Oliver pulls me down on top of him, guides me into place in a way that’s more helpful than demanding, and I let out another whimper as he cradles my face in his big, warm hands. It feels so good that I could cry, but I’ve done enough of that lately. There will be no tears tonight.

I crawl fully into his lap, twisting at the waist so my backside is cradled between his thighs, my legs sprawled out to the side. My arms go around his neck and I lean back, urging him down on top of me as my back sinks into the sofa. I want him on top of me, covering me and keeping me safe.

“I missed you,” I murmur in Italian, wrapping my legs around his thighs and sliding one hand up the back of his shirt to feel his soft skin against my fingertips. “God, you’re so warm.”