He’s wearing a suit, as if he’s just left a boardroom that doubles as a war council. Shoulders square, jaw set, eyes burning paler than I remembered. He looks at me for a long, unblinking second, and all the air in my chest escapes in a soft, animal whimper. He shuts the door with a violence that makes the walls shiver, then backs it up by swinging the deadbolt. The space between us isn’t a space at all. In three paces, he’s there, hands on my cheek, my jaw, my throat, the grip almost rough except that he knows exactly where to touch to make me shudder. His mouth finds mine, wine and rain and pure heat.
He lifts me off the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist, the cold silk of my pajamas sliding up. My arms lock around his shoulders. After a week apart, my body only feels real next to his. As he carries me down the hallway, I almost laugh at how quickly I went from broken to being held. I bury my face in his neck, biting his skin just enough to taste the salt and musk.
He kicks open my bedroom door and drops me onto the bed, but keeps his hands on my body, as if letting go would be a crime. “I’m sorry,” I say, words bubbling out. “About before. I thought I could shut it off, but—my family, they’re making me insane. My mother just left, and she’s convinced I’m the shame of the entire bloodline, and?—”
“Don’t,” he growls, voice lower than I’ve ever heard. “Don’t apologize. You think I ever had any intention of letting you go?”
My tears are hot again, but they’re nothing to do with pain. “I tried to disappear because I thought that’s what people like us do. My whole life, that’s what they teach you. Disappear or get erased. But I’m not going anywhere. If they want to kill me, I’d rather die by your hands.”
He blinks, then smiles in the way that says he’s tortured by it. I grab the lapel of his wet jacket and tug until he gets the hint and peels it off, tossing it to the floor. I expect him to slide in beside me, but Alessio is not the kind of man who sidles. He gets on top,one knee pinning my hip so I can’t twist away. I’m breathing so hard I can’t talk, but he’s got the words for both of us.
“I don’t care about your family,” he says, lips tracing the curve of my cheek. “I don’t care about the city. I care about you, Lucia. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything. Don’t ever leave me again.”
His hands are under my pajama top, palms so big and hot they nearly wrap around my ribcage. He finds my breast, and I arch into his palm, moaning when his thumb grazes the nipple. He’s not gentle but not cruel, and the edge of aggression is what I crave. He mouths a line down my collarbone, then rucks the silk up and sucks my nipple between his lips. I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair. He bites, and I convulse at the shock of pleasure.
“Promise me,” he says when he lifts his face, lips shiny and swollen. “Never again. I will chase you to the end of the fucking earth.”
The tone is half threat, half plea, and I like both. “Yes. I’m yours. I never wasn’t.”
He sits back, yanking me up to kneel in front of him. Slips his hand beneath the hem of my shorts, then with one violent tug, rips the elastic waistband. My underwear is ruined, shredded off my body. He runs a thumb between my legs, and his eyes go cold and hungry at once.
“So wet for me already. My good girl.”
He tilts me back onto my elbows, pushes my thighs wide until my knees tremble. The room is all shadow and dusk, with only the city lights outside painting us in silver. He kneels at the end of the bed, spreads my legs wider, and buries his face between them.
The first stroke of his tongue is slow, deliberate, as if he’s tasting a dessert he’s paid dearly for. Then he licks harder, flattening his tongue along my clit, sucking just hard enoughto make my legs twitch. I can’t help the noises I make, high and desperate. He licks and circles and tongues me until I am shaking, one hand anchored on my thigh, the other sliding a thick finger inside me. The pressure is perfect. I cry out, not caring who hears, not caring about anything but the way he keeps his gaze locked on my face as he eats me alive.
I beg. I’m not proud, but I sob his name, digging my heels into his shoulders to keep him there. He fucks me with a second finger, twisting and curling inside, while his tongue flicks over my clit until pleasure blinds me. I come against his mouth, so hard and fast I nearly scream. He doesn’t stop, not even after I come down, keeps tonguing me until I’m limp and boneless, sprawled across the sheets.
He wipes his mouth, looking smug and reverent at the same time. Then he stands, unbuckles his belt, and drops his slacks. I let my gaze drag over the hard lines of muscle, the impressive length of him already thick and ready. He climbs onto the bed, grabs my ankles, and pulls me down so I’m flush against his cock. The sight of him so hard, so desperate, readies me all over again.
He presses in, not gentle, but not careless either. He fills me in a single, measured thrust, bottoming out so deep I cry out. My hands claw at his back, scrabbling for purchase. He fucks me with a control that feels like violence held barely at bay. Every movement is a claim, every groan a vow. He bends over me, forearms bracketing my head, his mouth at my ear.
“Say it,” he demands, rolling his hips. “Tell me you’re mine.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him in place, and bite his shoulder until I taste skin. “I’m yours. I’ll never leave.”
He fucks me harder, driving the words in with every thrust. “That’s right. If you try, I’ll find you. If your family tries to hide you, I’ll take them all apart.”
The words should be terrifying. I cum on them.
When I come again, he finally lets go of his control, moving inside me so hard I think the bedframe might break. He presses his hips against me until I’m crying out and coming again, and only then does he let go, finishing with a raw, beautiful sound. He collapses on top of me, heavy but safe, his arms holding me so tightly I could disappear and be happy.
We stay like that until the cold threatens, until his weight pins me too hard and I have to wriggle free. He rolls to the side, pulls me against his chest, and cradles my head as if it’s precious.
After a minute, I say, “You haven’t asked about my meeting with my mother.”
“I already know,” he murmurs, voice lazy with afterglow. “Her calls are all recorded. You’re free of them.”
It’s so unfair, so perfectly him, that I start to laugh. “You really are the worst man I’ve ever loved.”
He smiles. “And the last.”
Lightning flashes outside the window, lighting up the city in blue. It feels like a sign that whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.
My phone buzzes again on the side table, but I ignore it. Alessio’s hand covers mine, his thumb stroking my skin. If the world falls apart around us, so be it. For now, I am warm, I am held, I am wanted. That’s enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN