Page 35 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

I didn't see her when I entered the house.

Not in the dining room either, where two families were getting to know each other.

I stopped for introductions and acknowledged the thanks of Cat's parents, and I think I managed to hide my disdain for her father well.

That man has been sitting tight for fourteen years while his daughter was being held hostage.

That would have never happened under my watch.

I would have started a war to bring her home.

Judging by his large belly and the jewels on his wife's neck, hands, ears, and fingers, he didn't do too badly working for Giovanni.

I checked him over, too. There were no obviously missing body parts, contrary to his daughter's maimed hand, and that infuriated me even more.

So much so that I didn't stay long. Not only because I didn't see Cat, but because there were just too many fucking people in the room.

It was too noisy. Everyone was smiling, laughing, and nearly yelling. It was a party.

But she wasn't there.

No one seemed to care except me.

I suspected she slipped away. I've noticed it before, how she folds into herself when things get too loud. The way she carries her joy like it's something borrowed and fragile.

So I went looking.

I find her at the end of the pier, silhouetted by moonlight, still as a statue, her loose hair stirring lightly in the faint breeze. She looks like something out of a dream.

Don't get too close.

Don't ruin her.

The words hit me like a hammer.

What I feel for her, there's no word for it. At least not one I've ever used before. Not one that fits inside the life I live. Whatever I feel, it's more than want.

Though my body wants . Desperately. My dick's hard the second I lay eyes on her, and it's not just because of the way her shirt clings to those soft curves, or the way the moonlight skims the edge of her jaw, or the soft set of that mouth I haven't stopped thinking about since I tasted it.

After that night, that kiss, I've tried to stay away from her. Two long, fucking days. Two days during which I couldn't help but think about her. The few glimpses I allowed myself only made things worse. The yearning inside of me is… I can't explain it.

I feel it now again, watching her. It's the way she stands out here, alone, not expecting anyone to come looking for her. As if she doesn't think she's worth anyone coming to look for her.

When she opens up to me, tells me how the voices overwhelmed her, how she felt like she didn't belong, how guilt wrapped around her chest like wire, my heart does something I didn't know it could.

It cracks wide open.

And inside that split is something new. It's raw, protective, and I'm afraid, permanent.

I pull her closer without thinking. My hand on her waist is possessive in a way I've never experienced before.

Every part of me aches for her. But it's more than desire.

It's this overwhelming need to shield her from the world.

To show her what safety feels like. What it means to be cherished.

Protected. Loved, maybe, though I'm not ready to say that out loud, even to myself.

She's not just something to touch.

She's something to hold.

Something sacred. And if I have my way, she'll never feel alone again. Not in my arms. Not in this life.

I press my mouth to her forehead like a vow, promising silently: No one will ever hurt you again . Not while I breathe. Not while I'm Enrico Sartori. Not while I live.

She tilts her head up toward me, those mesmerizing whiskey eyes are wide and shining in the moonlight. Filled with trust.

Fuck.

I can't take it anymore. I slide my hand to the side of her face, fingers splaying through her hair.

It's softer, silkier than I remember. She leans into my touch, and that's all it takes to tip me over the edge.

I've denied myself for too long; still, I lower my head slowly, giving her time to pull away.

She doesn't. Her lips part, and her breath hitches. It's the undoing of any willpower I've got left. I kiss her.

Not like the first time, where I took my time, where I was gentle and cautious.

This kiss is everything I haven't said. Everything I've buried.

It's rougher, deeper, hungrier . It's demanding and consuming.

If any part of me is afraid to chase her off with my near aggressiveness, it's drowned out by the raging fever inside me for her. I need her.

Thank fuck, she melts against me with a sound that nearly ruins me, her small hands clutching the front of my shirt with a ferociousness that should be impossible for someone as small as her.

I cup the back of her head and angle her mouth to mine, taking more, until the rest of the world disappears.

Her soft moan vibrates through me, straight to where I'm already hard and aching, the part that wants me to push forward, to push for more.

Fuck, I could take her right here on this pier, on my jacket, under the fucking stars, but I won't. I remind myself that a few days ago, she hadn't even been kissed, that she's a virgin.

I break the kiss because my fucking cock is humming, and my balls are pulsing with desire for her.

I need to stop before the last voice of reason is drowned out by the blood rushing into the lower part of my body, leaving my brain in a caveman-like state where I would do things I'd regret.

We're both breathing hard. I lower my forehead against hers, let it rest.

"I've got you, Piccolina," I whisper against her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

There is no warning. Well—one.

A low growl, quick and sharp, like a furry little demon signaling the end of my goddamn moment. Then, pain, as needle-sharp puppy teeth clamp down on my calf, right through my slacks, and pull .

"Cristo santo—!" I bark, stumbling back a step.

Cat gasps, startled, and then the sound she makes: she laughs.

I'm still trying to pry the damn beast off my leg while she doubles over, covering her mouth, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Shadow's tail is wagging like this is the greatest game of his life, snarling like a wolf cub as he hangs from my pants.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, glaring down. "You bite me ? After everything?"

Cat can barely breathe through her giggles. "He's just… protective."

"Possessive little bastard," I growl, finally shaking him off. "Whose side is he on, anyway?"

"Mine," she says, grinning now. Glowing. "Obviously."

I scowl at the dog, who yips smugly and prances off in a circle like he's won something. The moment I look back at her. My heart is done for .

Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are swollen from my kiss. And her laughter, that soft, unguarded joy, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen or heard.

"I think he likes you," she adds, teasing.

I arch a brow. "That was like ?"

"You should see him with people he hates. "

"Remind me never to piss him off."

A mischievous grin plays along her lips, and she takes a step towards me, but it's too quick; her foot slips on the dock's slick planks.

Everything happens in a blur. I see her start to fall, her arms flailing, and I reach out to catch her.

But it's too late. Time seems to freeze as she hangs in the air, her eyes wide with shock, before she plunges into the water.

I don't think; I just act. I tear off my jacket and dive in after her; the water isn't too cold. I surface to see her spluttering and wiping the water from her face. And then she laughs. It's a beautiful sound, pure and full of life, but it grates against the worry still coursing through me.

"It's not funny," I growl. She's ten years younger than me, and sometimes it shows. This is one of those times.

"It's very funny," she counters, flicking water at me with her fingers. The droplets hit my face. Oh, she's asking for it now.

I lunge towards her, a low growl in my throat. She shrieks, half in delight, half in alarm, and starts swimming backward. I chase her, my strokes powerful and sure, until I have her trapped between my arms in the water. The laughter dies between us, replaced by something heavier, something primal.

Her breath hitches, and I can't help but notice how her shirt clings to her, highlighting every delicate curve. And me? The water does nothing to hide my reaction to her. Her gaze flickers down, taking in the bulge in my slacks, and her eyes widen.

"You see what you do to me?" I murmur, my voice low and rough. "You've barely touched me, and I'm hard as a fucking rock."

She bites her bottom lip, a nervous habit I find endearing. I let my hands trail down to her hips, pulling her against me. She shivers, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, her legs wrap around my waist, tentative at first, then tighter.

"I shouldn't want you this bad," I breathe against her neck, treading water, keeping us both afloat. "But I do. I want you so much it's driving me insane."

Her hands flatten against my chest, and I can feel her heart racing. "I... I feel it," she whispers.

I need to take control, to show her how good I can make her feel. But I won't take what she's not ready to give. I kiss her throat, my lips soft but hungry. "I'm not going to take what you're not ready to give," I tell her. "But I want to make you feel good, Piccolina. Let me take care of you."

She nods, small and uncertain, "Yes."

Even though she has no idea what she just agreed to, I'm taking it.

A gentleman would stop. A decent man would walk away.

But I've never claimed to be either. I'm not the hero in her story.

I'm the warning her mother should've whispered about in the dark—the kind of man who ruins innocence just by breathing too close.

And God help me, I'm going to ruin her. I'm going to take what I shouldn't, brand her with my hands, my mouth, my cock, every fucking part of me. She won't be able to think of anything but me. Because when I'm done with her, she won't just be touched. She'll be owned .

I'm done pretending I'm better than this. Done keeping my distance to protect her from what I am. Fate might've been cruel when it shoved her into my orbit, but now that she's here?

She's mine.

She doesn't know it yet, but I've already decided.

Her mouth. Her moans. Her heartbeat. Her first fucking orgasm.

They belong to me now.

I'll kill the next man who even looks at her sideways.

Her small yes is all I need. My hand slides under her soaked shirt, finding the heat of her stomach, gliding upward until I reach her breasts. She gasps, her back arches into my palm.

I take my time, exploring her, teasing her, until her breath is coming in short gasps.

Her pert little nipples are ridged and hard.

I roll one between my fingers, and a hiss escapes her.

Gently at first, I apply some pressure. Her guttural moan encourages me to pull a bit harder.

Fuck me, she's about to come undone just like that.

She seems to like it a bit rougher. I'm not about to test the limits just yet, but the thought of her liking it rough makes my cock throb.

"Does that feel good?" I murmur.

She nods, breathless.

"Say it. I want to hear you."

"It... feels good," she breathes.

"You've got no idea how good I'll make it feel, baby." I pinch a little harder, and she gasps.

"You like it when I touch you like this? Rougher?"

God help me, she nods again.

"Fuck. You're going to ruin me."

I relish the feel of her soft skin under my hard hands; her breasts are just the right size, and I can fully cup them. I burn to suck on those pert nipples of hers, but unfortunately, we'd probably both drown.

There are still other things I can do, "You want my fingers, don't you?"

"Y-yes," she gasps.

My hand moves to her skirt, moving it up and sliding her panties to the side before my finger enters her. Slow. Then I curl it just right. Her walls clamp down, fluttering.

"Shit, Piccolina," I hiss. "You're so fucking tight. You're going to squeeze the life out of me when I finally bury myself in you."

A second finger joins the first. Her nails dig into my shoulders to hold herself up, and my legs have to pump the water harder to keep us both above the surface.

Her head falls back. I start to thrust them, deep, then shallow.

Letting her feel every angle. My thumb rubs slow, torturous circles on her clit.

"That's it," I growl. "Take it. Ride my fingers like you'll ride my cock. Let me feel you come."

She whimpers.

"Let it happen," I whisper. "Let me wreck you."

She makes a keening sound, one that nearly undoes me. My balls squeeze, making me think I'm going to come just from finger fucking her.

"That's it," I whisper again. "Take it. Let me give you this."

Her legs start to tremble around me, and I know she's close. I can feel her body tightening, her breath coming in short gasps. Her hips grind against me, and her moans grow more frenzied.

"Come on my fingers, Piccolina," I command. "Be a good girl and come for me. I want to feel it."

I stare into her face, drinking in every gasp, every stuttering breath, every desperate flicker of her lashes.

I need to burn this into memory, how she looks, unraveling for me.

Because this isn't just about her pleasure, it's about mine .

Mine in watching her fall apart. Mine in knowing I'm the only man who's ever touched her like this, the only one who's ever made her feel like this.

Her mouth parts in a silent cry, and fuck , the way her body clenches around my fingers?—

It's holy. It's filthy. It's perfect .

I don't look away for a second.

Because this right here? This is what it means to own her.

Her entire body locks for one breathtaking moment, and then she breaks. She clutches me tight, her cries muffled by my neck as I work her through it. Her first orgasm. My reward.

I hold her as she trembles in the water, her heart pounding against mine. She pulls back, her eyes dazed and glowing. "I... I didn't know it could feel like that," she breathes.

My lips brush her forehead, tender and protective.

"That's only the beginning," I tell her.

Because this is what I want. Not just her body.

Her trust. Her surrender. Her everything.

And when she's ready, I'll ruin her for anyone else.

God have mercy on anyone who tries to take her from me now, because I won't.