I reach between us. Find his cock hard against his stomach and guide him inside me. The stretch makes us both groan, his hands tightening on my hips, my palms flat on his chest. I sink down until he fills me completely and I feel the pulse of him inside me, thick and hot.
I ride him slow at first. Rolling my hips in deep circles, feeling every inch of him press against my walls. His jaw clenches. His abs flex under my palms. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks and his eyes never leave mine.
"I want this." His voice is raw and strained and barely holding together. "Not just tonight. I want mornings with you. Evenings with you. I want to build something with these hands that isn't a contract or a legal brief."
I lean forward, my hair falling around his face, my lips brushing his. "Then build it."
"I want a family, Sloane. I want to watch you grow round with my child. I want proof that my hands can create beauty out of love."
My heart slams against my ribs. I press my forehead against his and close my eyes. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, Massimo. Build it with me."
His hips snap up into me and I cry out, my nails dragging down his chest. He grips the back of my neck and pulls me down into a kiss that swallows every sound between us. I ride him harder, faster, my thighs burning, my breath ragged against his mouth. His free hand slides between us and finds my clit, pressing tight circles with his thumb.
"Come with me." He groans it against my lips. "I want to feel you when I fill you."
My body obeys. The orgasm tears through me, my walls clenching around his cock, and I feel him release inside me with a broken groan, his hips pressed flush against mine, his warmth flooding through me. We hold each other through the aftershocks, forehead to forehead, his hand cradling the back of my neck, my fingers pressed against his chest where his heart pounds so hard I can count the beats.
Afterward we lie tangled in the dark sheets, my cheek against his chest, his fingers tracing slow lines up and down my spine. The room smells like sex and his cologne and the faint green scent from the bathroom plants that he waters every morning.
"You watered my plants this morning." My voice is muffled against his chest.
His fingers pause on my spine. "You noticed."
"I notice everything about you, Massimo."
His arm tightens around me. He presses his lips against the top of my head and I feel his breath shudder on the exhale.
"You're everything to me,tesoro." His voice cracks on the word. "Everything. I want you to remember that."
I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under. The man holding me is warm and solid and his heartbeat is steady under my ear and I feel safe in a way I didn't think I ever could. I am falling every day, the way Onyx said. Not the dramatic sweep we read about in our romance novels or in the rom-coms on TV. The daily choice to stay open. That's the part nobody explains to you.
I can feel him holding something back. The shudder in his breath. The way his arms tighten like he's bracing for a hit I can't see coming. But I tuck my suspicions away. Maybe I’m just jaded and have a hard time accepting the happiness I finally feel.
Seventeen
Massimo
Seven days. I've spent three of them buried in legal filings, shell company records, and offshore trust documents, and every thread I pull leads to another wall the Ferraros built eighteen months before I knew they existed.
Luca's financial forensics confirm what I suspected. The twelve million in obligations runs through four shell companies registered in three jurisdictions, each one layered beneath a holding entity that traces back to a trust administered by Lorenzo's father. Every dollar Harrison owes is insulated by legal structures designed to be unbreakable. The only thing we can’t find proof of is the dead man's switches on the business records Harrison spoke about. That would be enough to prove Harrison was forced to sign the contract. But without proof I have nothing.
Luca also dug up Harrison's gambling debts. A few million owed to dangerous men. Apparently if Harrison fails to pay, Sloane's name was offered as collateral for debts owed. But that isn’t part of the Lorenzo deal.
Either way, I can’t make this shit up. What asshole puts his daughter in harm’s way like this?
Julian's contact, the Ferraro associate named Giordano, confirmed that the acquisition Lorenzo bragged about isn't real estate. It's Harrison's entire operation. The hotels, the properties, the territorial influence. The marriage to Sloane is the door. Once Lorenzo is inside, the Ferraros absorb everything.
But that is Lorenzo’s word against a drunk’s as far as Harlon is concerned.
I know all of this and I still can’t put my hands on the one detail that will prove Lorenzo forced Harrison to sign. His bad business decisions are not duress. Everything points to him willingly signing the contract to dissolve his debt.
My office door opens without a knock for the second time this week. The first time it was Harlon Constantine bringing Bones. This time it's Harrison Whitmore, and he doesn't bring anyone. He walks in alone with his fists clenched at his sides, his face flushed from either whiskey or fury, and the look of someone who just watched his last bridge burn.
“You married her." He stops in the center of my office, his suit wrinkled, his tie loose, the skin under his eyes bruised purple from sleepless nights and too much whiskey. He's lost more weight since the last time I saw him and his collar gaps at the neck. His voice carries a tremor that has nothing to do with the alcohol I can smell on his breath from six feet away. "You married my daughter. Behind my back. Without a word.”