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I grab a fresh cloth, rinse it under warm water, and return to the bedroom. Three orgasms in under an hour, yet thoughts of Alessa have me burning all over again.
Just as sleep nearly claimed me, I checked the feed from her room. The subtle movement beneath her sheets caught my attention, then her hitched breathing.
She’s sprawled across the bed now, bare chest rising with each breath, body still trembling, legs dangling off the edge. I approach, nudging her legs aside.
Alessa scoots over to make room, hair spread like a halo. Something tightens in my chest as her scent envelops me—vanilla mixed with musk.
I take her leg, pressing a kiss to her knee before cleaning the streaks from her thigh. The act feels dangerously intimate, a line crossed tonight.
For the first time in years, thoughts of the Commission fade. All I see is her—the woman whose body I’ve claimed again after four years of haunting dreams.
“What are you thinking?” Her fingers trace patterns on my forearm.
“Off the top of my head…I’m thinking about making you come one more time.” She laughs, cracking something in me.
“I can’t,” she purrs, teeth grazing her bottom lip.
“Oh, you can,” I challenge. “I’m just gentleman enough to let you catch your breath.”
“Meaning this might happen again?” Her eyebrows pull together, worry threading through her words.
“You think I’m going to stop now that I’ve tasted you again?” Four years I’ve waited, and she still moans my name the same way.
“Well this is…complicated,” she says. “I’m not helping the Commission kill my father, and if this is manipulation to make me tell you where he is, it’s a fucked-up move.”
“It’s not, Alessa,” I assure. “But you need to understand, the Commission will fly down here any day with questions. If they take you, I can’t protect you.”
I need her to see I’m the lesser evil, that trusting me is her only chance. After revealing her father’s probable involvement in Isabella’s death, I’ve seen her certainty cracking—and I need those cracks to shatter. Because becoming a made man remains my priority.
She frowns, lost in thought, as I finish cleaning her body.
“How about we don’t talk about the Commission right now,” she suggests.
“Okay, piccola.” Silence falls between us. I watch her eyes close. “I’m going to church tomorrow. And I want you to come with me.”
Her green eyes snap open, fixing on mine.
“First of all, no,” she replies. “Second, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to talk about church when we just finished fucking?”
“Oh, you think we’re done?” I set the cloth aside, fingers trailing up her thigh. “I’m just getting started.”
Alessa shifts, pulling the duvet up. I slide under the same covers, watching her.
“I don’t want to go to church. I haven’t stepped foot in one for years.”
“Which explains why you’re a little she-devil. But I wasn’t asking. You’re going.”
The conflict is clear on her face—desire for me warring with hatred for what I represent. But tonight, desire won.
Because despite everything—the Commission, my ambitions, her father—Alessa Russo is mine now. And God help anyone who tries to take what belongs to me.
Chapter twenty
Alessa
Ican’tscrubhissmelloff me. No matter how hot I make the shower or how hard I scrub, Dominic’s cologne lingers on my skin like a stubborn reminder of last night. And the worst part? I’m not even sure I want it gone.
What the hell is wrong with me? This guy literally kidnapped me, threatened me, killed people in front of me, and here I am reliving how his hands felt all over my body. Great journalistic integrity there, Alessa... Pulitzer Prize material.