Page 20 of Chasing You

“Why is that?”

“Because if you don’t stop talking about being naked, it’ll be more than just a thought or a conversation. And I want to know more about you than your favorite color before I fuck you.” And then I close my lips around hers.

She moans as soon as our mouths make contact, her lips opening immediately, inviting me in.

I groan as I lick my tongue into her mouth, as our warm breaths mingle in each other's mouths. She reaches one hand into my hair and drags her nails across my scalp, pulling a deep sound from somewhere deep within me.

One of my hands leaves her face to grip her waist as our kiss deepens, each of us wanting more from one another. She reaches for my arm, grabbing my hand from where it sits on her waist and placing it on her ass. I don’t waste a second before squeezing, and the moan that comes from her leaves me aching for more of this girl.

I move my other hand to join the first one, but instead of squeezing, I use it to lift her into my arms. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck and her legs around my waist like it’s second nature. Her hips grind against mine and I nearly collapse from the friction, but instead, I start walking. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get away from that bed before I’ve got Marina naked and tangled up in the white sheets.

Her hips roll once more and I can feel myself hardening far too easily in these shorts. I’m subconsciously aware that I’ve made my way to the kitchen, so I navigate my way to the island, dropping her on the countertop and pulling away from her addictive kiss.

I puff out deep breaths as I rest my forehead against hers, my arms holding all of my weight as I lean against the counter, caging her in.

“I think we should get married,” she says in between breaths. A jagged laugh escapes my grasp. “I’m just saying,” she puffs. “That was hot.”

I grin, pressing a kiss to her lips without breaking my smile. She’s absurd, and I love it. “Why don’t we start with that swim?”

chapter eight

MARINA

PRESENT

“Grazie!”I yell at the driver, who went well above the speed limit to get me here just in time.

He toots the horn before driving off as I walk into the lobby of Hotel Dolce. People are everywhere. A woman walks past me with a bunch of flowers so big she can barely see over them. I step out of her way before I cause a disaster.

“Ciao,Marina,” Stefan—Caio’s assistant? Hotel manager? I’m not sure what he is anymore—greets me as I shuffle my way down the hall to the bridal suite. “You’re?—”

“Late, I know,” I say as I pass him. Turns out it takes way longer to do your hair and makeup when two of your favorite people are getting married than when you have a shift at the bar beneath your apartment.

I slept like shit last night, my head in a never-ending loop, leaving me begging to a higher power for just a wink of rest. Sleep found me after hours of tossing and turning, but my mind didn’t stop running, even while I slept.

My purse starts buzzing. It’s probably Ma calling to find out where I am. No doubt, she and Nora have already found theirseats. Those two have been preparing for nearly a month for today, going shopping in Sorrento for new dresses and going to the hairdresser just this week, so they could make sure they looked perfect for Caio and Isla’s day. It’s sweet really. Even if they’ll sit there thinking they are the ones who got Isla and Caio together.

They can think that, but I truly believe it was fate that made those two collide. There’s no other explanation for two people who arethatperfect for each other.

I rifle through my purse looking for my phone to stop the incessant buzzing when I walk straight into something hard.

“Oh, sorry,” I say as I stumble back, brushing the loose strands of my curls out of my face. As I do, a familiar, warm, clean cologne floats up my nostrils, and I immediately feel like I’m going to be sick.

My heart feels like it’s working double time as I realize whose presence I’m in. Even more so when two big hands grip my arms to keep me from falling. I hold my breath as my eyes travel up to see what used to be my favorite pair of green eyes.

That sick feeling surges again as our eyes lock on each other, getting stuck there just like they did all those years ago. I’m frozen in place, my body’s fight or flight response short-circuiting as I just stand here, lost for words or thoughts, or anything. It seems like he is as well.

But my gaze doesn’t linger there for so long this time. No, I can’t help the way that my eyes map every single detail on his face. Can’t help the way they instinctively look towards where I know a birthmark sits hidden beneath his collared shirt and tie, the one I used to trace with my fingertips in bed at night.

His hair is longer than it used to be, the light brown strands now brushing the top of his ears. He’s got a mustache too, when did a mustache ever look this good?

He looks rougher than he used to, scruffier, but in such a charming way, it only makes me angry. Every new crease in hissmile lines reminds me of how beautiful we were, and howhedestroyed that.

I have the urge to slap him across his pretty cheeks and wrap him in a hug at the same time, my emotions fluctuating every second I spend looking at him and all of his new features.

I focus on the part of me that wants to slap him, forcing myself to remember the nights I spent staring at my phone waiting for him to call.

My eyes begin to sting beyond my control, my frustration and anger deciding to come out in liquid form. I try my best to force the tears back through the holes they came from as Miles looks down at me. I’m thrown right back to the way it felt to have those eyes look at me with pure admiration. Now they’re looking at me with only confusion and sorrow, like he’s piecing this all together.

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