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The steam swirls thick around us, fogging the mirrors, clinging to our skin. It feels like we’re suspended in another world. A private one, where nothing exists outside this shower but his breath against mine and the need spiraling through me like wildfire.

When he pulls back, I’m panting. My lips are tingling. His eyes are locked on mine, sharp and dark, but there’s something softer buried beneath the heat—something that makes my knees weak.

“I’m starving,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Think I’ll start with breakfast.”

My brows furrow, breath hitching, but then—he sinks to his knees.

The cool tile presses against my back as he guides me gently, reverently, and something tightens in my chest. I’m already trembling, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. He looks up at me like he’s about to worship, not devour.

My thighs part slowly, deliberately. A silent offering.

“Tell me what you want, Maria,” he says, voice like velvet dragging over steel.

I swallow. His voice makes my legs shake, my heart’s racing, but it’s not fear—it’s anticipation. “Your mouth.”

“Where?”

He kisses the inside of my thigh, soft and slow, like he has all the time in the world. Each kiss sends a pulse of heat straight between my legs, the ache building with every breath.

He trails higher, closer—until his lips hover just above my clit, teasing, cruel, deliberate.

“On my pussy,” I whisper, already trembling, my voice cracking under the weight of need. “Please, Matteo.”

“Good girl,” he breathes. His hands grip my hips, strong and grounding. “Leg up.”

He lifts my leg over his shoulder with ease, his eyes never leaving mine. Then his mouth finally covers my clit—and I shatter.

A sharp cry escapes me as he sucks hard, his tongue drawing lazy, controlled circles. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. Drawing it out like he knows how close I already am.

My back arches off the wall. My hands find his hair, fingers tightening, anchoring me.

He groans into me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat spiraling through my core.

“You taste like sin,” he growls into me. “The sweetest fucking sin.”

I whimper as his tongue slides down to lap at my folds, slow and methodical. He works me like he’s crafting a masterpiece. His beard is rough against my inner thighs, every graze of stubble adding another jolt of pleasure.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs. “All this for me?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Only you.”

A finger slides inside me, then another. He pumps slow and deep, curling his fingers just enough to make my knees buckle.

“Matteo, I—I can’t?—”

He rips his mouth away, licking his lips like he’s drunk on me. “Yes, you can,” he growls.

“Don’t run from it,” he says, dragging his tongue back up to flick over my clit. “Take it, Maria. Let go.”

His fingers keep moving, his mouth never stops, and I’m unraveling. My breath comes in sharp bursts. I want to cry and scream and beg, all at once.

“Matteo—fuck—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He groans again, tongue working faster now, fingers pressing deep. My orgasm builds slowly, torturously, a wave that keeps climbing.

Then—

He sucks hard, just once, and the world explodes.

My body convulses. My head thumps against the tile. I cry out his name like it’s the only word I’ve ever known. My legs shake around his shoulders, but he holds me through it—steady, relentless, insatiable.

Even after I come, he doesn’t stop right away. He licks softly now, like he’s easing me back to earth, and I can’t tell if I want to push him away or beg for more.

When he finally pulls back, I can barely breathe. My body feels boneless. My skin is flushed and tingling.

He rises slowly, watching me like he’s proud of what he’s just done—and maybe a little smug.

“You’re fucking divine,” he murmurs, voice rough with arousal. His cock presses hard against my thigh, thick and aching. “Turn around.”

I do, limbs shaking, and press my hands against the fogged-up glass. My breath leaves soft marks on the surface as I wait for him.

Then his body molds to mine, chest against my back, cock sliding through my folds.

“You want me?” he asks, dragging the head of his dick along my slit.

“Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes.”

“Then beg.”

“Matteo, please. I need you inside me—I need all of you.”

A rough growl escapes his throat. Then he slams into me.

I cry out, the stretch shocking and delicious. He doesn’t wait—his thrusts are slow but deep, grinding, like he wants to carve himself into me inch by inch.

“You were made for me,” he grits out, voice thick with need. “No one else could ever fuck you like this. Tell me who this belongs to. Say it,” he growls.

“You,” I gasp. “It’s yours—it’s always been yours.”

His hand slides around to rub my clit again—small, punishing circles that make me see stars.

My second orgasm creeps up slower this time, but it’s deeper, heavier. I can feel it in my spine, in my toes, in the way my walls clench around him like I’ll never let him go.

“Come on, baby,” he groans. “Show me how much you need me. Fuck me back,” he pants. “I want to feel you take me. I want to feel you break.”

I thrust into him, meeting every stroke, every slap of skin. “Harder,” I cry. “Matteo, give me all of it!”

The pressure builds again. I’m right there, clenching around him, needing the release like air.

“Come for me,” he hisses. “Come all over my cock, baby.”

I break.

This one doesn’t hit—it erupts. It crashes through me like a second wave, even harder than the first. I can’t breathe—I don’t want to.

I want to scream his name—my legs trembling, my body falling over the edge again.

But I don’t scream this time. I gasp. I whimper.

It’s too deep for words. My body tenses, then melts into his, like I’m dissolving around him.

I don’t feel the ground. I don’t feel the water. I only feel him. And it’s everything.

My vision blurs. My walls clamp down around him, and he groans like I’m pulling his soul out of his body. He follows with a shout, spilling inside me—thick and hot—as he thrusts one last time.

He gathers me close, our bodies still shaking in the aftermath.

When it’s over, he pulls out slowly and turns me in his arms. His hand cups my cheek. His breath fans across my lips.

“You ruin me,” he murmurs, eyes softer now. “And I love it.”

His autumn eyes gleam, turning molten—more caramel than gold, like hot chocolate on the coldest winter day.

“Breakfast was amazing,” he laughs and kisses me with a softness that I am quickly getting accustomed to. “We should have that every morning.”

I laugh into his chest and reach up to press my lips to his. I want to live in this bubble forever. But the storm’s still out there, brewing beyond these walls. But I know that whatever is coming, we will face it together.

Giacomo will not win, even if I have to pull the trigger myself.