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I hadn’t even scratched the surface of what I was capable of with her. If I am to give her all of me, she would likely break apart. She isn’t ready—not yet. But part of me thinks she never will be.

The silence is thick, pulsing with something dark and electric. A slow-burning current that hums between us, drawing me in, making it impossible to pull away.

She feels it too.

Her pupils blow wide, her breathing turns shallow, and her lips part just slightly—like she’s already bracing for what she knows is coming.

Then, her voice cuts through the air—soft, but firm enough to own me.

“Kiss me, Matteo.”

Not a plea.

A command.

I exhale slowly, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm inside me.

“If you want to show me you’re sorry—kiss me.”

My jaw clenches, every muscle in my body locking into place, fighting the inevitability of this. Of her.

This is a trap. A trap I should avoid. She wanted me to claim her last night, but unlike then, my resolve is weaker now—shattered. Guilt gnaws at me, but something stronger, darker, hungrier pushes me forward. Unlike last night—I can’t walk away.

I move around the island, each step slower than the last, each one feels like surrender, spelling my own downfall.

By the time I stop in front of her, she’s already breathless, her hands gripping the white marble edge like she needs something to anchor her.

She tilts her chin up, eyes burning into mine, daring me to make the first move.

She blinks up at me through her lashes, those perfect pink lips parting, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

I snap.

In one swift motion, I grab her hips and yank her against me—hard enough that a gasp rips from her lips. Her hands press flat against my chest, warmth bleeding through my shirt, sinking straight into my skin, my blood, my soul.

“Maria Davacalli.” The name rolls off my tongue like it was always meant to be there. The way she shivers at the sound ofit sends something wild, uncontrollable, fucking primal through me.

“You think this is a game?” My voice is rough, thick with something dangerous.

Her breath is unsteady when she speaks. “No, Matteo. I think this is fate.”

I curse under my breath, my hand trailing up her spine, fisting into the silk of her nightgown.

Her eyes dart from mine to my lips and then back up again. Her actions send a wave of pleasure up and down my spine.

She leans in, her lips barely brushing mine. “Take what’s already yours.”

Fuck.

And then I do.

My fingers flex against her waist, my restraint snapping thread by thread.

And then her lips crash into mine.

Fire. Destruction. Something unstoppable.

The moment we collide, it’s a detonation. A desperate, all-consuming clash of mouths, of bodies, of everything we’ve been holding back for far too long.