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“Stop fucking teasing,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips, and I laugh, low and breathy, before I sink down, taking him inside me inch by inch. He’s big, stretching me, the burn delicious as I adjust, my walls clenching around him.

I moan, loud and unashamed, my hands braced on his chest as I start to move, rocking slowly, feeling every ridge, every pulse of him inside me.

His hands guide my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, urging me to go faster, but I keep it slow, deliberate, savoring the way he fills me, the way my body responds.

Our mouths meet again, the kiss sloppy, all tongues and teeth, his hands roaming my body, squeezing my ass, my breasts, pinching my nipples until I whimper into his mouth.

I shift, leaning back, my hands on his thighs for balance, and the new angle makes him hit deeper, brushing that spot inside me that sends sparks through my veins.

“Right there,” I pant, my hips grinding harder, faster, chasing the pleasure building in my core. He thrusts up to meet me, his cock slamming into me, the wet sound of our bodies filling the room, mingling with our gasps, our moans.

I lean forward again, my breasts pressing against his chest, the chain cold between us, and he flips us, rolling me onto my back without pulling out. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he thrusts hard, his hips snapping, his cock driving into me with a rhythm that makes my toes curl.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot against my skin. I rake my nails down his back, hard enough to leave marks, and he hisses, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate.

He pulls out suddenly, and I whine at the loss, but he’s on me in an instant, his mouth between my legs, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate path through my folds. I cry out, my hips bucking as he sucks my clit, his lips closing around it, his tongue flicking fast, then slow, driving me wild.

Two fingers slide inside me, curling, pumping, hitting that spot while his mouth works my clit, and I’m shaking, my hands fisting the sheets, my orgasm building so fast it’s dizzying. “Rocco, I’m gonna—” I gasp, and he doesn’t stop, his fingersfucking me harder, his tongue relentless, until I come, hard, my pussy clenching around his fingers, my body shuddering as pleasure rips through me.

He doesn’t give me time to recover, climbing back up, his cock sliding back inside me in one smooth thrust. I’m still sensitive, every movement amplified, and I wrap my legs around him, my heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.

He fucks me slow now, each thrust deliberate, his eyes locked on mine, watching every reaction, every flutter of my lashes, every moan that spills from my lips. My hands roam his body, squeezing his biceps, his ass, pulling him closer, needing every inch of him.

“Harder,” I beg, my voice raw, and he obliges, his thrusts picking up speed, his cock pounding into me, the bed creaking with every movement.

My breasts bounce with each thrust, and he leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing, sending another jolt of pleasure through me. I’m close again, the pressure building, and I reach down, rubbing my clit, my fingers slick with my own arousal. He groans at the sight, his thrusts growing erratic, his control slipping.

“Come with me,” he grits out, and I do, my second orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, my pussy clamping down on him, my body shaking as I scream his name. He follows, his cock pulsing inside me, spilling hot and thick, his groan loud and guttural as he collapses onto me, his weight heavy, grounding.

We lie there, tangled in the sheets, sweaty and spent, my legs still wrapped around him, his cock softening inside me. Ibreathe into the hollow of his throat, my lips brushing his skin, tasting the salt of him. He watches the red LED clock tick past midnight, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip.

I laugh, but it fades as reality creeps in. “Javier knows. He’s not bluffing.”

“Then we hit him first,” Rocco says, his voice steady.

“You trust me to do that?” I ask, needing to hear it.

“I trust you to finish it,” he says, unwavering.

I turn toward him, my body pressed against his. “What about us?”

“We don’t get an easy answer. Just a choice,” he says, his hand cupping my face.

“And you’re choosing this?” I ask, my voice soft.

“I’m choosing you,” he says, and I feel it deep in my chest.

I lay my head on his chest, my fingers tracing his Ferrano tattoo. “Don’t fall asleep. You snore.”

“You love it,” he chuckles, his voice rumbling.

“Maybe,” I say, smiling, my lips brushing his skin.

Chapter 13 – Chiara

Gulls wheel overhead, their cries echoing off brick walls. The alley behind the Edgewater garage is slick from dawn’s last storm. Pavement shines with oil and rainwater, and every step we take sloshes in shallow puddles. Trash drifts in corners, half-crushed cans leaking stale beer. Sea-salt humidity clings around me like an unwelcome guest.

Rocco drags Sal Ferrano behind him by the zip-tied wrists. We had gone to the safe house to retrieve him earlier. Sal’s shirt is torn across the collarbone, bruises darkening his skin. His boots scrape on concrete, sparks of pain flickering when the ties tighten. Rocco’s grip never falters.