CALISTA'S P. O. V.
I was going to be a widow. That's right. A widow and a murderer.
I'm sure Nonna wouldn't mind that I sent her grandson to an early demise, or maybe she would, but whatever, I had had enough of him.
That man switched between hot and cold faster than a broken faucet. I've never met someone so complex, so layered that their every action confuses me, yet I've never met someone I'm so desperate for as much as I am for him.
The rest of the night had been agonizing, I couldn't sleep, not when I could still feel his fingers around my neck, restricting my airflow in a way that made the world narrow down to him.
Not when the swirl of his tongue on my nípple made me ache further.
Not when I had felt the proud, considerable length of him from the bulge on his pants, the sheer
