Her cry pierces the room.Sharp.Raw.Fucking beautiful.
“Fuck,” she gasps, her palms pressing against the marble, her body arching beneath me, taking everything I give her and still craving more.
I grab her hair with my fist, pull her head back until she’s crying out again.I go deeper, burying all of myself inside her, my body pressed against hers, her tights twisted around her thighs, her nails scraping across the marble.
“Still mad at me, Bella?”I growl into her ear.
“Fuck you.”
I slam into her harder.
“Don’t worry, that’s the fucking plan.”
Chapter Seven
Isabella
I’mawareofhowsick and twisted this is, but I need it.
Each thrust slams into me, stealing my breath and shattering the argument I was about to toss back in Lorenzo’s face.My palms press firmly against the marble counter as if trying to anchor myself, but it’s no use.
His hand is still clenched in my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to make my eyes water, and fuck, I want the pain.I crave the burn of it.The honesty in it.There’s no politics in the way Lorenzo fucks me.No careful maneuvering.No pretty lies wrapped in silk sheets.Just heat, hate, and the kind of need that consumes people alive from the inside out.
He slams into me again, this time harder, and I cry out—a broken, desperate sound that reverberates through the kitchen.I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood.
“You still mad at me, Bella?”he growls, his voice rough against my ear.
Am I?
I don’t know anymore.I should be.But now I’m trembling, shaking apart at the seams, his cock buried so deep inside me it’s as though he’s trying to fuck the rebellion and the defiance out of me.As if he can somehow reach inside and reshape me into something softer.Something that doesn’t fight him at every turn.
But I’m not soft.I’ve never been fucking soft.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, the words rough and breathless.
And he responds by slamming into me harder.Again.And again.
Lorenzo pulls my head back more forcefully, exposing my neck.His other hand presses into my hip, fingers bruising, holding me steady as he takes what he desires.What we both want, even if I’ll never say it aloud.
This is who we are.Violence and need.Blood and desire.Two people who keep coming back for more.
The marble is cold and unforgiving under my palms, but he is fire behind me—burning me up and consuming me entirely.And I let him.God help me, I give in every single time.Because this is the only honest thing between us.The only place where the masks come off, and we’re just two people trying to feel something real.Even if that something is destruction.
My eyes flutter shut, the pressure between my thighs unbearable in the best way possible.Every nerve end lights up, raw and overstimulated, sparking with electricity that threatens to burn me alive.The sound of him behind me—the low grunts, the obscene slap of skin on skin, the hiss of his breath through clenched teeth—feeds something dark inside me.
He leans down, with his chest pressed against my back, and his hand slides around my throat.Not squeezing.Not yet.Simply holding.Claiming.
“Say it,” he growls, breath hot against the shell of my ear.
“Say what?”I whisper, choking on the words, on him, and on the weight of everything left unsaid between us.
“That you want this.”His fingers flex against my throat.“That you want me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Lorenzo pulls out halfway, the drag of his cock sending sparks up my spine.He then slams back in, rough and unrelenting, going so deep I feel him everywhere.
“Say it.”