Page 4 of Queen (Shattered Pieces #2)

I stop at the altar. Cold stone under my palms. My mouth twists into something close to a smile as I let myself picture her there. Chin raised. Shoulders squared. Eyes lit with fire she thinks can burn me. Wrapped in silk I chose. Bound by vows I’ll drag out of her lips.

She’ll hate every second. But she’ll come.

Because I am the last man standing. And she knows it.

“You’ll look like a queen,” I tell the empty chapel, my voice scattering into shadow. “Because you are. Whether you want to be or not.”

A queen forged in blood and bound in fire. Mine.

The Arrival: Reunited Under Duress

I hear her before I see her.

Heels. Sharp, deliberate clicks echoing across the marble foyer. Not hesitant. Not meek. Not yet afraid. She never arrives like prey—Zina comes in like fire, and only later does the smoke choke her. That’s the part I love most. Watching her burn before she realizes she’s the one in the cage.

From the top of the staircase, I wait. Shadows coil around me while the double doors frame her like a painting. My ruin. My obsession. My queen.

Black. Always black. A coat cut close at the waist, heels like weapons stabbing at the stone floor.

Her hair’s pinned but loose strands curl wild at her cheek, betraying the chaos she tries to tame.

She doesn’t pause, doesn’t falter. But her hand grips the bag tighter than she wants me to see. Armor disguised as elegance.

Our eyes lock.

And the air catches fire.

I take the stairs one by one, dragging out the moment. Each step deliberate, designed to test her nerves. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. But her chin tips higher, brittle pride holding her upright.

She’ll lose.

By the time I reach the last step, we’re a breath apart.

“You look older,” she says, flat as stone.

A low chuckle rumbles from my chest. “You look tired.”

Her mouth tightens, rage flashing behind the polish. Good. That’s the woman I want—the one brimming with heat, not cold ashes.

I lift my hand, slow, calculated, until my fingers brush a loose strand from her temple. She flinches—barely—but I see it. I savor it.

“You hate me,” I murmur, knuckles grazing her cheek. “But you came.”

Her jaw clenches. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. You finally made the right one.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been there, dolcezza,” I smile, voice dark as sin. “At least now I won’t be alone.”

She turns away, but she doesn’t step back. That’s all I need.

I motion toward the hall. “Your room’s ready.”

“I’m not staying in your bed.”

“You will.” My tone leaves no room for debate. “Eventually.”

She doesn’t argue. She storms past me instead, heels slicing the silence into ribbons. I watch her go, the hem of her coat trailing like smoke.

Welcome home, Zina. The war begins tonight.

The First Claim

The room is drenched in gold from candlelight. No overhead lights, no shadows deep enough to hide in. Just fire flickering in iron bowls and sconces, flames that dance across stone like ancient rituals.

I lit them myself. I wanted her to see me in this glow. Wanted her to have nowhere else to look.

She enters without knocking. Chin up. Spine stiff. Walking into the cage, daring the beast to bite.

I’m already by the hearth, wine poured. “Drink?” I offer.

“No.”

Her voice flat, but her fists clench. She doesn’t cross the threshold fully. Smart. She knows it’s dangerous here.

I sip slowly, deliberately. “Suit yourself.”

She folds her arms, shoulders rigid. “If you think I came here to fall back into your bed—”

“I don’t expect you to fall.” I rise, smooth and controlled, glass still in my hand. “I expect you to shatter.”

Her eyes flash—fear and fury colliding. Not fear of me. Fear of herself. Fear of what I make her remember.

She turns to leave. I don’t allow it.

Two strides and she’s against the wall, the chill of stone meeting her back as I press the rim of the glass to her throat. Not hard. Just enough. Her pulse leaps.

“You were mine before you were ever his,” I whisper, low enough to scrape bone. “You think marriage erased that? You think his ring erased me?”

“Fuck you.”

I set the glass aside. My hand tangles in her hair, tilting her face up.

“No,” I growl. “You already have, and you will again.”

Her breath stutters. She shoves at my chest—weak, betraying herself. Her eyes flicker like sparks refusing to die.

“You still want me.”

“I want you dead.”

“You’ll scream for me first.”

Her mouth opens—to curse me, maybe to beg. I don’t let her.

She swears at me, shoving weakly at my chest. I can see the desire in her eyes, the spark that refuses to die.

I press her against the wall, my hand slipping under her dress.

Her underwear is no match for me as I slide it aside, finding the moist lips of her pussy.

She moans, trying to push me away, but I'm not deterred.

"Fuck, Zina. You're so wet," I groan, my movements becoming more frantic.

My fingers brushing her core, my touch sends a jolt of pleasure through her. “Always so wet for me.”

As her waves of pleasure begin to subside, I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my lips, my eyes never leaving hers. “You’re mine, and you always will be.”

“You think you can resist me?” “You think you can walk away?”

I press my lips to hers, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. She responds with a bite that draws blood from my lower lip. I'm annoyed, but also excited as my hot sexual impulse takes over.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. “So fucking beautiful.”

“You’re still mine,” I murmur, my lips brushing against the hollow of her throat. “Always have been. Always will be.”

Zina’s eyes meet mine, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “I hate you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But her hands still on my chest, her body still pressed against mine, and the words feeling like a lie.

I smile, a dangerous, knowing smile. “Prove it,” I say, “When I’m done, you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

Grabbing her shoulder, I spin her around to face the wall, lifting her dress to reveal her plump ass cheeks. Tearing her underwear down, I find your plump ass cheeks inviting me to enjoy her moist juices building.

I can't resist the invitation and bend her over, first inserting a finger deep into her wet pussy. I catch the scent of her arousal, musky and sweet, a testament to her body’s betrayal and her hunger for my dick. I loosen my belt, lowering my pants to reveal my erect manhood.

She’s trembling now, her body responding with a desperation that’s undeniable. She wants me. She wants me with a ferocity that threatens to consume her.

Her pussy wet around my fingers, I can feel her desire building, becoming more urgent. My fingers are now covered with her creamy, thick secretion.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” I growl. “Always have been.”

Zina’s cheeks flushed, her body aching with need, her pussy throbbing with anticipation. “Shut up and fuck me,” she snaps, her voice shaky.

“Now, let’s see just how much you’ve missed me.”

With a savage thrust, I bury myself inside her, my cock filling her completely, stretching her, claiming her. Zina cries out with a moan.

“You feel that?” I growl. “You feel how much you’re mine?”

With no gentle touch, I grind hard against her ass cheeks, pumping harder and harder with every moan I hear. My hand finds her pussy as I wrap my arm around her soft hips, pulling her closer to gain a harder and longer grind. She moans, she pants, her growls turning to begging for every thrust.

My strokes hard, deep and relentless. The sound of our bodies meeting, the wet slap of her ass as I thrust into her, skin on skin fills the air, raw and primal.

The wetness of her pussy lips welcomes each stroke of my dick.

“You feel that?” I growl. Zina can’t answer, her breath stolen, her body consumed by both pleasure and pain.

Her pussy clenches around my cock, her walls gripping like a vice, milking me, begging for more.

Rough and deliberate, I hold her down, bent over pulling her sweet, wet ass hard against my dick, my thrusts punishing, but it’s what she needs, what she’s always needed from me.

“Emiliano!” she cries, her voice breaking as her orgasm builds, a tidal wave crashing over her. “Fuck, Emiliano, don’t stop!”

I fuck her harder, faster, pounding into her, my balls slapping against her ass.

The room spins, the world narrows to the sound of our grunts and moans, the scent of sex and sweat. Her pussy is on fire, her clit throbbing, her body on the brink of shattering.

“Come for me,” I demand. “Come around my cock, Zina. Let me feel you fall apart.”

My words send her over the edge, her body convulsing as pleasure crashes over her.

Her pussy hugs my dick, her body convulsing as she comes, her cream coating my cock. Her juices are thick and creamy, showing me how much she wants my dick to keep thrusting.

She cries out, her pussy clinching tighter, her body quivering, her ass tightening, then her legs growing limp as she shatters releasing her orgasm. I thrust one last time, with a release hot and intense. For a moment, we stay like that, suspended within our private storm.

As I pull out of her, my cock leaving her with a wet sucking sound covered in her thick, creamy juices. I adjust my pants, movements slow and deliberate, my eyes never leaving hers.

I lean in to whisper in her ear, "You're mine now, Zina. You always have been."

Zina’s breath catches, her hand pressing against her stomach, her body still buzzing with the aftermath of what they’ve just shared.

Her eyes are glazed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. "You came here to fall back into my bed, and you did. You shattered, just like I knew you would."

You glare at me, your breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"You're an asshole, Emiliano."

I grin, my thumb brushing your cheek. "But you love it."

You push me away, but there's a smirk on your lips.

"You're still an asshole."

I laugh, pulling her into my arms. "And you're still mine."

You roll your eyes, but you don't pull away.

"You're still an asshole."

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "But you came back. And that's all that matters."

You shiver in my arms, your body pressing against mine.

"You're impossible."

I grin, my hand slipping down to cup your ass. "But you love it."

"You're right. I do."

Lips swollen. Body marked by my hands.

She hates herself for it. Hates me more. And still—she didn’t walk away.

I brush damp hair from her face, let my voice sink into her bones.

There’s no going back now.”