Page 111 of Brutal Heir

And I wait. For the explosion. For the silence. For whatever comes next. But one thing’s for sure. I’m not leaving.

I plant my heels, squaring up against the looming giant.

We remain like that for an endless moment, locked in a battle of wills we’re both too stubborn to concede.

“I’m not leaving,” I say again, my voice softer this time.

“Fine, then I will.” He tries to storm past me, but my hand snakes out, curling around his bicep. Whirling at me, his eyes simmer with barely restrained fury. “Let go.”

“No,” I hiss.

“Rory…” His voice is jagged, laced with fury and pain. “Don’t?—”

“I’m sorry. I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant for any of this to happen. I never in a million years thought I would fall in love with you, but I did. I’ll be damned if I let my family or Conall ruin the first chance I’ve had at real happiness.”

“How can I believe anything you say?” he barks.

“Because you know me. You know the real me, and you have to feel that everything between us has been real.”

The sharp lines of his jaw soften, the mad flutter of the tendon falling away. “Merda, Red, what have you done to me?”

A tear spills over, dribbling down my cheek. “Please, Ale, I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

We stand there, breathing like animals, like strangers who once knew each other in a different life. The silence throbs between us, full of pain and want and the terrible truth that neither of us is ready to let go.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,mo ghrá. I love you, please believe me. I love you so damned much.”

My hands curl around his collar and force his mouth to mine. His lips are punishing as they devour me, anger in each lash of his tongue, but I don’t care. I take it all. Because if this is the worst punishment he’ll dole out, I’ll gladly accept it.

His mouth crashes into mine again, more brutal this time, like he wants to punish me for every lie, every secret, every piece of himself he gave that he now doesn’t know what to do with. I let him. I meet every furious swipe of his tongue with my own, my fingers threading through his hair, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between us.

With a low growl, he grabs me by the waist and spins us, slamming my back against the refrigerator. A vase full of fire lilies topples off the counter and shatters, but neither of us so much as flinches. His thigh wedges between my legs, grinding up as his hands slip under the hem of my dress and rip the panties down my thighs in one savage tug.

“Ale…” I gasp.

His mouth is on my throat, nipping, biting, leaving angry little marks that sting and ignite heat across my skin. “You lied to me,” he snarls into the curve of my neck, even as his hand dives between my legs and his fingers find me wet and throbbing. “Every damned day.” He slides that finger through my aching need. “Even as I was fucking falling for you.”

“I know,” I breathe, rocking into his touch. “And I’d do it again if it meant I got to be here like this. With you.”

He curses, low and guttural, and then he’s dragging me through the apartment like a man possessed. We barely make itto the couch in the living room before he shoves me down onto the cushions and tears off his shirt. His pants and boxers follow, the scars on his torso catching in the light like battle lines carved by fate.

“You still want me like this?” he growls.

“I never wanted anyone more,” I snap, yanking my dress over my head, baring myself to him completely. The cool butterfly pendant flutters across my chest, reminding me of a much happier day. “So stop asking questions and feck me.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s on me in seconds, bending me over the couch. His cock slams into me with no hesitation, no words. Just pure, feral need. I cry out, my back arching as he drives into me, fast and relentless. Every thrust is a reminder of everything we’ve endured and everything we still have to face. The couch groans beneath us, fabric biting into my skin, but I don’t care. His fingers dig into my hips in a punishing grip as he slams into me. Leaning over me as he drives deeper, I feel the ripple of muscle beneath scarred skin, feel him lose control inside me.

“Say it again,” he pants, voice cracked open. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” I sob, not from pain but the overwhelming weight of it all. “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you, Alessandro Rossi,mo ghrá.”

He stills for one breathless moment, and I twist my head over my shoulder to meet his wild gaze. Stormy eyes are locked on mine, and in that suspended second, something inside both of us breaks. And mends.

“My love,” I whisper.

Then he moves again, slower now, each grind of his hips a confession. A claim. A promise.