't felt in years. His lips found my neck, leaving searing, possessive kisses that sent my head spinning.

My breathing became ragged, the sensation of his mouth, his hands, and his entire presence consuming me. Each kiss ignited something inside me, leaving me trembling under his touch in a way only Gian could. I moaned softly as his lips moved lower, grazing my collarbone, his hands roaming my body, never leaving me for a second.

But suddenly, he stopped. He let me go, and the abruptness of it was jarring. His dark gaze, full of desire, locked onto mine again.

"Open the door," he growled, his voice thick with need.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my keys, quickly unlocking the door. As soon as the door swung open, Gian wasted no time. He swept me up again, carrying me into the apartment with a single-minded purpose.

He set me gently on the kitchen counter, his lips crashing against mine with the same intense passion as before. This time, his hands moved more urgently. In one swift motion, he began stripping the clothes from my body, his kisses trailing fire along my skin, leaving me breathless.

"Gian," I whispered, my voice a mixture of plea and desire as his mouth traveled lower. He pushed me down onto the cool surface of the counter, guiding my legs to hook over the edge, leaving me exposed to him.

His dark eyes roamed over me, full of hunger but also reverence. He looked at me like a man starving, desperate for what only I could give. Slowly, he parted my legs, his tongue darting over his lips, savoring the moment before tasting me.

The sensation of his hand on me sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, and when his lips latched onto my breast, I arched off the counter. His fingers teased and worked me closer and closer to the edge, every touch, every kiss drawing out moans and whimpers as I became lost in the intensity of it all.

Just as I was about to fall over the edge, Gian pulled back. He lifted me from the counter, my body trembling from the overwhelming sensations, and carried me to the bathroom. Without a word, he set me down on the counter and turned on the shower.

As he undressed, something shiny caught my eye. Among his discarded clothes was a handgun—its chrome gleaming under the light. The sight sent a chill through me, a reminder of the dangerous world we were entangled in. My pulse quickened, but Gian's presence pulled me back.

He extended a hand, his eyes softening. "Come," he murmured, his voice gentle. I took his hand, letting him guide me into the warm shower.

The water cascaded over us, washing away the intensity of the night, but not the connection between us. Gian lathered his hands with soap and ran them slowly over my body, his touch tender and deliberate, as if memorizing every inch of me.