But Too Well

LXX : Together

A/N: THANK YOU @FunnyPsycho for being my new Italian expert. Appreciate you so much. Small update you guys might find interesting: I was using the term 'fiorella' as a cute-sounding endearment. Apparently, this word is actually an Italian name, not a nickname. As much as I love imagining how it sounds in Nero's sexy voice, I had to change it for the sake of accuracy. @FunnyPsycho made some fantastic suggestions. Gioia, joy, is cute and apparently comes from southern Italy, where the mafia originated. How perfect is that? So, fiorella is no more. Just fyi. Say it with me: dj-YOY-a. Ros brings him joy, does she not? Even from the very beginning, before he knew it.

Also, about this chapter. Was originally planning on dragging things out more, making you guys beg a little. But this scene wanted me to write it and wouldn't take no for an answer, so here it is. Enjoy.

Bring tissues and an extra pair of panties.

***

36 hours later:

I OPEN THE door before he can even finish knocking.

The sight of him makes my heart thud painfully in my chest as he runs a hand through that thick, tousled hair, standing tall in a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, and for an electric second he just looks at me and I look at him, and then I am in his arms.

He surrounds me and I can't breathe, I can't think, all I can do is wrap myself around him, feel him and smell him and when our mouths meet, it's like neither of us has consumed anything in years, we are so hungry for each other that our lips bruise, our teeth clash and our tongues tangle and he holds me so close that you can't tell where one body begins, where the other ends.

We stumble inside, slam the door shut and collapse against it and his hands are at my hips, at my waist, tugging at my hair and tilting my head back so he can devour my mouth, make battle with my swollen lips.

My tears taste of pure happiness, the salt mixes with the sweetness of his mouth and when we pull apart just an inch, our lips are pink and wet, he holds my head in those rough palms and our noses brush together gently, the tip of his nudging affectionately against the side of mine.

My fingers clutch the fabric of his t-shirt and I meet his eyes, and they are the brightest, warmest, softest things I have ever seen. His pupils are so large, he gazes down at me and my heart is so full that nothing else, no one else, could ever possibly matter.

Our chests rise and fall together and we breathe the same air, inhale the scent of each other because damn it, it's been so, so long. I feel too much right now, too much joy and need and affection and pure want, to even be able to form words. After everything, he smells the same.

And then I bury my head against his solid chest and his arms wrap around me tight, pulling my body impossibly close against his, and into my hair he mumbles hoarsely, "I am never letting you go again, dolcezza." His voice is so heavy with emotion that each is word is a gruff whisper.

The heat of him pressed against me is comforting and dizzying and my body remembers him, remembers the kind of blissful havoc he can wreak so skillfully. My skin is alight and waiting for the feel of his bare touch.

What I want, what I need, as his fingers trail a tingling path down my spine and my hands sift through his messy hair and our chests are flush against each other, our breaths mixing together, isn't just sex. I need to love him, to show him how I love him and to feel him love me, touch me, have me, the way we know best.

I grip his cheeks in my hands, the stubble rough against my palms, tilting upwards to gaze at him. "Let me look at you," I whisper, studying those same sharp cheekbones, straight nose, full lips, golden skin.