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Her fury transforms to hunger with each passing second. I feel the precise moment when revenge and secrets cease to matter, when her body’s demands override everything else. Shemoans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and settling low in my gut, stoking the fire that’s been building since I first laid eyes on her.

My hands find her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I lift her onto the edge of the desk. Papers scatter to the floor, including the DeLuca folder, but neither of us spares them a glance. All that matters is this—her legs wrapping around my hips, drawing me closer to her core.

“Tell me you want this,” I demand against her mouth, needing to hear the words even as her body makes its desires abundantly clear.

“You know I do,” she gasps, fingers working frantically at my shirt buttons. “God help me, I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Something primal roars to life inside me at her admission. I tear my mouth from hers, trailing kisses down her throat as my hands make quick work of her blouse, sending buttons flying across the polished wood of my desk. The pale blue lace of her bra comes into view, her hardened nipples visible through the delicate fabric.

“So fucking beautiful,” I growl, cupping her breast through the lace, watching her arch into my touch. With my free hand, I sweep the remaining items, all crashing to the floor in a symphony of destruction.

Aria gasps at the sound, her eyes widening. “Marco?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of it,” I tell her, meaning it completely. Nothing matters except the woman in front of me, flushed and panting with desire. I lift her fully onto the desk, laying her back across the polished surface. “All I care about right now is you.”

She looks up at me, hair spread around her head like a golden halo, and in this moment, I would burn the world to ash to keep her looking at me like that—like I’m something worth wanting.

Driven by pure need, I unfasten her jeans and slowly ease them down her legs, taking her panties with them in one fluid motion. She lifts her hips to help me, then lies before me, half-naked and glorious. I remove her bra with practiced ease, and finally, she’s completely bare to my gaze.

“You’re staring,” she whispers, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice.

“I’m memorizing,” I correct her, my eyes drinking in every curve, every freckle, every perfect imperfection. The small birthmark on her left hip. The faint tan lines from our day by the pool last week. The way her breasts rise and fall with each quickened breath.

I lean down, pressing my lips to her stomach, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my touch. Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging in as I move lower, trailing kisses down to the apex of her thighs.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice thick with anticipation.

I look up at her from between her legs, maintaining eye contact as I place my hands on her inner thighs, gently pushing them farther apart. “Watch me,” I command. “I want you to see exactly what I’m doing to you.”

Her eyes lock with mine, darkened by desire to a stormy hazel. I lower my mouth to her center, my first long, slow lick drawing a shuddering moan from her lips. She tastes divine—sweet and tangy.

I take my time with her, letting my tongue tease and circle, savoring every gasp that escapes her lips. She writhes under me, hips lifting involuntarily as I find the rhythm that unravels her. When I slip a finger inside her, the tight heat pulls me in, and she cries out, arching with a need that makes my chest tighten.

“That’s it,” I murmur into her, my voice a low command wrapped in reverence. “Let me hear you. I want to feel every inch of your pleasure.”

A second finger joins the first, curling until I find that spot that draws a strangled moan from her throat. Her thighs tremble around my shoulders, and her breath comes faster, shallow and wild—as if I’ve stolen her air and replaced it with nothing but sensation.

“Marco—I’m—” she gasps, unable to form complete sentences as I increase the pace of my fingers while sucking gently on her clit.

“Come for me, Aria,” I growl against her.

Her body locks beneath my touch, every muscle pulled taut as the climax takes her—wild and unrestrained. I don’t stop. I keep pushing her higher, prolonging the pleasure until she’s gasping my name like a prayer she doesn’t know how to end, her fingers buried in my hair, holding on like she might shatter without the anchor of me.

Only when the last tremors subside do I pull away, pressing one final kiss to her inner thigh. The sight of her sprawled across my desk, flushed and panting, hair wild around her face, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

“God, look at you,” I breathe, straightening to strip off my own clothes. Her eyes follow my movements hungrily as I remove my shirt, revealing the tattoo that spans my right shoulder—the Bianchi family crest.

When I unbuckle my belt and push down my pants and boxers, her eyes widen slightly at the sight of my erection, hard and ready for her.

“Come here,” she says, reaching for me, and I can’t deny her anything in this moment.

I position myself between her legs, running the tip of my cock through her slick folds. She whimpers, hips bucking upward, seeking more contact.

“Tell me what you want,” I demand, needing to hear the words even as her body makes its desires abundantly clear.

“You,” she says without hesitation. “I want you inside me. Now.”

I sink into her in one fluid motion?—