One Month Later
Something soft presses against the side of my neck, rousing me from a deep sleep. A moment later, that gentle touch turns biting and sharp. I gasp, my eyes snapping open as Enzo sinks his teeth into the flesh beneath my ear.
“Enzo,” I groan. “My vagina has literally never been this sore in my entire life.”
“You can take it,” he mutters, emphasizing his statement with another nip. “You always do.”
“You’re so rude,” I grumble. “So uncaring of my battered, bruised body.”
He presses the hard length of his cock into my back, a soft groan slipping past his lips as he does. That small sound is enough to send heat slithering throughout my body, followed by a warm chill down my spine. It’s honestly pathetic how attractive he is. The dude could barter world peace or some shit, I swear.
If only he actually gave a fuck about it.
“I would have to disagree, Ms. Vitale.”
My heart thuds with the reminder.
Sawyer Vitale.
My first name is the only thing I have left from my old life, and it sounds so delicious every time it rolls off Enzo’s tongue. Admittedly, that may be one of the reasons I formed such a strong attachment to it, but considering I’ve long been running from my name, it feels good to finally be able to use it.
It was Enzo’s idea to take his last name. I argued, of course, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. And after his very persuasive techniques, I didn’t see the point in fighting it.
It’s just a last name…
A name that will forever tie me to Enzo, even if he ever does get sick of my shit.
“Still don’t understand why you insisted on me taking your last name. We’re not even married.”
“Marriage is just a piece of paper. That last name is permanent.”
“I mean, technically, my last name is also just a piece of paper.”
He growls and whips my body to the side, forcing me onto my back as he crowds over me. I laugh at the fierce look on his face. Even through our shared near-death experience, he’s not any nicer.
“You’re such a brute,” I tease, my smile slipping when he slides my—his—oversized t-shirt up my stomach, his rough palms gliding against my skin.
I shudder, still not used to how a single touch has me melting like butter.
He leans down close, dragging his lips along the column of my neck.
“Ti mangerei.”
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
“It means that I could eat you,” he rasps, nipping the side of my neck again. I bite back a gasp, my back beginning to arch involuntarily as shivers roll down my spine, like a sensual brush of a finger from a lover.
A soft moan escapes and my arms wrap around his neck, trapping him on top of me despite how my body protests.
“We have to leave soon,” he murmurs, placing a kiss beneath my ear, then another along my jawline.
“Where are we going?” I breathe, my eyes fluttering shut as his mouth slowly travels to mine.
“Out on the boat,” he answers, and immediately, my eyes pop right back open, a refusal ready. Taking the opportunity, he dips his tongue in my mouth, capturing my lips between his in a savage kiss.
The fucker uses his mouth like it’s a red button to a nuclear bomb. And every time he presses it against mine, it lets off the explosive inside me.
His hand slides through my curls, fisting them tightly as he deepens the kiss, stealing my soul with every swipe of his tongue.
I understand why he never let anyone have a taste of him. They would become addicted, and he’d never be able to free himself from their clutches.
His teeth clamp on my bottom lip, drawing the sensitive flesh into his mouth and sucking. I moan as he releases my lip, only to come back for more, curling his tongue in my mouth and sending electricity down the column of my throat.
By the time he pulls away, I’m bereft of oxygen, and I’m dazed as he resumes kissing the corner of my mouth and traveling down my neck.
“I think we should skip the boat and stay in bed today,” I say breathlessly, sliding my hands along his freshly shaved head. It’s back to short spikes again, and it feels incredible against my palms.
He draws up, staring down at me with an intensity that has my heart tripping over itself in its pursuit to break free of its cage.
“So we’ll go tomorrow then,” he states.
“Oh, darn,” I drawl. “I have a thing tomorrow. Rain check?”
“Bella, I won’t ever put us in danger again. Nothing will happen to you.”
I twist my lips. I haven’t been out on the boat since the wreck, deciding to take my time. There’s a fear that karma hasn’t finished with me yet, but an even larger part of me won’t let me run anymore.
I’ve found that facing my fears is far more invigorating.
“Fine. But there is one thing I want to do first today. And then you can throw me to the sharks where I will perish via heart attack, okay?”
He shakes his head at my dramatics but backs away.
“Go now. I’ll be waiting for you at the harbor at noon.”
“Well, I’ll be damned! And here I thought I was the elusive one.”
The voice brings an instant smile to my face, and before I know it, I’m running to the bus stop. My neon pink flip-flops clacking on the pavement as I rush up to Simon.
I’ve been checking the bus stop for weeks but haven’t seen him. I needed to wait until the situation with the police was sorted first and then gave myself time to heal. I didn’t want Simon to see me bruised and broken—I wanted him to see me better than before I shipwrecked on that island.
Before he can get another word out, I’m sitting on the bench and wrapping my arms around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder as I breathe in his salty ocean scent, with a hint of Old Spice.
He chuckles, his entire body vibrating as he pats my hands.
“Well, I missed ya too, young lady.”
“Sorry,” I say, pulling away. “I just never thought I’d see you again.”
“Well, this town ain’t that big. Only so many places I can go but down.”
I roll my eyes, grinning at him. “You’re not going to Hell, Simon.”
He snorts. “My ex-wife would tell ya different.” He leans back, tipping his nose up to inspect me as if he’s staring at me through a magnifying glass.
“What happened to you?”
I scratch my head, debating how much I should divulge.
“I got lost for a little while. But I’m home now,” I settle on.
“Uh-huh,” he says slowly, his eyes dipping to the brace on my wrist. It’s mostly healed now, but it’s still a little weak. I’m on the mend, physically and mentally.
Most nights, Enzo and I battle who can wake each other with a brain demon first, but we have someone to reach out to, and though neither of us is fully healed, we’re not alone.
“Looks like you’re ready for your next tattoo.”
I smile wide, showing him all my teeth.
“You fucking bet I am.”
He chuckles and pulls out a plastic bag with ink and unopened needles.
“What will you be getting today, on this fine Tuesday morning?”
I hadn’t realized what day it is, and it feels a little like déjà vu. Three and a half months ago, I met Simon at this bus stop on a Tuesday and got my first tattoo. I’ve come full circle, except I’m a completely different person than I was then.
I was sad, broken, and barely surviving.
And now, I’m still a little broken, but it doesn’t feel so bad to be alive anymore. And while I’ll always have the reminders of what happened to me etched into the inside of my brain, at least I’ll be able to look forward now, instead of looking back.
“I want a cactus,” I say finally.
He pauses, glancing up at me with raised brows.
“A cactus,” he echoes. “Why a cactus?”
I shrug. “They’re strong and resilient, and survive under extreme conditions.”
My friend juts out his bottom lip, considering that.
“Oh, and they don’t harm a fly unless you fuck with them.”
That pulls another full-bellied laugh from Simon.
“A cactus,” he repeats again with a chuckle, shaking his head almost in wonder.
“That’s who I am now—who I choose to be. A cactus.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” he says. “Where do you want it?”
I unstrap my brace, hold out my arm, and point to my wrist. “Right there, please.”
Smiling, Simon grabs my wrist and lays it flat on his thigh. After unwrapping the needle and dipping the tip into his jar of octopus ink, he gets to work, and I watch in comfortable silence as the misunderstood plant slowly forms.
It hurts like hell, but pain always comes before beauty. How else would we appreciate it?
“Done,” he announces twenty minutes later, straightening so I can inspect my wrist.
“It’s so fucking cute, Simon,” I proclaim, smiling at the misshapen cactus on my wrist. “If only you could do this with a cactus needle.”
He guffaws. “Don’t think there are any cacti ’round here. But you find one, and I’ll do ya next time with one.”
“You’re going to do what to her?”
My eyes widen, and I turn to find Enzo storming toward us, a frown marring his face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling a lot like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“I was heading to the bait shop and happened to see a little blonde thief sitting at a bus stop.”
“Well, hey now—”
“It’s okay,” I cut Simon off, placing my hand on top of his. “He’s a grump, but he’s my grump.”
Simon glances at me before settling back on Enzo’s fierce expression.
I face said grump, and show him my wrist, a bright smile on my face once more, though inside, I’m bartering with Satan not to let this man piss off my only friend.
“Simon gave me another tattoo. It’s a cactus.”
Enzo’s hazel eyes drop to my wrist, and then he’s grabbing my arm and bringing it closer. I bite my lip, my body flushing hotter from his tight grip.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the feel of him, but I don’t mind trying.
“Why a cactus?”
I give him the same reasoning I gave Simon, but he doesn’t react. He just stares at the plant for another few seconds before releasing my arm.
“That’s not sanitary,” he states finally.
“It’s not,” I agree.
He turns his gaze to Simon, and again, he just stares, a frown still on his face. I’ve no idea what the hell he’s thinking, and as usual, I can’t tell if he’s pissed or not. His normal face and his angry face look the same.
After a moment, Simon sasses, “Well, you gonna sit down for your own or just keep starin’ at me like a dead fish?”
Enzo cocks a brow, unimpressed. But to my utter surprise, he sits on the other side of Simon and silently holds out his wrist.
“Make it quick,” he grumbles.
My mouth falls open, and now I’m the staring dead fish as Simon unwraps a new needle.
“Whatcha gettin’?”
“A shark.”
Unbothered by Enzo’s short, snappy responses, he leans down and starts working on the tattoo. Hazel eyes are flashing to me, then dropping to my still open mouth.
“You’re gonna catch a fly in there,” Simon calls out to me, sparing me a glance.
“Uh,” is my only response. Enzo just arches a brow again, as if saying Well? You going to close your mouth or what?
I snap my jaw closed hard enough for my teeth to click.
“You’re strange,” I tell him finally.
Simon smiles.
“He fits right in, doesn’t he?”
Meeting Enzo’s stare again, I say, “I suppose he does.”
