Page 82 of Brutal Heir

“Yes,” I whisper before I climb into his lap.

He watches me, those mismatched eyes, one stormy, one clear, mirroring the war within him: light and shadow in constant battle.

I take him in for what feels like an eternity before I accept my fate, and I choose to fall. Because I want this man, every broken and scarred piece of him. I know exactly who he is, and I’m falling for him all the same.

My lips crash into his. The surprise only lasts for an instant before he’s kissing me with equal intensity. I straddle him, feeling his cock hard across my center. It’s all I can do not to rub up against him like a needy little thing.

As he deepens the kiss, his fingers wrapping around my throat, I fumble with the buttons of his shirt. I need to feel his skin against mine. I want to see all of him in this moment. He stills beneath me, his entire body suddenly rigid as steel.

“Don’t,” he hisses.

“Alessandro, I’ve told you before, your scars don’t scare me.”

“I know.” A hard line slashes across his lips. “Please, just don’t. Not today. For just one day, I want to pretend like I’m not ruined, not a monster.”

“You’re not any of those things.” I press a kiss to his lips. “Not to me.”

“Please, Rory, I’m begging here.”

I nod slowly, untangling my fingers from the buttons. “Okay, whatever you want.”

The tension slowly dissipates from his brow, and he swings us around, splaying me out on the couch. This time the kiss is not sweet, it’s not soft or patient. It’s a demand, and I’m more than happy to comply.

His hand moves down my torso, drifting beneath the scrubs to settle on my abdomen. My fingers dive into the silky hair at his nape just like I’d imagined doing so many times before. He shifts closer so he looms over me, caging me between his powerful arms as his kisses grow more desperate. His cock strains against his slacks, heavy against my leg, and mirrors the need surging through my core.

As he hovers over me, essentially trapping me beneath his enormous body, I wait for the panic to surge. This is the closest I’ve been to a man since that night… And for months, nightmares had plagued my thoughts, faceless men pinning me down in this very position. But with Alessandro, I feel nothing but raging need.

Is it because I know Chip Armstrong has been chopped up into tiny bits, fed to the fishes and he can never hurt me again? Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

Either way, the realization is incredibly liberating. I’d feared this moment for nearly a year now. That gobshite didn’t wreck me. He didn’t ruin me. I’m still here. Still whole. And for the first time in a year, I want. Not just to forget the past, but to feel again.

And to erase every terrible memory of the man before with this one.

As if Alessandro has read my mind, he shifts his weight to one side. Leaning against the back of the couch for support, he lifts my top over my head. His hand skates down my torso,pausing at the curly script beneath my breast, then tracing the lines of the butterfly.

“What does this mean?”

I don’t answer for a long moment. He’s the first person to see the tattoo. It feels too personal to share, but for some reason I want to tell him. My lips part, but as if he’s understood my reluctance, he slowly shakes his head.

“It’s beautiful whatever it is,” he murmurs, a sense of awe in his tone that has my eyes burning.

“It’s Gaelic,” I blurt to ease the heavy silence.

“I assumed.” His gaze turns pensive.

“It’s a long, boring story,” I breathe. “One I’d rather not get into right now.”

He nods, but the line between his brows remains furrowed. As if he’s trying to put together the mystery.

Until my legs part for him, drawing his attention to my traitorous minnie who is desperate for his touch, desperate to obliterate the shadows of the past.

Somehow, hearing my unspoken plea, his hand glides between my thighs, tentatively, giving me all the time in the world to stop him. I should. My head tells me I must, but the desire flooding my system screams at my brain to shut the feck up. He cups my apex over the light fabric of my scrubs, and I roll my hips into his touch, a faint gasp parting my lips.

A deep growl vibrates his chest and his eyes meet mine, so full of desire and something else…

“Mmm, my naughty little leprechaun,” he whispers against my mouth. “Is your pussy already wet for me?”

Another gasp slips through my lips. I should have expected the dirty talk from the cocky Gemini heir, but still, it catches me off guard. And has my lusty minnie purring for more.