"Scarlett."

Giovanni's voice is a soothing hum, beside my ear. Reluctantly, my eyelids part, reasonably exhausted. My cheek is cozy warm, pressed up against the smooth cotton of his shirt, my legs draped over both of his knees.

The car has come to a stop.

He nudges my forehead with his lips. "Scarlett, we're here."

Here.

It takes me a few moments in recollection to remember where I am, what "here" actually means. My eyes pop open, and I sit up, rubbing my face.

"We're here?"

He chuckles, as our security detail, Sam, opens his side. The other man on the job, Raymond, is still in the front, leaving us at the curb before he parks the car. I slide out of the backseat and into Giovanni, bracing myself on his forearms. The sound that leaves me is unusually anxious, and I'm sure he knows it, and why.

We walk into the lobby, while Sam retrieves the bags from the car. He catches up to us, taking the key to the room adjacent to ours. This trip, if we can help it, will be spent on our own. They are here as a pre-caution, because whether I like to think about it or not, our days are rarely smooth. Currently, we have a lot of enemies, a lot to be worried about. We're bound to be noticed here, and when that happens, security will be necessary.

We take the elevator to the elevated floor and part ways the moment we reach the doors, taking our bags. Exhausted, we don't intend to leave the room today, and we inform him that. The marriage license is in my bag, and I had to pull multiple strings to get it so quickly.

However, connections can only go so far. We still have fifteen hours before we can legally wed. Fifteen hours to wait. Giovanni opens the door, and we both take in the room. Modernized, and reeking elegance, the space has all necessities and leaves the rest to imagination. With a restless step, I spin on my heel when I hear Giovanni shut the door. He smiles, setting down our hastily packed bags near the entrance. His smile holds just as much hesitance as mine does, which makes this impromptu trip a bit easier to digest.

I don't regret my desperate plea for him to whisk me away and force the world to turn to our favor. But, I am weighed by the colossal importance of what we're about to do, how much finality comes with marriage. And how until yesterday, that finality could make me physically sick. I remember when I was begging him not to leave me, in my office that horrible night, I told him in my desperation I'd do anything, I'd even marry him to keep him. Yet, when we reconnected, that thought still seemed abhorrent. And then he did propose, and last night, so did I... and now, here we are.

I plant myself by the windows, crossing my arms over my body at the sights outside.

I've never known a good marriage up close. Not one. I've never had much faith in matrimony, which is probably why I settled for what Dixon had to offer. Somehow, I must have seen something in him that was familiar, because he turned out so much like the man who raised me. And it makes me think constantly if I unknowingly looked for the only thing I'd been accustomed to.

What is terrifying about marrying Giovanni is that I have so much hope. I have an abundant hope for what this could be, which I've never allowed myself to dream of. A home, a warm, loving home with children I can watch him dote upon. A life to watch him grow old, and he I—and pray that years from now, he'll still look at me as he does in these moments.

To have these dreams, these aspirations feel like a childhood fantasy I should shut out quick. I have no proof of them other than movies or books.

But as Giovanni's arms wind around me, his chest pressing into my back and his chin rests against my hair, staring out of the same window I am, I'm confronted by how much of what I've experienced with him that is unprecedentedly new, how much he's awakened my life. I have no right to doubt him, not after everything we've gone through, and managed to survive too.

"Cold feet?"

I tear my eyes from the glorious view of the massive falls down below the hotel. He exhales when I shake my head, tilting my head to my shoulder. Our cheeks press, and his arms tighten.

"Scared?"

It takes me a moment to nod, unsure if I want to be truthful with him on this subject. Last thing I want is to make him rethink all of this, or to think I'm rethinking all of this.

"I know what marriage means to you, Scarlett. I wouldn't have brought you all this way if I wasn't sure I could change your mind on it. If I know anything about myself, anything, it's my need to make you happy."

"That's got to be exhausting," I mutter, even though my cheeks flush instantly with enjoyment at his reassurance. I shouldn't want, nor need so much of it, but I'm too selfish to tell him to stop. I want his world to start and end with me. He chuckles against my hair.

"Extremely."

We stand in silence, and I'm positive we're both keeping each other upright. My heavy eyelids struggle to part. My fingers move over the soft hair covering his forearms.

"Is it bad that I really want to sleep?" I ask him, knowing one of the greatest wonders of the world is just outside our window. He chuckles, kissing my temple and his arms begin to slacken, releasing their hold.

"You read my mind."

...

By the time I reemerge into consciousness, the sky behind the draped curtains has darkened, now painted in pastel colors while the sun descends below the horizon. I'm in the clothes I arrived in, still atop the comforter. Giovanni is on his side, deeply sleeping. I don't remember a time I've found him asleep, which is worrisome, so I take every precaution climbing out of bed not to wake him. Gently, I shut the door to the bathroom to shower, and by the time I exit, wrapped in the robe provided by the hotel that was hanging behind the door beside an exact replica, he's still under.

I take a seat by the window, and dig into my purse for my phone, which I've ignored long enough. Right when I open up the screen, I face the bombarded messages, and take the time to scroll past the personal ones first.

Rebecca: Um, Niagara Falls? That's an odd vacation spot...a lot of people go there for a reason. Something you want to tell me? ;) I will hold down the fort here. Carlos wants you to call him. He suggested meeting for drinks when you get back. I diverted it to dinner discreetly, knowing your restriction on alcoholic beverages.

Ed: Checking in on you. I was worried about you yesterday at the funeral. Give me a call whenever you feel like it. Day or night, you know that.

Monica: Scarlett, I'd like to catch up before the meeting of the will. Maybe lunch? Let me know what times you have available. I know you are a very busy woman now.

I write Rebecca back, diverting her inquiries and leave Ed's and Monica's messages where they are. It takes me nearly thirty minutes to go through all of the business related ones, which I take the time to respond, glad that most of them are regarding work, and not Norman. The ones that are about him I type out an obligatory thank you, excluding any emotion.

Wishing I could shut my phone off all together, I instead stuff it down into the bottom of my purse, where I won't be bothered by its noise or reminders. Norman's funeral was only yesterday, and as nice as the service was, it was spoiled by the surprise guest. Ted—whose eyes, so strong with hatred—still are embedded in my brain, having emerged from my darkest thoughts. I have no idea what happened with him and Giovanni, but Giovanni's hand full of splintered glass may keep him away for good.

Unable to distract myself with noise or distractions or Giovanni, it's easy to fall into my mind. It's a place I'd rather keep out of, finding I lack the willpower to fight my way out of the dark thoughts. It's in moments like this that I'm confronted by fears and realizations. It's here that I think of the fact that Norman's gone and when it was once so easy for me to get ahold of him; I don't have that option anymore.

I'm seconds away from ruining this entire night, which sends me up onto my feet and to my bag to retrieve the bikini I nearly forgot to pack. I only have to travel to the other side of the hallway to reach the securities door. Raymond answers promptly, still chewing on his dinner. I inform him I'm heading to the pool, and if Giovanni wakes to let him know where I am.

"I'll get my jacket—"

I shake my head, holding up my hand. "I won't be gone long."

Last thing I want is some guy sitting by the side of the deserted pool watching as I swim laps. He's visibly displeased at my lack of caution, but knows better than to push me further. I travel to the roof, and to my extreme pleasure, find the pool deserted. It's no doubt closed, but when I push the gate to check, it opens with a low creak.

Dropping my towel on one of the cushioned patio lounge chairs, I waste no time diving into the heated water. As soon as I'm submerged and fully occupied, I use up all my pent-up energy to haul myself from one side of the pool to the other, only breaking the surface to gulp in necessary air.

It's easy to take comfort in the laps, in the work. Due to the warmness, I'm in no hurry to climb out, knowing I'll be attacked by the wind at this altitude. I only stop when I can't breathe, when my eyes are burning. And instantly smile in knee-jerk reaction when I set sight on Giovanni, seated on the closest patio chair.

Even in the dim lighting, his features flash with relief at the sight of my smile, my pleasure to find him there, but he quickly wipes that vulnerability away. I swim up to the edge, laying my forearms flat against the side, wondering how long he's been sitting here.

"You have quite a bit of pent up energy, I see," he says, his voice perfectly withdrawn, just enough to make his mind a mystery. "You should have woken me up. I could have helped."

After nearly two weeks hardly touching one another, my heart both jumps and sinks at his words. Since Giovanni has been back, our lives have imploded, so it's only natural that I hear the same caution in his words that I hear in my own. It's only natural that the air around us suffocates us. Our questions are many, and our answers nonexistent.

This trip is a "fuck you" to the world, but I know, just as he does, that our mind, our intelligence will never be far behind, even as we utter those vows. I'm usually realistic for the both of us, but even here, Giovanni seems to comprehend that our lives fluctuate regularly, and that every move we make needs to be carefully planned.

When we arrive back from this beauty, we will need to expect anything.

Because Dixon isn't gone. Tony isn't gone. Lola isn't gone. Monica, Ted...the list could go on.

I choose to discard it altogether, refusing to think on anything but where I am, what I'm about to do, and who I'm with. Giovanni's freshly showered, apparent by the wild curls that are tamed and brushed back, which gives me perfect view of his profile. And the sight of it, against the blue undertones coming from the illuminated water, stuns me into silence.

I'm not sure how he takes my lack of words, since he quickly changes the subject. He flicks his head, urging me out of the pool. "Come eat."

"I'm not really hungry," I say, shaking my head. "Come in here."

His eyes slant at the hint of promise in my voice, the octave it raises to entice him into the water with me. When his lips purse, I know he's going to resist me.

"I have no suit. And I refuse to give up. You haven't eaten all day."

"It's cold out there."

He smirks, holding up one of the robes from our room, proving that he's always one step ahead of me. Begrudgingly, I begin to move toward the stairs to exit. His eyes are greedy, traveling over my scantily clad body as I approach, squeezing the water from my hair and I feel it—everywhere.

"Look at me now," I warn with a smile. "In a few months, it's not going to be a pretty sight."

"Oh? Is that so?"

I nod, humming. "I'm going to blow up and gain weight. My skin is going to stretch out. I'm going to be emotional and crazy..."

He holds out the robe, which is soft and thick, the perfect thing to keep out the chill. "You certainly seem to know quite a bit for someone who has never thought of kids."

"I looked to remind myself why I was taking birth control," I joke, drying myself with the towel first. I hear him scoff, and turn to the food.

"You're incorrigible."

"Always."

He glares at me as I sit down on the opposite patio chair, crisscross, and wrap the robe around my body. The food he's brought is clearly room service, and smells gourmet.

"I'm going to start liking weird foods too. Like pickles or something. And you're going to have to deal with it. Pickles."

"Pickles?"

I smirk, slowly. "Yes. You're going to have to run out and get me pickles at all times in the night. I'm going to wake you up and tell you to go, and you're going to have to get dressed and find them for me."

"Doesn't sound too bad," he says, removing the silver lids. His nonchalance is irritating.

"Well, what about when I don't fit into any of my clothes? When I groan having to get up? Or when I don't want to have sex anymore?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a myth."

"It's not." It could be. I'm just spitting out things now. They don't faze him.

He looks at me, soundly. "Then I'd make you want me."

I bite my lip, exhaling. "And how do you plan to do that?"

When he abandons the food, and leans over, grabbing ahold of the lounge chair on either side of me, and drags it—and me—toward him, my heart leaps to my throat. The screech of the metal still echoes in my ear when his lips press to my throat, and trail upwards until he's at my mouth, which is gasping.

"Easy. I'd remind you how much you love me."

He smiles against my quivering lips, hearing my sigh of defeat.

"I give up," I confess, reluctantly.

"Good," he replies cheerfully, immediately turning back to our food, having handled his crazy almost-bride. My mouth slims, hating how calm he is about all of this. A baby...how the hell is he so calm?

"Your eyes are physically burning through my skin," he says with a chuckle, handing me a plate. I'm too busy looking at him to really focus on the food atop the fancy china, but whatever it is smells divine.

He turns, so we're sitting face to face, both crisscross on our respective chairs.

"How are you so calm? How?"

"Is that what I look like to you?" he asks, with a hint of disbelief. His smile goes lopsided. "I've never been so scared in my life."

He says it with no conviction, almost as a sigh. It's an afterthought, something he let slip out. I can tell it is because his shoulders immediately straighten, and he begins to reach for silverware, as if what he said was just a normal passing thought. And changes the subject.

"Our reservation is for seven. It's the only time they could fit us in."

I take the silverware he's holding out. "Your name packs a pretty punch, doesn't it?"

"It has some advantages. My father hasn't ruined us completely."

"This won't last forever, Gio." I set the plate onto my lap, steeling in a breath of courage. "The company is already—I am already—"

"I know, Scarlett," he says, nodding. "I know."

I place a hand over his fork. "Well, don't sound so upset about it—"

He chuckles, pulling on his bottom lip with a smile. "You know you're the best. I know you're the best. I put my reputation in your very capable hands, baby."

I sit back with a huff, satisfied. "It's not going to be hard. Just a new line, some events, gala appearances, dinners—"

His smile widens. "Alright, let's talk about you some more. Or the baby. Anything but this."

"So, what? You want to talk about how nice the night is or something like that?"

"That's perfect conversation." He glances up into the stars. "We should go for a walk."

"Now?"

His gaze hardens. "After you've eaten."

We both begin to smile simultaneously, and his lips twist.

"I swear, Scarlett..."

I begin to grin, setting down my plate. He moves toward me and laughs, already aware of what I'm planning as I slip out of his grip and onto my feet. I discard my robe inches away from the edge of the pool and jump back into the water, sinking down to the bottom after the initial impact into the water. When I surface, he's standing at the side, his hands on his hips. His t-shirt blows into his hard stomach, rippling against the wind.

"You're such a child."

He smiles as if that statement makes him extremely happy, and then jumps in with me, fully clothed.

...

"Are you tired yet?"

I shake my head, looking out over the plummeting falls. The sky is a deep, dark color now, scattered with stars and clouds. We've been standing here, mostly in reflection for nearly a half hour. I've been trying to match up constellations, recognize patterns that seem familiar. I've found the Big Dipper, even Orion, spotting the belt first, then the rest of the scattered stars. If the falls weren't so bright, I think we'd even be able to see the Nebula below it.

We glance briefly at one another, before we continue on, walking at the leisurely slow pace, in no hurry to get back to the hotel room. We're alone, having escaped without detection from the security and due to the late hour, we've pretty much got the sidewalk to ourselves, leaving us in no fear of being discovered.

"I don't think your mother is going to be very happy about this," I say.

"No, I don't suspect she will be. She'll be appalled; convinced this was a shotgun wedding."

"A horrifying scandal," I respond, teasing. He gets a kick out of it.

"She'll insist on a cover up."

"Wedding?"

"Mhm. A huge, very expensive one she's always dream of organizing, right down to what dress is on your body."

"Alright, I'm getting nervous. Are we joking still?"

He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. "We don't have to do a single thing for her."

"Well, a wedding would be publicity," I say after a minute. And he looks down at me. I smile slowly, my brain churning with sudden ideas. "I mean, if you designed the dress, people wouldn't be able to stop talking about it—"

"This is the wedding that matters to me." He stops, pulling me close. He runs his hands over my hair. "That being said, I'll marry you as many times as you allow me to."

I lean into him, pressing my head into his chest. His arms wrap around my shoulders, and he sighs comfortably. He smells like a fresh shower, powerfully fragrant soap. His skin is soft and much paler than it usually is. The waterfalls are strong and loud, even a good distance away.

I huff to myself and he begins to pull back. "You've always had a way with words, haven't you?"

When my legs move, his do too, and we're both continuing along the path. He grins.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. You always had the right words, knew exactly what to say and do, from the very start."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I chuckle. "Sure you don't. Casanova."

His features are unmarred by any distress, brightening even in this dim light. His smile is dauntingly large and wide, which warms my body completely, heel to head.

"Do you ever think about the beginning?" I ask.

"Of us?"

I nod.

"Sure...Why?"

"No real reason. Sometimes I like to think how hard we thought it was, when in reality, we didn't even know difficult. It's every enlightening."

He laughs. "Yes, I can't disagree with you there."

"It's crazy how different those people were. We were fun."

"We're still those people," he says without a trace of regret, or insult by my musings. I glance over at him, chuckling. I'm not sure if he even believes that, or if he's just saying it in a knee-jerk reaction, but either way, I don't want to make him think I love that version of him more than the one in front of me now.

"Maybe. Yeah, a bit. You mostly."

Giovanni doesn't reply to that, and we just concentrate on the surroundings while continuing along the path. It's a weeknight on a surprisingly chilly night, which is why this place is probably so deserted. When he slips his hand into mine, I move closer to him, appreciating the warmth he radiates.

"It's getting chilly," he says, conversationally. I nod, eyeing the buildings coming up. He points out to the falls.

"There is a cave over there that fell apart. They do trips to it during the day."

"What? Down there?"

He nods as I lean into the railing, peering down at the darkness. "Yes, you have to wear disposable shoes, raincoat. You get soaked. You take an elevator down."

"And it isn't dangerous?"

He moves behind me, grasping onto the railing on both sides of me. "No, people do it all the time."

"Crazy people."

He laughs, beside my ear. "Sure, crazy people."

Normally, I'd expect him to pull away. Our conversations clearly ended, but he doesn't. And despite the fact that he's hardly touching me, apart from the length of his torso against my back, my breath is gone, and I can hardly move. Without a word, or a graze—only his presence—has made me aware of his proximity, which is clearly what he wants. I know that because the moment I've turned my face to my shoulder, peering at him beneath dense lashes, his lips are caressing my skin gently.

"Giovanni?"

His breath is warm, which is a startling contrast to the autumn wind mixed with the rush coming from the intimidating falls. My skin prickles with awareness, my stomach flipping with unease, and excitement.

His chin perches on my shoulder. "You and I may be world's different than before...but one constant has always been my ability to make you come, anywhere—anytime."

"What?" The word is breathless and when he doesn't answer me right away, when he doesn't calm me down by saying he's kidding or teasing, my entire body feels it. Sharp shots to my nerves that are so damn familiar. I'm hanging on his words, as he wants it.

"Unbutton your jeans," he whispers, without lifting his chin, without touching me and my breath hitches, my eyes darting around us. There are people cuddled on a bench nearby, under a lamp post, and a group talking by a staircase. They're far enough for obliviousness, but I'm too stunned to do as he asks.

"Giovanni..."

"You want proof. I can give it to you. The man I'm with you now is in love, madly. The man I am now can hardly restrain himself from you. Foreplay, dirty words, all of it is too much. I need to be inside of you, as quickly as possible," he says, and even his voice is different—changed. There's a low rumble behind every syllable, every breath, and a slight detachedness that instantly sends me into a dozen memories. And I realize that when he seduced me, when he took me to bed when we first met, his words were hollow, and intelligently designed to arouse me—to make me lust for him.

Not love him.

"This isn't what I meant," I whisper to him, breathless.

"I know it isn't. But, I'm going to show you all the same. Unbutton your jeans, Scarlett."

His dominance is heightened, and full of demand. I turn toward the railing, hearing my own swallow among the crashing water, and my hands leave the railing. My fingers, which are trembling, pull on the buttons in one quick move.

"Don't let anyone see," I utter, as if someone we're directly beside us.

"The thought of someone catching us never bothered you before. In fact, it made you come faster," he says, his voice seductively laced with amusement. "What's changed?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just said it because it seemed right to.

The moment I've pulled down my zipper, and placed my hands back onto the cold railing, his hands move the inches needed to lay them over mine. His chin rises from my shoulder as he straightens, urging me closer to the railing with his body.

"Lean your elbows onto the railing."

The move urges my ass into his groin, and I gasp audibly at the hardness I'm pressed to. He chuckles, low, his fingers spreading over my forearms on an ascent.

"Just seconds, Scarlett. That's all it takes. You don't even have to touch me, look at me, speak—the mere thought of you can do it for me."

My eyes close tightly when his hands drift from my arms and onto my breasts, where I'm sure he can hear the pounding of my heart. I can imagine what he looks like right now, his hair tumbling over his prolific features, which have hardened in determination. I imagine his mouth just barely parted, his eyes sharp with arousal. When he breathes heavily against my skin as my nipples harden to his fondling, I imagine those eyes closing as he fights to restrain himself, as I've seen him do so many times.

"If I were that man, I'd praise the plump softness of your breasts, which fit perfectly in my hands. I'd explain what they taste like, how your nipple feels when my tongue is rolling around the sweet little nub. I'd explain what it feels like to hold my hand to your chest, knowing it's inches away from the most vital part of you. I'd tell you how badly I want to bend your heart to my will." His hands are traveling lower over my shirt, right over my stomach, and I'm not breathing through my mouth anymore. I can't.

"I'd trace your curves like I'm doing now, mentally memorizing them so I can reminisce on the memories later. I'd never let my lips touch you fully, making you want them more than my own touch...and I'd slip my fingers into your pants."

He does exactly that with the hand that isn't bandaged, effortlessly pushing his way beneath the denim and panties, until he's cupping my mound. My whole body is shaking, partly from nerves, partly from the sultry words leaving his mouth.

"And I'd tell you to spread your legs."

At his command, I do, slightly, coming into consciousness enough that my eyes dart to the people nearby, that might possibly be watching quite a show. But, we're undetected and I could hardly care less when Giovanni's two forefingers slip into the sleekness, tracing my folds with slow caresses.

I bite my lip, but the moan still escapes. Oh fuck.

"Giovanni—"

"I'd tell you how delicious your cunt is. How sweet your come tastes on my tongue, how I love drinking you in. I'd wait, needing to hear the sounds you can't help but make as I tease your clit, rolling my finger over it until you begin to shake."

"Giovanni," I say again. It's the only thing I can think of to say. My chest is crashing, my ribs hurt. I'm making the sounds he wants to hear, proving his point. He can trace me like a well-known map.

"I'd tell you that I all I think about is fucking you. About how tight and warm you are, how I feel when I bury myself in you. How I have to hold back when I catch your jaw strain as I sink in too deep."

His lips haven't touched me, and I've noticed it. My arms begin to leave the railing to touch him.

"On the railing," he reminds, his voice completely firm.

He's proving his point alright. He's coming at me full-force, torturing me with his ease, and I can instantly remember how badly I wanted him to break down back then. How badly I wanted him to lose himself in me, and become ungraceful, desperate to be inside of me.

He is in control right now, as he was when we first met...something he's given me selflessly since then.

And suddenly, all I can think about is his lips. His gasps that come when I grab him tight. His soft, whispered words of love.

He's proved his point.

I really don't want that man. And I don't want to be that woman.

I want mess, and overbearing emotions. I want all of this chaos.

If it means I have him this way, this in love with me, I would never want the man I had.

Giovanni is different, and I love him for it.

As if he can read my mind, he whispers, "Is this what you want? Is this it?"

"No," I breathe, shaking my head. My hand leaves the railing and grasps his forearm, and he doesn't stop me. His teasing stops.

"Tell me what you want, then."

"Tell me you love me," I plead softly, turning my face to the side, to my shoulder. I can hardly get the words out. He just stands there, still, his hand buried beneath my clothes. I gasp at his silence. "Please. Tell me. I like us messy. I do. I need it."

His fingers begin to rub me again, and my knees buckle. My hand leaves his skin to support myself on the railing. It's the only way I'll remain upright. His front conforms to my back, and his free hand covers mine tightly. I release a sound of relief, pure relief and release when I feel his lips against the nape of my neck. They drag up and around toward my chin, and I turn to give him closer access to my mouth, praying he kisses me.

"You're my home," he whispers against my cheek, and instantly, his voice is radiating warmth, devotion—adoration. None that were there a few moments ago.

"Everything I've just said is true. I'm still obsessed, obsessed with your body and your innocence, and your inability to see how beautiful you are," he continues, as my legs begin to close without my consent, my mind losing control of my body. "I still want to fuck you, fuck you and tell you everything I know about your skin. But that isn't what does it for me anymore."

I force my eyes to part, glancing toward the sidewalk.

"No one's watching, Scarlett. It's just you and me."

"Gio."

"I can't be the man I was before with you anymore. I can't restrain, and pretend like you mean less than you do." My heart is swelling, swelling enough to hurt. "Fuck pretenses. Fuck submission, domination, Scarlett. I crave losing myself in you deep enough that I can't breathe, let alone think."

"God," I bite out, as his tongue teases the curve of my throat. I'm nearly there, climbing the ranks of pleasure at a rapid pace, his words driving me home.

"Tell me you want the same," he demands, knowing he's drilled the truth into my brain for good. "Now. Tell me."

I nod, over and over again. "I do. I want this. Always. I want this."

"You know I love you," he finally confesses fast, giving me what I so desperately need. "I love you. I'll say it a thousand times."

His hand leaves mine on the railing and grabs my chin, turning me to him. Our eyes meet for the first time since he's touched me, and his eyes are blazing. Blazing with the words that are still unspoken, words that can come later. For now, he pulls my mouth to him, and devours my lips with brutality, groaning against them.

And I come undone. Just then—I fall helplessly over the edge, gripping the railing as I gasp against him, trying to remain quiet. He must be holding me, but I can't feel my skin. By the time I begin to feel again, both of his hands are gripping my arms tightly enough that I don't stand a chance losing my balance.

I feel the nerves exploding at the tips of my fingers, the very tips of my toes in my shoes.

My eyes glance over to the bench, which is now vacant. The people have disappeared into the night. I close my eyes, and drop my head back into his chest with an exhale. His arms leave mine to button up my pants, make me presentable again.

"So...Scarlett, you were saying—?"

I spin on my heel with a loud playful growl, and jump right into his arms that are ready to catch me.