Page 518 of Rosetti Family New York

"I know." My voice cracks as I trace the rope burns around his wrists. "I couldn't lose you, Van."

His jaw clenches, and I see the moment his control snaps. "Need you," he growls, voice hoarse from Lucia's interrogation. "Right fucking now. Can't wait."

The desperation in his voice matches the fire in my blood. I reach for him as the partition rises, while Chicago blurs past the tinted windows. His hands shake as he pushes my skirt up my thighs with rough urgency, though I can see the effort it takes him.

"Still my submissive," he says, the words carrying the weight of everything we survived.

"Always yours," I breathe, meaning it more now than ever. The ache between my legs already pulses with need, my pussy responding to the command in his voice despite his injuries.

He works with what he has, his surgeon's precision adapting to both the confined space and his battered body. The seatbelt becomes a restraint as he threads the leather strap around my wrists, favoring his uninjured shoulder, the improvised bondage sending heat right through me.

"Innovation under pressure," he murmurs against my neck, that dark smile splitting his damaged lip. His less injured hand slides between my thighs, fingers finding the damp silk of my panties. "Already wet for me. Good girl."

I test the improvised bonds, the warm fabric nothing like the cold restraints they used on him. The car's backseat forces creativity, my arms secured overhead while he positions himself between my spread thighs. The vulnerability makes my clit throb with anticipation.

"Don't want to hurt you," I whisper, careful of his bruised ribs as I arch against him.

"You couldn't." His gruff reassurance comes with gentle hands that trace my face before sliding down to cup my breast through my blouse. "Let me have what I need."

His thumb brushes over my nipple, the touch sending electricity straight to my pussy. Even injured, even traumatized, he knows exactly how to make me come apart. I whimper as he works the buttons of my blouse, his shoulder protesting, exposing my lace bra to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, I missed these," he growls, dipping his head to mouth at my nipple through the lace. The wet heat of his tongue makes me gasp, my hips rolling against nothing, seeking friction.

"Van," I breathe, testing my bonds as arousal builds hot and urgent in my belly.

"Sir," he gently corrects. His voice is dark velvet as he pushes the lace cups down, exposing my breasts completely. I gasp as his mouth closes over my nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

He groans against my breast, the sound vibrating through me as his hand slides up my inner thigh. When his fingers trace the edge of my panties, I'm already soaked, desperate for his touch after three days of terror.

"So fucking wet," he murmurs, pushing the silk aside to stroke my slick folds. "My perfect girl. Did you touch yourself while I was gone? Thinking of me?"

"Every night," I admit, my face burning with the confession. "Couldn't sleep without… oh God, Van. Sir."

He slides two fingers inside me without warning, my pussy clenching around the intrusion as pleasure shoots through me. The angle is perfect in the confined space, his thumb finding myclit as he works me with steady strokes, though I can see the strain in his face.

"That's it," he praises, watching my face as I writhe against his hand. "Take what I give you. Show me how much you missed this."

I'm already close, the emotional intensity combining with physical need to push me toward the edge. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur, and I cry out against the seatbelt restraints.

"Come for me first," he commands, his thumb circling my clit relentlessly. "I want to feel this tight little pussy squeeze my fingers before I fuck you properly."

The words push me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, my pussy clamping down on his fingers as pleasure explodes behind my eyelids. I hear myself crying his name, my body arching against the seat as waves of sensation roll through me.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, working me through the aftershocks until I'm boneless and panting. "Still perfect."

Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch him work his belt with shaking hands, his injured shoulder protesting the movement, his breath coming harder from the exertion. When he finally frees his cock, thick and hard and desperate for me, I whimper with need.

"Need to be inside you," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Yes," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his waistdespite the awkward angle, mindful of his injuries. "Take me. Prove we're both alive."

He pushes inside me in one slow, devastating stroke, my oversensitive pussy stretching around his thick length. The sensation borders on too much after my orgasm, but I need it, need him filling every empty space inside me. I can feel the tremor in his muscles, the way his body fights between need and exhaustion.

"Christ, you feel incredible," he groans, stilling to let me adjust and catch his breath. "So tight around my cock. Like you were made for me."

"I was," I gasp, the truth of it echoing in my bones. "You're not pushing me away again. This is who I am. Yours."

Something shifts in his expression, steel softening to something warmer. "All of you?"

"All of me." The words come easier now as he begins to move, slow deliberate thrusts that make me see stars while respecting his body's limits. "The princess, the submissive, the family weapon. Everything belongs to you."