Chapter Eleven - Aleta

Thunder crashes outside like the world is ending, and every rumble sends fragments of memory spinning through my damaged mind. I lie in the guest bedroom where Elio insists I should recover, staring at the ceiling while rain pounds against windows with increasing violence. Each flash of lightning illuminates the room in stark black and white.

Something about storms sets my anxiety on edge. Images move behind my closed eyelids—stone walls, gauzy curtains billowing in ocean wind, rain beating against tall windows while passion consumed everything rational. The memory feels real enough to taste, yet when I reach for details, they dissolve like smoke.

“Fuck,” I whisper into the darkness as another memory fragment surfaces.

Hands gripping my hips. My back arched against cool stone. Thunder masking the sounds of desperate pleasure while someone worshipped my body. The taste of wine and salt air. Words whispered in Italian that made my soul burn.

Another crash of thunder makes me bolt upright. My heart is racing with emotions I don’t understand, and staying alone in this room feels impossible. My feet hit the cold marble before conscious thought kicks in, and I’m moving through hallways toward the master bedroom where my supposed husband sleeps.

“Elio?” I knock softly on his door, suddenly feeling foolish for running to him like a frightened child.

“Come in.” His voice carries through the wood, rough with sleep but immediately alert.

When I push open the door, he’s already sitting up in the massive bed with his dark hair tousled and concern carved into his features. The silk sheets pool around his waist, revealing the muscled chest I remember exploring with my hands and mouth just days ago.

“The storm is triggering memories,” I explain as I approach the bed. “Fragments that feel important but make no sense.”

“What kind of memories?”

“Us, I think. Making love during a thunderstorm, but not here. Somewhere with stone walls and windows overlooking water. It felt like we were stealing time.”

“Our honeymoon in Positano. We were caught in a sudden storm one evening and had to take shelter in an old villa.”

“Villa?” The word triggers another flash—ancient stones worn smooth by centuries, expensive linens, and the scent of jasmine carried on Mediterranean breezes.

“A friend of mine owns property there. We spent three days hiding from the world while rain kept us indoors.” His hand extends toward me in invitation. “You were insatiable that weekend.”

Heat floods my cheeks at his blunt assessment, but my body responds with recognition that transcends conscious memory. When lightning illuminates the bedroom again, I see hunger in his eyes that matches the desperate need building inside me.

“Show me,” I whisper as I climb onto the silk sheets beside him. “Help me remember who we were together.”

Strong arms pull me against him as his mouth captures mine in a kiss that tastes like possession and barely restrained violence. This isn’t the same gentle exploration from our previous encounter; this is raw hunger unleashed by permission and proximity.

“You want to remember?” he growls against my lips.

His hands make quick work of the thin nightgown I’m wearing, and cool air kisses my exposed skin before his mouth follows the same path. When his teeth graze my collarbone, memory and present sensation collide with explosive force.

“Yes,” I gasp as my back bows involuntarily. “Just like that. I remember this.”

“Do you? Do you remember how you begged me to fuck you harder? How you came screaming my name while thunder drowned out your cries?”

The crude words send electricity straight to my core, and my thighs clench with need so intense it borders on pain. “I remember wanting you so badly I could barely breathe.”

“You still want me.” His hand slides between my legs, finding evidence of my arousal. “Your body knows exactly who owns it.”

Owns it. The possessive declaration should offend me, but instead it awakens something primal and hungry. When his fingers circle my clit with maddening slowness, I’m lost to everything except the building tension.

“Don’t tease,” I plead as my hips buck against his hand. “I need more.”

“Tell me what you need.” His thumb applies pressure that makes me see stars. “Use your words, tesoro.”

“Your mouth. Your cock. Everything.” Shame evaporates in the face of desperation. “Make me remember how good we are together.”

Elio groans at my confession before his mouth begins a torturous journey down my body. He pauses at my breasts, lavishing attention on each nipple until I’m sobbing his name. Then lower, kissing and nipping along my ribs while his hands hold my hips still.

When he reaches the junction of my thighs, he pauses to look up at me with dark promise. “Watch me taste you. I want you to see how beautiful you are when you fall apart.”

His tongue finds my clit and coherent thought abandons me entirely. He works me with skill born of intimate knowledge, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure that has me climbing toward release with embarrassing speed.

“Elio, God, don’t stop—” My hands fist in his hair as pleasure builds to unbearable levels.

He adds his fingers then, stretching me while his mouth continues. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge, and I come undone with a scream that mingles with the thunder outside.

But need still pulses through me despite the shattering orgasm. When I reach for him, desperate to return the pleasure, but he catches my wrists with gentle firmness.

“Not tonight. Tonight is about reminding your body what we have together.”

“I want to touch you. I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel.”

His control wavers at my words, and I see the exact moment desire overwhelms restraint. “You want to touch me?”

“Yes. Show me how you like it.”

Elio releases my wrists and guides my hand to his length, wrapping my fingers around him. He’s hard as steel and burning hot, and when I stroke him experimentally, he groans like a man in pain.

“Tighter,” he instructs as his hand covers mine. “Just like that. Fuck, Aleta, your hands feel incredible.”

The praise makes me bold, and I adjust my grip, varying pressure and pace based on his reactions. When I lean down to take him in my mouth, he nearly comes undone completely.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes as my tongue circles the head of his cock. “You’re going to kill me.”

Power floods through me at his response. This is something I understand instinctively, muscle memory that transcends conscious thought. I take him deeper, using my mouth and hands in combination until he’s shaking beneath me.

“Enough,” he growls as he pulls me up his body. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

When he positions himself at my entrance, we both pause. Then he pushes inside with one smooth thrust, filling me completely.

As he begins to move, slow and deep, more fragments surface. This same desperate connection in a storm-lashed villa, the taste of wine on his lips and promises whispered in darkness that felt like vows.

His thrusts become more demanding, and our bodies move together. Outside, the storm rages, but inside this bed, nothing exists except the friction between us and the building ecstasy.

“Come for me,” he commands as his thumb finds my clit again. “Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

The combination of his words and touch sends me spiraling into another orgasm, stronger than the first. My inner walls clench around him as I cry out, and he follows me over the edge with my name on his lips.

Afterward, we lie tangled together while rain continues to pound against the windows. My head rests on his chest as his fingers trace patterns on my shoulder blade.

“That felt like remembering and discovering at the same time,” I whisper against his skin. “Was it always like this between us? This intense?”

“Always.” His arms tighten around me protectively. “From the very first moment we touched.”

Thunder crashes again, and with it comes another fragment; the same desperate passion but tinged with fear and secrecy that feels at odds with the marriage story he’s told me.

I know it then, without a doubt.

Elio is hiding something from me.