Page 24 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

"Orders, hm? That turns me on." A slanting smile played on his lips.

"But don’t get used to it.

I’m a fucking ruthless king."

I shifted closer to him until our faces were barely a breath apart.

"Many a king has paid with his life for underestimating his queen."

He let out a dry scoff and sat down.

"Do you have the contract for your company shares?" His tone was businesslike again.

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because I want to see it.

It's important you understand what options you have."

I hesitated but finally stood, retrieved the folder from my shelf, and handed it to him.

Alessandro took it, opened it, and began carefully reading through the pages.

He flipped through the contract, scrutinizing every line, seeming completely absorbed in another world.

It was fascinating to see him so focused—the way he worked, how he blocked everything else out.

Finally, he paused, tapped a finger on a clause, and leaned back slightly. "Here it is," he said calmly, as if he'd just played an ace.

"What?" I asked, curious.

"Carter made a mistake," Alessandro explained, his voice matter-of-fact, but his eyes glinted with sharp calculation.

"This clause—it states you can sell your shares to an external buyer at any time, as long as the market value is met.

Meaning, for example, to me.

Carter only secured first refusal rights, but he didn’t account for the fact that he has to buy them back within 90 days if he doesn’t want to lose them to the buyer.

And the problem for him is that your 49% stake is high enough to block or push through strategic decisions in the company."

I furrowed my brow, reading the passage myself, but the full weight of his words only hit me as he continued.

"With these 49%, you can bring him to his knees," Alessandro said.

"Or if you want to apply more pressure, you can sell to me.

Every major decision, every contract negotiation would go through me.

And Carter would have no choice—he’d either have to pay up or accept a sale to me."

"He can’t afford that.

It would ruin him," I murmured, the words churning heavily in my mind.

Alessandro nodded.

"Exactly.

He’s financially backed into a corner.

He can’t buy you out."

I leaned back, the folder heavy in my lap, my gaze fixed on Alessandro, who now looked completely at ease.

I let the words sink in, but the unease didn’t fade.

"And then what?" I asked quietly.

"If I trust you and sell my shares—what happens to me? You say I have a choice, but in reality, you’ll always have control.

You’ll always be the one pulling the strings."

Alessandro was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was dark and weighted.

"I don’t want to own you, Fiona." He paused, his gaze flickering, then a dangerous smile ghosted over his lips.

"Actually, I do.

Physically, at least.

But…" He leaned slightly forward, his eyes locked on mine. "What I respect about you is that you want something else. You want to stand as an equal, to decide for yourself where your life goes. It drives me insane, but that’s what I admire about you."

His words made my throat tighten.

"I’m superior to you in many ways," he continued, without arrogance, as if stating a simple fact.

"But that doesn’t mean I want to keep you small.

On the contrary—I want you stronger, to have the tools to survive in this unforgiving world.

Not for me. For you."

"That sounds so selfless," I muttered sarcastically, trying to deflect the storm inside me with a sharp remark.

But he wasn’t deterred.

"It’s not selfless," he replied calmly, his grin still there, but his tone grew more serious.

"I want you strong, Fiona, because I’ll only accept a woman by my side who can match me."

"Who says I want to be by your side?"

"How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?"

His directness flustered me.

"You’re a fury who challenges me.

You’re not like the others—and that’s exactly why I want you."

"If that was supposed to be a compliment, you packaged it well." He had a strange way of phrasing admiration.

Still, his words struck deeper than I wanted to admit.

I felt the truth in them, the raw honesty he never bothered to hide.

Alessandro Russo was playing with his cards on the table in my living room.

He was dangerous, yes. Dominant and manipulative. But at the same time, he was the first man who didn’t want to change me—who respected me because I was strong, not in spite of it.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as if shielding myself.

My gaze stayed locked on him, and though I knew I couldn’t evade him, I forced myself to speak calmly.

"I’m grateful for your help, Alessandro," I began slowly.

"But you have to understand that I can’t blindly trust you.

Not now. Not when I risk trading one dependency for another."

My words seemed to give him pause.

Alessandro said nothing, but I saw his face still for a moment, as if my honesty had struck a nerve.

His fingers rested on the folder he’d just examined, and he dragged his thumb over the paper—a tiny movement that betrayed his otherwise impenetrable composure.

"So that’s what you think?" he finally asked, his tone sharp.

I stayed silent, just watching him as the tension in the room became unbearable.

"Let me make one thing clear," he began, and his voice now carried that edge that brooked no argument.

"I’m not Carter.

I don’t need your shares.

I don’t need your contract.

And Carter…" He gave a dismissive shrug. "Carter can go to hell."

I opened my mouth, but he raised a hand to silence me.

"Let me finish, Fiona." His eyes narrowed slightly, and I saw him choosing his words with care, as if making sure I'd grasp every single one.

"Do you know the difference between me and Carter? Carter needs you.

He uses your name, your skills, your loyalty to make himself stronger."

I felt his words strike straight to my core.

But he wasn't done.

"My operations span more countries than Carter will ever set foot in.

I own more than you can imagine—real estate, corporate stakes, shipping routes, and yes, the darker sides of business too.

Do you really think I need your stake in some mediocre Miami firm? Do you really believe I'd bother manipulating you when I already have everything I want?"

His words were cutting, yet in that moment, he laid bare something raw with startling emotion.

"I'm here with you," he finally said, quieter now, almost a whisper in the silence that followed.

"Not because I have to be.

Because I want to be."

I stared at him.

His eyes burned with restrained feeling.

His hands—usually so controlled—rested on his knees, but I could see the tension in his fingers.

I was truly getting under his skin.

Alessandro leaned back, dragged a hand down his face with an almost imperceptible shake of his head before pinning me with those dark eyes.

"You realize, Fiona, while we're sitting here, I should be in Colombia right now.

The biggest cartel's muscling in on my operations, and my man on the ground's turned into their fucking air traffic controller.

There's a situation there demanding far more attention than Carter's petty Miami games.

Yet here I am." His gaze burned.

"Here. Because I want you. Not Carter. Not this goddamn contract. You. Christ, how many more signs do you need before it finally clicks?" He paused, his stare turning razor-sharp with a raw, unfiltered honesty that forced me to absorb every syllable. "It fucking infuriates me," he continued, "that you let some nobody like Vaughn into your bed. A man who's not just a complete waste of space, but unworthy of someone like you. And yet you doubt me?"

I flinched slightly, his words landing like physical blows, but he gave me no opening to retaliate.

"Carter's nothing compared to me.

Nothing.

He uses you because he needs you—because without you, he's weak.

I—" He halted, his gaze leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"I'm sitting here. In your apartment. On your goddamn couch." A beat. "I'd rather watch Colombia burn than lose sight of you for even a moment."

The air left my lungs.

His voice remained utterly calm, but carried a weight that stripped all pretense—no performance, just devastating truth.

As if he'd only just realized how much I meant to him.

And that realization was his vulnerability.

His words reverberated through me, an aftershock of emotion and honesty I'd never expected from him.

Alessandro had just let his walls crumble—for me.

The raw, unfiltered truth of his words struck me deeper than anything ever had.

My heart pounded wildly, and for a moment, I felt utterly overwhelmed by the weight of what he'd confessed.

He sat rigid on the couch, his eyes dark yet burning with emotion—and something dangerously close to vulnerability.

As if he'd just pried open the last locked chamber of his soul and handed me the key.

I couldn't stay still any longer.

Slowly, I rose, my movements deliberate, as if each step drew him deeper into my orbit.

My eyes never left his, not for a second.

When I stood before him, I leaned down, took the folder from his lap, and placed it on the coffee table.

Then I turned back to him, settling onto his thighs, feeling his hands instinctively grip my waist—claiming, possessive, refusing to let go. My fingers slid into his hair, tracing the soft skin at his nape as I tilted my head until our faces were so close I could taste his breath.

I kissed him.

Deep.

Devouring.

A kiss that said everything I couldn'tt voice.

The longer it lasted, the clearer it became—we'd both admitted truths without speaking a word.

When I finally pulled back, my breath was ragged, my lips burning from the intensity.

"Why didn't you say this sooner?" I whispered, my forehead resting against his.

He fisted my hair, tilting my head back to meet his gaze.

"I'm not a man of pretty words," he admitted with a self-deprecating smirk.

"I know how to threaten, negotiate, draw lines.

But love letters and sentimental drivel? Not exactly my forte." His voice was rough before he kissed me again, swallowing any reply.

Everything he'd said, everything he'd unleashed in me, detonated between us.

His hands tightened on my waist, dragging me flush against him as I arched into his touch.

In one fluid motion, he lifted me, flipping us so I was pinned beneath him on the couch, his body caging mine.

It was as if he'd finally shed every restraint—and I was ready to match him, to surrender completely to this hunger that had always been more than physical.

"Wait—" I gasped as I felt him slipping into that dangerous, single-minded intensity that made him forget all control.

"...I don't think my couch will survive this."

He stilled, hands still gripping my hips, and fixed me with a crooked, amused grin.

"And what will survive... this?"

I arched a brow, glancing pointedly at the couch before meeting his gaze again.

"The bed? Absolutely not," I murmured, my thoughts racing.

"You'd destroy it—and my neighbors would probably call the police."

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he shook his head.

"You should stop worrying about what people think of you."

"I just don't want to get judging stares tomorrow when I take out the trash because of my—"

His expression shifted.

Instantly, everything about him turned darker, more predatory.

Charged.

His gaze sharpened.

"Your screams..." he murmured, as if the mere word threatened his sanity.

In one ruthless motion, his hands slid to my hips, yanking my pants down in a single decisive pull until they hung loose around my ankles.

I sucked in a sharp breath, startled by his sudden dominance.

"I want your screams...

so loud they hear you throughout the whole damn house." He tore off his sweatpants and shirt in a flash, lifted me by my thighs with his hands, and pressed me hard against the wall with my back.

Gasping, I wrapped my legs around his hips, my fingers clawed into his shoulders.

I felt the cool plaster against my back, the heat of his skin against my chest.

And nothing in between. My fingers dug into his back, I pulled him closer to me as his lips wandered over my neck and I lost myself in the mix of desire and overwhelming closeness. I greedily parted his lips and thrust my tongue purposefully against his, merging them in a wild dance. I dug my nails into his skin without a shred of restraint, my legs tightened around him as he pressed me even higher against the wall. Then he pushed my panties aside and lowered me onto his cock. Moaning, I felt his thick erection stretch me, I couldn’t get enough of this sensation, taking him fully and far too big inside me. His reaction every time to my tightness gave me an intoxicating sense of power over him.

He moved immediately and with a force that slammed me against the wall with every thrust.

I clung to him desperately, my hips jerking toward him, craving more.

He filled me completely, left no room for anything but him.

His grip on my thighs tightened, his movements relentless.

I felt my body clench around him, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. His breath was hot on my neck, his panting deep, rough, charged with pure hunger.

My body seemed to function entirely by his rhythm now, pulling him deeper or resisting.

And he didn’t yield.

Not for a second.

He took me so hard, as if he’d made it his mission to do exactly what I wanted to prevent.

Every thrust was an answer to my fear of the neighbors.

As if he wanted to prove to me that no wall, no matter how thick, could muffle the sound of what he unleashed inside me.

I bit my lip, tried to stifle the sound building in my throat. Useless.

He heard him.

And laughed, a guttural sound.

He pressed me harder against the wall, his hips driving deeper, rhythmic.

Every thrust forced another moan past my lips, every restraint growing weaker.

"I want to hear you, Fiona," he rasped in my ear, his voice rough with lust.

His hand slid down my spine, gripped my back, forced me closer, forced me to take more, until nothing else mattered but the fire between us.

I dug my fingers into his neck, my entire body trembling, wound tight to the point of breaking.

It was as if he was tearing out everything I'd ever held back.

It was too much—and yet not enough. He filled me completely, left no inch untouched, took me as if he needed to sear this moment into his memory forever.

My entire body tensed, turned pliant and taut at once, vibrating under his grip, under his pace, under the relentless force with which he hammered me into the wall.

I was teetering on the edge, felt the pressure building.

He felt it too, thrust deeper.

"You're close.

Come for me."

And I fell.

Not silently, and certainly not discreetly.

Fuck.

I came with a cry that shuddered through me like an earthquake, wracking my body, overwhelming me.

My core clenched around him, but he didn’t let himself be dragged under. Fought against it with iron control while I was swept away by the wave. Everything went white. Flickering. Empty and full at the same time.

I hung limp against him, my forehead resting on his shoulder, my breath uneven, my heart racing.

My body still hummed from the force of my climax, yet I could still feel him inside me—hard, hot, unmoving.

As if nothing was over, but everything was just beginning.

He tightened his grip, lifted me with a low growl as if I were nothing more than his possession—warm, pliant, breathing heavily.

I felt the muscles under my hands, his tense body, the control that was nearly tearing him apart.

"Tell me…" My voice was rough, fractured.

"Do you ever get enough?"

He strode down the hallway, still holding me against him, his steps deliberate.

"We fucked in the car today," I murmured, half-dazed, half-disbelieving, "I just came for the second time, I can barely speak—and unless I'm mistaken, you're carrying me to the bedroom now?"

He laughed.

Dirty.

"I'll never get enough of you," he murmured against my neck.

"Your pussy feels too good.

And your control issues…" He grinned against my skin. "...they’re practically begging for therapy."

I lifted my head sluggishly, eyeing him skeptically.

"Therapy? And what exactly does that mean?"

When we reached the bedroom, he kicked the door open with a casual motion and set me down right in front of the bed.

His gaze raked over me.

"Tonight, you learn to let go…" he informed me, his eyes calmly scanning the room.

Then he reached for his pants and, in one swift, silent motion, pulled the black leather belt free from the loops.

I watched him warily, standing motionless.

"Give me something to anchor you."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Anchor me?"

He looked at me, his gaze flickering.

Then he grinned—slow, with that sharp curl of his lips that never promised anything good.

"Well… something to tie you to the bed with."

I blinked.

The words hit me like a shock.

"You want to tie me to the bed?" My tone was pure, feigned outrage.

He stepped closer, never breaking eye contact.

"You didn’t exactly live chastely with Vaughn, did you?"

I averted my gaze, running a nervous hand through my hair.

"He wasn’t… into that," I muttered, embarrassed.

Just saying it out loud was uncomfortable.

Intimate.

Somehow shameful.

Alessandro was silent for a moment.

Then he laughed softly, the sound more like mockery than genuine amusement.

"Of course not," he finally said, dry and entertained.

"Carter Vaughn.

The perfect gentleman. He knows how to recommend wine—but not how to touch you."

His gaze trailed down my body, slow, unashamed.

"No wonder you’re so defiant.

He kept you wrapped in cotton wool for too long."

I stared at him, stunned by his audacity.

"You’re really…" I struggled for words, still half-laughing.

"Such an asshole."

"An asshole who knows how you need it." He stepped even closer, barely a hand’s width away.

"Time to remind you what control feels like.

And how good it can be to surrender it." He lifted the tie he’d pulled from his jacket earlier, let the fabric slide through his fingers.

*"The belt for the bed.

The tie for your eyes."

I instinctively stepped back.

"I hate this."

"Yes, you always say that.

But your reactions to pain and submission tell a different story." His voice had grown deeper, his eyes glinting.

"You're a depraved little bitch who gets wetter the harder I fuck you."

I wanted to say something, any kind of objection—but he stepped behind me, pushed my hair aside, lowered his head to my ear.

"Your body already knows how good it feels when you let go.

Only your mind is still resisting.

And that ends now."

I felt his fingertips lightly brush my neck.

Gentle.

Almost tender.

My breath quickened.

"You're nervous," he growled, quiet, with a hint of pleasure.

"But not because you're afraid of me.

Because you already know what I could do to you—if you let me." His hand slid slowly over my stomach.

"That's what excites you so much.

That it might hurt."

I held my breath, my pulse racing.

That flutter in the pit of my stomach—not fear.

Anticipation.

He gripped my chin from behind, pulled my head closer to his mouth.

"I'll hurt you, Fiona," he said softly.

"Not to humiliate you, but to heighten your pleasure." He paused, left me hanging in that overwhelming tension before adding, unmistakable hunger in his voice: "Unless you want it."

At his last words, my throat tightened.

The darkness in his voice reached a new, even more dangerous depth.

"You'd enjoy humiliating me," I murmured.

The answer was already there, hanging between us.

He didn’t smile, remained stern, almost ruthless.

"I won’t lie to you, Fiona.

How can you know what you like if you’ve never tried it?" he said calmly.

"It’s about testing limits together.

Feeling you. Feeling me." He lowered his voice further, until it was nothing but a deep rumble. "But you’re not ready yet."

I couldn’t reply, every muscle in my body wound tight to the point of snapping.

The unshakable conviction in his voice, the ruthlessness of his words, shot through my veins like an electric current.

It was as if he were separating my body from my mind—while my body trembled with arousal, every alarm bell in my head screamed.

He was still behind me.

I couldn’t see him.

Only feel him.

His nearness, his heat—the inevitable tension between us.

Suddenly, he pulled me tighter against him. With a deft motion, he drew the tie over my face and bound it firmly over my eyes. Darkness. All at once, everything was gone—light, orientation, control.

"Now you think less," he whispered behind me.

"And feel more."

He had barely spoken when I felt his fingers slip beneath my panties, pulling me from my paralysis.

Deliberately slow, he pressed his fingers into me, pushed deeper.

His other hand held my throat, tilting me back against his warm body.

Though the apartment was utterly silent, blood roared in my ears at an unbearable volume.

I felt his hand rise to my chin, wrenching my face to the side as he shoved the fingers—still wet from inside me—into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself.

My own salt sharp on my tongue, a mix of faint shame and dizzying arousal.

"Taste that?" he murmured.

I had never tasted myself before, nor would I have thought to want to.

But if I’d known how erotic it would feel, I’d have tried it sooner.

"That’s the kick you’ve been chasing," he rasped.

Then, in one brutal motion, he shoved me away.

My heart skipped—blind, disoriented, no sense of direction or distance.

But before panic could take root, the mattress yielded beneath me.

He was over me instantly, dragging me toward the headboard. Wordless, he seized my wrists. One fluid, unstoppable motion, and he had them pinned above my head, the belt cinching tight. Cool leather bit into my skin, his fingers working deftly as my breaths turned shallow.

"Alessandro—" I whispered, half protest, half surrender.

He bent over me, lips grazing my ear as he breathed, "Quiet.

Let it happen."

A soft click of the belt—and I knew I couldn’t move.

Bound.

Blindfolded.

Helpless.

Control was my oxygen; without it, I was adrift. But with him, it was different. In every act, an unshakable certainty. A calm stronger than my fear. I trusted him—more than I’d ever trusted anyone.

Skilled hands slid my panties down.

I held my breath.

His touch was sure, steady, charged with an intensity that unmoored me before he even made contact.

Trapped, blind—every sensation struck twice as hard.

When his warm breath hit my sensitive skin, my pulse spiked. Then his mouth found my clit, gentle at first, demanding with every exhale. A broken whimper escaped me. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t guide him—only feel him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow circle dragged me deeper into heat and want. He hitched my leg higher, spread me wider—and I let him, greedy for every second. His tongue delved deeper, his mouth worshiping with a devotion that left me lightheaded. I tasted his impatience, his hunger, his raw reverence, all without a word. When two fingers slid into me, slow and deep, my body arched toward him—a greed I’d never known before.

I wanted more.

Of him. Only him.

Then I felt his fingers glide over the delicate lace of my bra, as if he enjoyed the fabric just as much as what lay hidden beneath.

My hands were bound above my head, and that turned every movement, every touch from him into a fireworks display of sensation.

The air in the room was cool, and I felt it like a gentle whisper on my bare skin.

His fingertips traced the curves of my breasts, soft yet demanding, before he gripped harder.

"Fiona..." His voice was nothing but a rough exhale, so quiet it nearly drowned in my rapid breaths.

His hands kneaded me, explored me, squeezed and pulled until I felt the heat in my body rise higher and higher.

I felt his lips, a soft kiss on my hardened nipple.

But the moment of tenderness was over quickly.

His tongue flicked over my nipple before he drew it between his teeth. A surge of pain and pleasure shot through me, so intense that I instinctively tugged at the belt that kept my hands stubbornly restrained. It was a feeling that overwhelmed me completely, blurring the line between torment and ecstasy. His grip tightened, his movements grew more deliberate, and I was trapped in a whirlpool of lust, pain, and the absolute control he held over me.

He lifted my body slightly, pulled me effortlessly toward him until I felt his hard erection press against me.

I clenched my lips together, my entire body trembling under this tense anticipation, this moment poised on the brink of explosion.

"Tell me you belong to me." His breath brushed my earlobe, his teeth closed around it lightly before his tongue soothed my skin.

A shudder ran through me, I arched my back, instinctively trying to get closer to him, and released a soft, panting sound that he answered with a satisfied hum.

"Why…" I didn’t belong to him.

He didn’t respond with words.

Instead, I felt his lips on my stomach.

He sucked my skin in, but so suddenly and so firmly that I cried out involuntarily.

Pain lanced through me, sharp and hot.

I writhed, whimpering softly.

"I won’t tell you…" I gasped.

"I don’t belong to you..."

Not a word from him.

He shifted upward, his lips finding the sensitive underside of my upper arms.

A second kiss that didn’t deserve the name.

Because it felt more like a bite, delivered by his devilish lips.

I gasped again, felt my entire body jerk. Another kiss—this time on the other side. Again that bite, the vicious burn beneath the skin. His hand pressed against my throat. He pushed me down gently with it, forced me into a position where I felt even more—his body, his tension, his absolute control.

I moaned.

Deep, rough, uncontrolled.

Pleasure and pain merged inside me into an all-consuming intoxication.

"Say it, Fiona," he whispered.

"Say you belong to me."

I pressed my lips together.

Not out of defiance.

Not because I didn’t feel it.

But because I didn’t want to end what I reaped for my resistance.

Because every second he demanded more of me, teased me further, pushed past my limits, was like a firestorm in my veins. The pain, the surrender—a singular feeling that robbed me of my senses. I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted more. And so I stayed silent. My entire body burned, trembled, begged.

But he didn’t respond with another command.

Instead, he moved.

And then the tip of his cock was right where I needed him most.

Right at my entrance.

Hot. So damn tempting.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

My hips jerked forward involuntarily, but he pulled back.

Just far enough that I could still feel him but couldn’t have him.

"You’ll get it when you say it."

I bit my lip, unable to move.

My body screamed for him.

Everything in me was fixed on that one point, on the pressure that was driving me half-mad.

But he didn’t budge.

Not a millimeter.

"Say it." His tone grew harder.

Impatient.

I panted.

Torn between pride and greed.

And he knew it.

He knew exactly how far he had me.

"I belong to you," finally burst from me, loud, almost pleading.

"I want to feel you," I added, because I could barely stand the burning need between my legs anymore.

"I want to finally feel your damn cock inside me," I spat out in a broken voice.

"Give it to me...

finally..." It felt like the hunger between my thighs had long since taken control and was speaking for me.

His hands spread my legs, I felt the mattress yield under his weight, how he positioned himself before me.

And then...

finally...

a sharp gasp escaped me as he filled me in one deep thrust.

The sudden pressure stole my breath, and everything around me vanished. I clawed my fingers into the leather of the belt, felt my hands go numb as I absorbed every sound, every touch from him. I sensed sweat gathering on my skin while my body adjusted to his movements, matched his force, as if he had awakened me in a way I'd never known.

He thrust deeper, more demanding, and his lips found my neck, placing kisses that seared like brands while the bed slammed loudly against the wall.

A tingling raced down my spine, an uncontrolled trembling that rooted itself in my limbs.

Every thrust drove me higher, and I felt the tension in my body stretch to the brink of endurance.

My hands twitched, instinctively trying to move, but the belt around my wrists kept me firmly bound to the bed.

The leather rubbed against my skin, a constant, underlying stimulus that only intensified every sensation.

"Alessandro," I gasped, a name that was both confession and plea.

"Not yet," he hissed, his voice dark and rough.

His hands slid over my body, found my hips, and pulled me tighter against him.

I let myself fall into him, allowed him to tear me apart only to reassemble me in his untamed hunger and strength.

My head sank back into the pillow, and I wasn’t sure if the tears welling in my eyes came from the intensity or sheer overwhelm.

He held me fast, didn’t let me escape—not even in this moment.

His hands remained on my skin, demanding yet soothing, as I shattered beneath him into a thousand pieces.

Every thrust, every movement was a quake that rattled my world to its foundations until I was nothing but pure sensation.

My breath came in bursts, every muscle in my body trembled, until finally, shaking and gasping, I was hurled over the edge—and dragged him with me.

Alessandro stilled for a moment, his forehead touching mine, his breath grazing my lips.

The tension in the air slowly gave way to a quiet, fierce closeness.

His hands slid down my arms until they reached the belt, which he loosened with a slow pull.

The pressure eased, and my hands were free.

I felt the tingling in my wrists where the leather had touched my skin, but his fingers followed instantly, gentle, as if to erase every mark he’d left behind.

He pushed the blindfold from my eyes, looked at me.

"Fiona," he said softly, his voice a rough whisper.

In that moment, he wasn’t the man in control—just Alessandro, unguarded, honest.

I couldn’t speak.

My hands sought to reclaim what had been denied them.

I touched his face, the hard lines of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He pulled me against him, his body heavy but warm, protective.

My breath was shallow, yet I felt my heart steady as I listened to the calm beat of his.

In the silence that now enveloped us, nothing else mattered—just us, together, in a moment no one could take away.