by Amanda Faye
"Più della lun e del sole," I open my eyes and gasp the words into his ear, and the secret of my knowledge is shared.
His groan is guttural, as realization dawns that I've understood every word he's said to me these last four months.
Do you love me, baby girl?
More than the moon and sun.
He takes my hands in his, linking our fingers as he raises them above my head. His breathing becomes erratic, his thrusting frenzied. An urgency drives his movements as he tries to climb into my body.
When I crest around him, crying out his name, he lets my fingers slip from his grasp, wrapping himself around me. He kisses me with a fierceness that steals my breath, his hands sliding underneath my body to hold me to him.
He thrusts into me with power and passion until I feel him stiffen and pour himself inside me.
"Say it," I pant, breathless against his body. "I want to hear you say it."
He crashes his lips to mine as my body breaks to pieces.
“Ti amo, pizzola ragazza,” he whispers against my lips.
I love you, baby girl.
"Ti amo, anch'io, Eli."
I love you too, Eli.
My Tall, Dark, and Brooding.
THE END
Authors Note
Eli and Natalie may be my favorite couple ever. As you can tell, I got rather carried away with them. My husband has despaired of me, and my best author friend (cough, cough, Sade)has taken to reminding me every few hours I do have other deadlines to worry about. Deadlines Shmeadlines. Every girl needs an Eli.
I've already written another story for Eli and Nat, Beat of His Heart. Read it today, by signing up for my newsletter! Or, purchase it for .99 cents here!
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Love,
Amanda
About the Author
Amanda Faye currently resides in Atlanta with her high school sweetheart and husband of 15 years and their 4 amazing children.
She's had a passion for reading and writing since she was a child. She stole her first romance novel from her mother at age 12 and hasn't looked back since.
You could say being a Reeder is in her blood. (Family joke)
SNEAK PEEK
GROUNDED
Forbidden Fruit Series, #5
CHAPTER ONE
SHELBY
"Citywide shelter in place order."
Click.
"Statewide shelter in place order."
Click.
"Nationwide quarantine is now in effect. As of eight p.m. tonight, all flights are grounded. International travel is suspended. All businesses, excluding essential personal, are to close their physical locations."
Click.
I turn the radio off, tired of hearing the same speech in different accents. Frankly, I'm pretty put out over the whole situation.
Not the quarantine. No. I couldn't give a rat's ass about that. I'm single, work from home, and have little to no friends outside my social media. Tomorrow looks no different than yesterday did for me. No, what I'm ticked off about, is we finally have an end of the world, sneeze, and you'll catch it pandemic, and we haven't had one resurrected corpse.
I mean, isn't this what ten years of the walking dead have prepared us for? The zombie apocalypse. Yet, here we are. Apocalypse, without the zombies. It's kind of a letdown; I gotta be honest.
I pull into my gravel driveway, the familiar jutting of my car a balm to my ruffled feathers. My trunk is overflowing, and the eighteen pack of eggs sitting in the passenger seat reminds me I'll need to move some shit around in my kitchen as I put the grocery's away.
You'll never use a Costco membership, they said. Why bother, when it's only you? Well, jokes on them now, isn't it? Who won't have to leave the house again for at least two weeks?
That's right! This chick won't.
I slow as I approach my house, hidden from the street by trees and a steep hill.
There's a man on my porch. With a suitcase. Wearing a pilot's uniform.
I sit in wonder, my car still idling, as the man rises to his feet, stretching before giving me a small smile, waving his hand is a slow sort of half twitch.
I recognize him.
I think.
Derrick.
What the hell is he doing here?
Before I have a chance to get out of my car, my phone rings my brother's tone. He doesn't even wait for my hello before he's barking in my ear.
"Shell, I need a favor."
Surprise, surprise.
There's no chance he was calling to, say, check on me. Since we're in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. No. Jack would only call if he needed something.
"Let me guess; it involves a certain childhood bestie."
"How'd you know?" he asks, genuine bewilderment coating his voice. Not the brightest crayon in the box, my brother. Actually, that's not true. He is the brightest crayon in the box. Neon yellow. A color that doesn't play well with others. It's not his fault. I can't hold it against him.
"Because Derrick is currently sitting on my front porch."
"Oh," he says, and the silence grows between us before he finally speaks again. "He called me a few hours ago, but I got distracted. I didn't realize he'd be at your place so soon. Sorry, sis."
Naturally.
He's not a bad guy, my brother. He's on the spectrum, and while I've always felt he got all the good stuff from it, it's made his personality rough around the edges. Jack, brilliant as he is, can only concentrate on one thing at a time. He's a number cruncher. Anything that breaks that concentration gets pushed to the side until he has the brainpower to concentrate on it. Warning me that his best friend would be showing up on my doorstep was apparently not as critical as whatever problem he was solving.
"Feel like filling me in on why he is at my place?"
Derrick is staring at me from the porch, hands in his pockets. I point at my phone and give a 'what are you going to do' motion with my hands. He grins and offers a half shrug, telling me he already knows what the problem is.
He's as familiar with Jacks—eccentricities—as the rest of us are.
Derrick looks good. Real good. I haven't seen him in years. Not since he left the air force. His hair has grown out some, not long by any means, but not the military's sharp angular cut. He has the beginnings of a thick black beard, and God damn does it look good on him. His skin, already darkened from his European ancestry, has a golden hue, like he spends his free time lounging in the sun.
Then, of course, there's the airline pilot dress shirt stretched tight across his chest. What is it about a man in uniform that makes a girl's knees weak?
I give me a half-wave in return and put up one finger. I don't make a move to get out of the car yet.
"Have you been following the news?" Jack asks, and I can't help it. I smile.
"Yes, Jack, I'm aware of what's going on."
He's almost ten years older than me, and forgets, like he forgets so many other things, that I've been an adult for a long time now.
"Derrick was in the air when they grounded the planes. They allowed his flight to reach its destination, but now he's stuck. Then he remembered you live in Boston. We wondered if he could crash with you until he can make other arrangements."
Make other arrangements.
That's going to be almost impossible. Everything is either closing or closed. Most hotels are under quarantine, with no patrons in or out until te
sting has been completed. Even if you live in state. Wherever you are now, you're pretty much stuck there.
Son of a bitch.
Which means Derrick is stuck with me.
"Why does he have to stay with me? He's a pilot for heaven's sake. Surely, he can afford to rent an Airbnb or something."
There's little to no hope of that. I know it. But it doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and not put up a fight.
"Sure, he could," my brother replies, "if he could," and somehow that makes perfect sense to me, "but why should he half to. He's like family to me. To us. Besides, dad told me you had a to do list for that delipidated disaster you live in a mile long. He was planning on driving up this summer to help you with it. Now, Derrick can cross some of the items off the list."
Shit. It's not like I can tell them no.
"Of course, Jack. I'll take care of him."
We hang up quickly after that. Once Derrick's problem was taken care of, at least in my brothers' opinion, he had very little need to talk to me.
I sit in the car a minute longer, trying to gather my wits about me. Derrick is on my front porch.
I used to have a crush on him. A write his initials in a heart, practice signing his last name, followed him around like a puppy dog kind of crush. He's a few years younger than Jack and made it a habit of checking in on me every few days after Jack left for college. At least until he left too. I know he was only doing it for my brother, but it made me feel things at the time.
But that was ages ago. I hardly think of him now. I'm almost thirty. I own my own home. I'm beyond the point in life where childhood infatuations make me go weak in the knees.
I lock them when I climb out of my car just to make sure.
Derricks smile grows by the mile as I climb the front porch with my bag of eggs, coming to stand in front of him. Half my mouth twists up in a 'long time no see,' sort of way, but when I reach the door, his face falls.
He looks at me, expression twisted into something I can't read. The tension in the air rises, and I desperately want to step out of his line of sight. I put the key into the door and freeze when I hear him behind me.
"Holy shit," he whispers, and I glance around my yard, looking for what caused his exclamation. Did the murder hornets make it to Boston already?
"What," I breath, still scanning the space.
"Sorry," he chokes out, and his hand rises to scratch at his beard before latching onto the back of his neck. "I don't remember you being so hot. It caught me off guard."
I freeze, my blood dropping to my feet only to race itself around my nervous system. A nervous giggle slips from my lips, and I want to run my head into the nearest surface.
"Thanks. I think," I drawl out, turning the key and opening the door. At the swing of my arm, he precedes me into the house, dragging his suitcase with him.
"Jack didn't warn you I was coming, I take it."
"No," I sigh, then try to hitch a smile onto my face. "It's not his fault, you know how he is."
Derrick is standing by the door, and an indulgent smile tips up his lips.
"Yeah, I do. It's partly my fault. Or really, all my fault. I should have gotten your phone number when I called him, and then called you from the plan too. With everything going on though, it slipped my mind. I called him from the cockpit, using the satellite phone."
"You remembered to get my address though," I reply a little dryly.
"Well, yes. Like I said, it's my fault. Not Jacks."
"Some would argue it's the pandemics fault," I smart back, and my stomach swoops when his ear to ear smile graces his face again. He really is handsome.
"So, I take it you're going to take me in? Like a stray dog?"
"Do you want to sleep in the back yard?" I quip at him, and his eyes flash in amusement. "Or I could make you a doggy bed at the foot of the couch."
"My sister's dog sleeps with her," he snaps, and I grin at him before realizing what he said.
This got dangerous, fast.
Keeping my smile on my face, I tip my head in the living room's direction and move us away from the front door.
"Sorry," he says, in an abashed way. "Old habits die hard."
"What habits would those be?"
Cause he certainly wasn't joking about sleeping in my bed the last time I saw him. Course, I was still in college. Or maybe just out?
After I hit the button for my trunk, I throw my keys onto the kitchen counter, dropping my wallet next to it. The eggs go into the fridge, and I pull a few containers of never going to get eaten leftovers out, dumping the food into the trash before dropping the dishes into the sink. He's followed me into the kitchen and is leaning against the entryway, watching me as I putter around.
"The flirting with beautiful women kind. I'll try to keep it contained."
I look at him from over my shoulder. His hands are in his pockets, and he's just standing there, staring at me with that weird look on his face.
That's twice he's called me beautiful, in about the same number of minutes. Or hot. Or whatever. The point still stands. But then he apologized? Oh God, this is going to be a long couple of weeks.
"Again. Thanks. I think?" I reply, thoroughly lost for words.
He roughly clears his throat, grabbing at the back of his neck again.
"Anyway, thanks for taking me in," he says, and his eyes are sincere.
"You're welcome."
I face him, and against my will, my knees quake to have him suddenly so close to me. I mean, Derrick, is standing in my kitchen. The moment stretches between us, the tension in the air thick and heavy.
I pop my chewie in my mouth, and at his bemused look, spit it back out and rub my hands together instead.
"Let me get my car emptied, and we'll get you situated."
He jumps as if I've electrocuted him.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. Let me help."
Before I can do more than blink, he's out the door and bounding down the front porch.
Like a stray puppy, I picked up off the side of the road.
What just happened to my life?
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