I kiss her like a man past saving—like destruction is the only language I have left—while her gasp brands my soul, fueling a hunger I can’t leash.
I drag my palms down her arms, over her shoulders, to the terry-clad curve of her hips, anchoring myself to her.
She tastes of sin. Moans with absolution I’ll never deserve.
Her hands curl around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair, fisting as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
There’s no hesitation. She doesn’t yield. She devours, dragging me deeper into the ruin I can’t help craving.
She rocks against me as our tongues collide. No rhythm. No finesse. Just panted breaths that tear strips from my control.
I hate it. Despise how it feels like coming home, like every wall I built was meant to collapse the second our mouthsreunited. And yet my body continues to betray me, grinding forward, chasing relief.
She groans louder, needier, her nails biting into skin.
Fucking up has never sounded so good.
It takes everything to tear my mouth from hers. To drag my lips to her throat in an attempt to reel in the insanity.
She arches into the contact, head falling back, robe slipping wider across her chest.
I can’t drag my gaze away from the smoothness of her skin. The generous swell of her breasts. “Cristo, quanto sei fottutamente bella.”
So fucking beautiful.
Her fingers knot in my hair. Tightening. Daring. Begging without words.
“Non sai che cazzo mi fai,” I growl.
“Keep going,” she pleads.
Frustration wars with addiction.
This was meant to be a purge. A calculated exorcism. But how do I stop touching her now that I’ve started? How do I quit wanting more?
“Be sure,principessa. I won’t be gentle.”
She groans in affirmation. “Show me your worst.”
Fuck.
This shouldn’t be happening. But the sick, selfish part of me wants her to survive it. Because if she can handle me at my worst?—
No. That’s not a fucking option.
“I’ll use you.” I grip her chin, my voice raw against her lips. “Are you sure you want to be my toy?”
“Yes.” The word is breathy. Beseeching.
Christ.
I rip the towel from my waist, madness taking over as I drop it to the carpet.
Her gaze falls. Widens. Darkens.
There’s reverence there. Worship I don’t deserve.
I press her back against the cold glass, kiss her harder to ignore the awe, and lift her off the floor, guiding those gorgeous legs around my waist.