Page 39

We had gone three rounds. It was wild and unrelenting. She'd matched me. Every thrust, every cry, she never slowed. I've never been entangled with a woman who can match my sexual appetite. But, Serafina had surprised me. It goes to show that she's not fragile as a flower. She's not one to toy with. I shouldn't keep her at arm's length. I shouldn't indulge in whatever this is that is between us.
Even now as the thought assails me, my heart pounds. My cock aches. I shouldn't be entertaining thoughts of fucking her again, but my body wants her. The moment I'd seen her in Domenico's meeting chamber, the blood that's supposed to supply my brain had powered south. Or perhaps, it had been since that first night.
I only know I want her with an insane intensity that stuns me. I know there's no purging her out of my system. She's like a heady aphrodisiac that I'm addicted to. I can't get enough of her.
She’s asleep, her hair spilling over the pillow in dark, messy curls that catch the light. Her lips, red and swollen from my kisses, are parted in a tempting invitation. Her face is soft, pale in the morning glow, and I can’t stop staring. My eyes rove over her face hungrily, taking in every delicate curve, every contour. My chest tightens, a nameless feeling stirring, one I refuse to name. We’re bound by a forced marriage, our hate buried under a fragile truce. This shouldn’t be happening harder.
Then, my heart starts to pound and I’m frozen. My chest hurts. She’s here, in my arms. We’re bound by a forced marriage. Ourhate is buried. This truce is fragile. This shouldn't be happening. I can feel the slow unfurling in my chest as a nameless feeling overcomes me. I can't give credence to it.
I brush my fingers over her arm, my fingers gentle and careful. She stirs and I hold my breath. Her hand slides down. It rests on my balls, warm, unaware. I swallow a groan. My cock throbs hard. Waking with Fina like this feels dangerous. I could get used to it. Her leg shifts, pressing closer. I think about taking her now. She’s asleep, lost in dreams. But I want her awake. I want her eyes burning, meeting my heat.
Last night, she was unstoppable. Her desire burned like mine. Even now, I want the intensity of last night. This marriage is meant to keep peace, not start fires. I tell myself it’s just sex. It’s a release, nothing more. But this need feels heavy. It’s raw and real. I keep pushing it down because frankly, I don’t want to face it. There's nothing to face. I'd married her for control and revenge. That's it. Nothing more.
But my body doesn't get the message. The fucker excels at betraying me.
Can we keep fucking? Can we keep it cold, no feelings? Her body tempts me. My body's tingling from last night. I want her again. My cock begs. My heart twists. I say it’s nothing. It’s just skin, just heat. But she fits me like she's tailor-made for me. She fights, she yields. She loathes, she wants.
I should put a stop to this madness, but I can't. Not now when I'm holding her so close to me. She looks vulnerable in sleep. Allthe fire is gone from her, sleep softening her features. No, she's not soft. She's all fire and brimstone, I keep reminding myself.
Her eyes flutter open. They’re green, sharp, bright in the morning light, piercing through me with dazed intensity. She’s glorious. Her hair is wild. Her lips are red, swollen. I see the moment her eyes shift into focus. Panic flashes in those greeny depths as she realizes where she is, what we’ve done.
She pulls back fast, untangling herself. Her movements are quick, frantic. I let her go. My gut twists. I tell myself it doesn’t hurt. It’s better this way. Last night was a mistake. It was born of blood, of fear. We shouldn’t have crossed that line.
She fumbles, her movements jittery. She searches for her gown. It was shredded last night in our rush. It’s almost funny. She’s rattled, silent. Fina’s never silent. She’s always armed with a barb, a sharp retort. But now, after a night in my bed, she’s quiet and exposed.
I can’t resist teasing her, my anger at my own hunger mixing with a thrill at her unease. It sets off something in my chest. “Lost something, principessa?” I ask. My voice is low and mocking.
She spins, her eyes blazing and accusing. She storms closer. She jabs my chest. Her finger is sharp. I see the storm in her eyes. “What’s so damn funny, Enzo?” Her voice is hard and clipped. “Don’t think last night meant anything. It was the fight, the bullet, the adrenaline, and I wasn’t myself. It was just sex. Nothing more.” Her words sting. They echo my own lie. But theyfeel empty. We’re both hiding, and the air between us crackles with the truth we won’t face.
Her scent hits me—vanilla and something more heady. Her fire, her closeness—it’s all too much. I can't resist her. I grab her and pull her onto me. Her body tumbles. Her breasts press against my chest. She gasps. Her hands push, fighting. I kiss her. It’s hard and hungry, almost punishing. My lips claim hers. She resists, keeping her mouth shut. Her fists tap my chest as she murmurs her protests against me. I don’t stop. I feel her fight weaken, her body softening.
“Please, cara,” I whisper. My voice is rough and raw, carrying the weight of the hunger that I feel. “Open for me.” I brush her nipple softly, carefully. She moans, her lips parting. I dive in. My tongue sweeps, tasting her. She’s sweet, warm, like last night’s wine. Her resistance fades. Her tongue meets mine. It’s fierce and greedy. I kiss her slowly, my mouth easing the pressure to taste her tenderly. My hands glide down her back. My fingers trace her curves. I pull her closer.
She matches me. Her moans are loud. Her body arches, pressing close. I roll us, pinning her beneath me. My cock brushes her thigh. It’s hard and eager to claim her. Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails grazing me. It flames the heat higher. I kiss her jaw, sucking gently. Her skin tastes clean, sweet. She tastes like mine. Her legs part, her pussy wet and warm, teasing my cock. It's calling me.
I move slowly as my hand cups her breast. My thumb teases her nipple. She cries out. It’s sharp and needy. Her hips lift. She seeks me, and I oblige. I nudge my cock against her. The tipslips in. She's warm and tight, her folds closing over my length She moans. Her eyes lock on mine. They’re green, wild. I thrust, smooth, deep. I fill her. It’s hot, perfect. She’s made for me.
Her cries get louder. Her body moves with mine. It’s fluid and fierce. I keep it steady. It’s not rough. Each thrust is careful. I savor her heat, her grip. Her hands roam my chest, her fingers brushing my sugar skull tattoo. Her touch is soft, and I’m lost in the feel of her. She meets me. Her hips rise. She matches every move. Her breath is quick, desperate.
She’s a storm. Her hair is wild. Her lips are red. Her eyes are fierce. I kiss her again, our tongues are slow, tasting carefully. Our moans mix. My hand finds her clit. My fingers circle lightly, urging her higher. She trembles. Her pussy tightens. Her cries are sharp. I thrust deeper, smoothly. We're enemies. This marriage is a lie. But for some reason, when I'm with her, like this, it doesn't matter—the truth of us don't exist.
Her moans turn to gasps. Her body trembles as she chases release. I keep the rhythm. It’s steady and deep. My fingers tease her clit. Her eyes hold mine. They’re green, burning. I see her surrender. Her fire matches mine. My cock fills her. I feel myself drowning, every thrust pulling me deeper into her, into us.
Her hands slide to my back. Her nails graze. They don’t dig. It sparks heat. I kiss her neck. My lips linger. I taste her pulse. It’s fast, wild. Her hips rock. They meet me. Her pussy is wet. It grips me, pulls me in. I’m hard, aching. I marvel at her. She’s ready again, minutes after last night. Her hunger is fierce, like mine.
I angle deeper. My thrusts are slow. They draw out her moans. Her breasts bounce. Her nipples are hard. They brush my chest. It sends jolts through me. I’m lost. My body is alive. Every nerve sings. Her cries sharpen. Her body is buzzing. She’s close.
I feel Serafina tighten around me. Her body trembles as she arches beneath me. A soft cry slips from her lips, her release shuddering through her. I groan low, my own release spilling into her, warm and deep. We’re tangled together, breathless, sweat slicking our skin. I pull back, my cock softening, my heart pounding hard in my chest. The air feels thick, heavy with what we’ve just done—again.
I look at her, my breath still coming fast. Her face is flushed, her green eyes half-closed, hazy with pleasure. Her lips are red, swollen from my kisses, and I feel a pang in my chest, something I can’t name. We went at it three times last night, each round wilder than the last. I shouldn’t have taken her again this morning.
“Fina,” I say, my voice low, rough with worry. “I’m sorry. You must be sore. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
She blinks at me, her green eyes sharpening as she focuses. She stretches slowly, her body arching, breasts lifting as she moves. A small smirk curves her lips, teasing me. “I don’t feel sore, Enzo,” she says, her voice husky… playful.
The sound hits me hard, stirring heat I can’t afford to feel again. I swallow, nodding, not sure what to say. We lie there, our bodies close, her warmth seeping into me. The air feels heavy, likesomething big hangs between us, but we don’t speak. There are no words needed to be said.
Minutes pass and the silence grows thick. I glance at her skin, at the marks I'd left in the throws of passion, faint red lines from my hands, a bruise on her hip where I gripped her too hard. Guilt mixes with desire, a dangerous combination. Last night had been nothing short of a storm. The fight at the party combined with the bullet grazing my arm had fueled both our adrenaline, and it had drove us to this.