Page 27 of Intrigue

I pull out just to plunge into her again and again, each thrust harder, deeper, rattling the goddamn island beneath us. “Do you even know what you do to me?” I snarl, my voice cracking with desperation. “You’ve got me so fucked up, I’d bleed out just to feel you clench around me like this.”

“Sandro…” she whimpers my name like a prayer, her eyes glazed with lust and shame, and it drives me wild.

“Fuck—” I pound her harder, burying myself so deep she cries out, a raw, slutty sound she can’t hold back. She doesn’t let me slow down, her legs tightening, pulling me in like she’s as lost in this sickness as I am. I grunt with every thrust, my balls slapping against her, the need for release clawing at me, feral and desperate.

She breaks out with a sharp, “I’m going to come. Please…please don’t stop…” Her voice is a wrecked plea, and it’s music to my fucked up soul.

I shove a hand between us and rub her swollen clit with my thumb, rough and relentless, while still driving my cock into her soaked pussy. “Come for me, you dirty little slut,” I growl. “Scream my name while I fuck you, let him hear who owns you.” It sends her crashing over the edge, her body convulsing as she comes hard in my arms, whimpering and trembling, her juices coating me. And I lose it too, spilling inside her with a guttural roar, pumping every drop into her tight heat to mark her as mine, to stain her so deep she’ll never wash me out.

Then, he calls her. Cassian. And she freezes, her breath hitching like a deer caught in a trap. “He’s coming down…”

I pull out of her, my cock still twitching, dripping with her and me, and pull my pants up, rearranging myself. She scrambles to do the same, her torn dress hanging off her likea fucked out rag, a gaping rip exposing her flushed skin. She presses her palm over it, trying to hide the evidence of our sin, but her thighs are slick with my cum, her nipples still hard under the shredded silk.

I go out through the window as I’d come, the cold air hitting my sweat-drenched skin. Cassian may have his ring on her finger, but now I know she’s addicted to me, to the way I break her apart.

I leave her with a mark, my seed leaking out of her, my scent clinging to her skin, my name burned into her soul. I leave her with the knowledge that she’s all mine, no matter what she tells herself or him. She’s fucked for me, and I’m fucked for her, and this twisted, rotten thing between us is only getting started.

***

The drive home pounds with victory and something darker. Blood still seeps through my hastily bandaged side. Every throb reminds me of her fingers on my skin, her teeth in her lip as she tried to stay quiet.

My phone buzzes. Angelo.

“It’s done,” he says. “But Moretti’s asking questions. They didn’t authorize that hit.”

“Let them ask.” I pull into my garage, knuckles white on the wheel. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

“And when the Don finds out?”

“He won’t.” Unless I want him to. “Get your story straight, you saw nothing.”

I end the call, climbing the stairs to my penthouse. The wound pulls with each step. In my bathroom, I examine the damage in harsh fluorescent light. The cut runs four inches along my ribs, deep enough to scar, shallow enough to heal. Worth it.

My phone chimes with a text. Selene.

You’re an asshole. I had to tell Cassian I spilled wine on my dress so I changed.

I type back:Bet you’re still wet.

Fuck you.

Again? So soon?

She doesn’t respond, but I picture her face flushing, thighs pressing together. The memory of her heat around me makes my hands itch to possess her again.

A shower washes away blood and grime. I dress the wound properly, mind racing through the next steps. The Moretti crew will be furious about their dead men. Good. Let them come. Every threat brings me closer to being Selene’s only safety.

My phone rings again—the Don this time.

“Someone hit our shipment,” I report before he can speak. “Moretti’s crew. We lost two of theirs.”

“Any of ours hurt?”

“Just me. Knife wound. Nothing serious.” I keep my voice neutral. “Want me to handle it?”

“No.” Papers shuffle on his end. “I’ll send a message myself. Rest up, son. We’ll need you ready.”

Son. The word tastes like ash. I think of Selene’s father calling me that while I fuck his daughter behind his back. While I plot to take everything he owns.