Sweet Fall (Sweet Home #2)(97)
At first, Austin’s palms felt like branding irons, and I couldn’t breathe… I can’t breathe! It is happening again! I… I… I—
“Shh, Pix. It’s okay,” Austin soothed, and he began moving his hands up and down my back in a slow, rhythmic motion. I focused on the motion of his hands, and, minutes later, my breathing had calmed and my eyes snapped open.
He was touching my back… He was touching my back.
“Austin…” I murmured as tears fell from my eyes.
Lifting his torso, our stomachs now flesh to flesh, Austin crushed his lips to mine, and I began rocking on top of him.
Heat built between our bodies the faster we moved, and with every caress of Austin’s hand on my back, I fell deeper in love, savoring the complete trust that was building along with our release as I gripped his dark, messy hair.
Snapping back on a hiss, Austin broke from my lips and groaned a long, drawn-out groan. “Pix… I’m gonna come. Gonna come so hard, baby.”
Panting breathless, I gripped tighter to Austin’s hair and pressed my forehead to his. “Me too… I’m gonna… ah… Austin… I’m coming… God… I’m—”
Shutting my eyes, lights exploded, and I felt Austin still, his fingernails digging into my back, and he moaned loudly into my neck.
Still joined, our bodies now slick with sweat, we clung together as we came down from our mutual high… from our life-changing moment… from baring our souls… from breaking my final trigger.
Austin’s hot breath blew against my neck, and when he looked up, I saw pure love shining through.
“Ti amo,” he whispered, his inky long lashes wet with emotion. “Ti amo, Pix.”
Caressing his cheek, I replied, “Ti amo. Ti amo tantissimo.”
Austin’s responding smile could have blotted out the sun it was so bright.
“Puoi parlare Italiano, Pix?” Can you speak Italian? Austin said in between kissing my neck.
“Ci sto provando.” I am trying, I said in return.
Huffing a laugh and working his lips over the flesh of my breasts, Austin pulled back, threaded my hand through his, and said, “Come with me to San Francisco. Come with me and Lev. Be our family.”
Slapping my free hand across my chest, I began to shake my head. “You don’t want that, Austin. I’m still recovering from this illness, and you don’t need the distraction of me there when you make something of yourself.”
“I need you,” he said sternly. “I need you so badly. And I could be there for you… to help you.”
“What… what if I relapse again? It would be too much—”
“Then I will be there to get you through it. I don’t want football and California if I don’t have you. I need you… I need you so f*ckin’ much. You saved me from myself… and you saved Lev too.”
I smiled at a sudden flash of memory.
“What?” Austin asked, smiling too.
“That night, at the trailer park when your mamma wanted to speak to me, she said something similar.”
Swallowing deep at the mention of his mamma, Austin whispered, “She did?”
Nodding, I put my hand on his cheek and said, “She told me that she used to think you would be the one to save your family, with football. But after meeting me, she knew it would be me that would save you.”
Austin tried to blink back his tears, but one escaped and ran down his cheek.
“She said my soul matched yours.”
“She was right, Pix.” He cast a quick glance upwards in silent prayer before fixing his attention back on me. “So what do you say? Move with me. I swear I’ll never let you fall again.”
“Okay,” I said with a happy laugh. “I’ll move with you.”
Pressing his forehead to mine, Austin sighed and said, “Fuckin’ A.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Austin
Florence, Italy
One year later…
“è tua moglie quella?”
Is that your wife? the old lady from the pasticceria asked me as I stood at the counter and squared up the bill.
I glanced over at Lexi staring at the people of Firenze milling around the Piazza della Signoria with a happy smile upon her face. My chest constricted at the sight. Her sweet face was tanned from the strong winter Tuscan sun, her lips a light dusky pink from the ridiculously expensive lip salve she constantly wore, and her beautiful pale-green eyes wide with intrigue. She loved Italia. Hell, she loved life again.
My little emo pixie was no longer quite emo. Lexi’s hair was still jet-black and to her chin—she refused to part with that—but she no longer wore dark colors as her armor, no longer caked herself with white makeup and dark kohl liner to hide what she found most repulsive—herself.
I watched as guy after guy openly checked her out as they passed by her table—Typically f*ckin’ Italian, I thought—appreciating her petite but filled-out figure, showcased by her short red summer dress. Weirdly, it didn’t bother me too much. I loved seeing her like this, free of her demons for a while, taking back control one day at a time. She still had her down moments, the days she tripped, but I was always there to pick her back up again, and she was there for me too, when my f*cked-up past played on my mind.