Chapter 80

Chapter 80
Blaze

He pushes the bedroom door open with his foot, doesn’t even pause before laying me down like I’m something fragile he doesn’t want to crack.

But I already am.

Cracked all over. Held together by too many quiet nights and unanswered questions.

Carlo kneels on the bed between my legs, his eyes tracing me like he’s memorizing a map he’s too afraid to lose again. His fingers brush the hem of my shirt but don’t lift it yet. He just looks.

“Take it off,” I whisper.

He does. Slowly.

My shirt slides up, over my ribs, over my scar—he pauses there, eyes darkening just a little before he pulls the fabric over my head and tosses it aside.

His hands follow the same path his eyes did, fingertips ghosting over my chest, down the dip of my stomach. When they reach the scar again, he leans in and presses his lips right to it.

I flinch, but not from pain.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

I scoff. “Don’t lie.”

His hand grips my jaw, not rough, just firm enough to make me meet his gaze. “I don’t fucking lie to you.”

I don’t say anything.

Because right now, I want to believe him.

He kisses me again, and it’s nothing like the last kiss. This one is desperate. Deeper. Slower. His tongue slides against mine with the kind of patience that makes me ache.

When he finally pulls back, I chase his mouth like I need it to breathe.

He smiles.

“You want slow?” I whisper against his lips. “Or do you want honest?”

His eyes spark. “I want both.”

Then he leans in again, and this time, his kiss isn’t soft.

He pushes my legs open with his knee, climbs fully between them. His hands are at my pants, unbuttoning, unzipping—he doesn’t yank them off. No. He slides them down, inch by fucking inch, eyes glued to the way I breathe harder with every pass of his fingers.

My briefs go next, and I’m already hard, already leaking for him, and he hasn’t even touched me properly yet.

“God,” he mutters. “Look at you.”

He wraps a hand around me, strokes once—slow and tight—and I swear I almost lose it right there.

“Fuck—Carlo—”

“Yeah,” he says softly, like he’s already thinking ten steps ahead. “You missed me?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

He chuckles, but it fades fast.

Because now he’s leaning down again, tongue flat against my hip, licking a slow line inward.

I jerk. “Carlo, don’t—”

“Shh.” His breath ghosts over me. “Let me have you.”

He kisses the inside of my thigh, then lower. His mouth wraps around me, slow and hot and deep.

I swear. Loud.

One hand grips the sheets. The other curls in his hair.

He’s unhurried. Like he’s got all fucking day.

Like he wants to prove a point with every pass of his tongue.

I look down and see him watching me, eyes dark and locked on mine, and it’s too much.

“You’re—fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just keeps going until I’m shaking.

Until I’m right there.

I pull at his hair. “Stop—Carlo, stop—I’m gonna—”

He pulls back right before I fall over the edge.

I groan, head falling back, body twitching with need.

“You’re such an asshole,” I pant.

“You said honest,” he murmurs, crawling up over me again. “I want to feel it. All of it.”

I blink up at him. “You’re gonna make me beg, huh?”

His fingers trail over my chest, down my side. “Already are.”

Then his mouth is back on mine. Kissing me like he’s claiming it.

He grabs lube from the drawer like he’s been thinking about this all week. Like he’s had every second mapped out.

His fingers slide between my legs.

One. Then two.

Stretching me open slowly. Gentle. Too gentle.

“I can take more,” I growl.

“I know,” he says. “But I’m not rushing this. Not tonight.”

I want to curse. Want to bite him.

Instead, I shut my eyes and breathe through the burn.

When his fingers finally leave, I almost whimper.

But then I feel him, hot and thick, pressing at my entrance.

He pauses. Hands on my thighs. Waiting.

My eyes snap open.

“Don’t you fucking dare tease me now.”

He smirks. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready since the damn hallway.”

He pushes in.

Slow. Steady.

And fuck, I feel every inch of him.

I hiss. Grip his arms so tight I’m surprised I don’t bruise him.

He bottoms out with a groan, forehead dropping to mine.

“Jesus, Blaze…”

I suck in a breath. “Move.”

He does.

Not fast. Not rough.

Just deep.

Long, dragging thrusts that make my toes curl.

His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek like we’re doing something sacred instead of raw and filthy.

And I hate it—how much I love it.

“Say it,” he whispers.

I shake my head.

He thrusts harder.

“Say it.”

“I—fuck—Carlo—”

He pulls almost all the way out, slams back in.

My whole body arches.

“Say it.”

“I missed you!” I shout. “I missed you so fucking bad I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Thought I was going insane.”

His pace stutters. His grip tightens.

“Good,” he growls. “Because I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped needing you.”

I wrap my legs around him, pull him in deeper.

And we stay like that.

Sweating. Cursing. Moaning into each other’s skin.

Until we both fall over the edge.

Hard.

Messy.

Honest.

He collapses on top of me, both of us panting like we’ve just outrun the world.

Minutes pass.

He rolls off but keeps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. After a while he gets up, walking butt naked to the bathroom, I watch him disappear loving every feeling that this asshole is my man.

Suddenly his phone beeps, the screen lights up from the floor. I didn’t know what pushed me, but I decided to glance from the bed, to let him know if it was an important message.

A headline pops up from his notification, my eyes widening.