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His fingers circled her clit, soft at first, then firmer, just the way she needed. She bucked beneath him, gasping. “Mateo?—”

“ Say it again ,” he demanded fiercely.

“ Mateo .” A whisper. A plea. A spell.

He dipped one thick finger into her, her slick heat clutching him, then added a second, curling and stroking until she was crying out beneath him, hips lifting, chasing him.

“I’m going to make you come so hard,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Right here. Right now.”

He trailed his lips along her throat and down to her breasts, where he lavished the plump curves with slow, damp kisses.

The ache for him transcended into something incandescent.

Using the wet, swirling warmth of his tongue along her breasts, the arousing scrape of his teeth, and finally the deepening suction of his mouth on the beaded tips, she gasped and arched upward as a bolt of white-hot pleasure shot from her breast to the ache between her legs.

“Mateo, querido , please,” she whispered.

His lips skimmed along her rib cage, his groan vibrating against her skin.

The hot slide of his tongue lapped across her trembling stomach, then delved into her belly button in a wicked, erotic kind of French kiss.

She moaned, long and low, and her free hand gripped the covers at her side in a tight fist. It was all she could do to keep herself from coming apart right then and there.

“I need your mouth on me,” she whispered hoarsely, desperately. “Please.”

He shifted between her spread legs and moved lower, settling in so that his broad shoulders kept her knees firmly apart.

Her body jerked as his mouth touched down on the inside of her thigh.

His lips were soft, his breath damp and hot as he slowly, leisurely kissed and licked his way upward, until he reached the very core of her.

By then, she was nearly sobbing with need.

The heat of his mouth covered her, and his tongue took over.

Slipping. Sliding. Swirling in and around her soft, swollen flesh before suckling on her clit in the most breath-stealing way.

He finessed her body with such utter attention to her pleasure, worshipping her as if she belonged only to him, that she nearly passed out from the glut of sensation he lavished upon her.

Within a matter of seconds, she was unraveling from the inside out.

She started to pant, and then her breath caught on a sob as her climax exploded, and she was consumed by an overwhelming rush of pulsing heat.

The force and intensity of her release tumbled her into the longest, most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced.

The shudders within her seemed to go on and on, and before the last of the tremors subsided, Zorro was moving up and over her.

He covered her body with his own, all hard, lean muscles and barely suppressed hunger.

In one long, smooth thrust, he slid into her, and she lifted her knees high against his waist to give him the deepest access possible.

Once he was buried to the hilt, he closed his eyes and groaned as her inner muscles clasped him tight.

She knew he had to be aching for his own release, yet he went still, as if relishing the moment, the warmth and softness of being inside her, and the aftermath of the internal contractions still buffeting her body.

“You feel exquisite the way you grip my dick.”

He began to move, rolling his hips hard against hers, then plunging deeply. Again and again. Long, slow, agonizing strokes designed to make the pleasure last. He lowered his head and kissed her, the soft, sensual glide of his tongue matching the rhythm of his lazy thrusts.

There was nothing gentle about the way he plunged into her and filled her to the hilt, nothing sweet about his deep, driving strokes.

She clasped her legs high around his waist, welcoming every hard thrust of his hips, loving the way he let go and claimed her as his.

Her body embraced every inch of him, met him stroke for stroke, matching the pulsing, erotic rhythm that grew hotter and brighter with each fierce thrust.

Eventually, the heat, friction, and fire caught up to him, finally shattering his control.

She felt the change in him as his pace quickened, his breathing grew ragged, and he pumped harder, faster, toward his own completion.

She dug her fingers into the rippling muscles of his damp back, arched high and hard into his thrusts, and felt him stiffen as his climax began.

He groaned and tossed back his head, arching into her, surging higher, grinding harder, moving faster, until she was gasping for breath and swept into another climax that took her by surprise.

Growling deep in his throat, he surrendered to his own fierce orgasm.

His hips pressed her farther into the mattress, then farther still, nearly crushing her with the violent force of his release.

His breath ragged, he collapsed on top of her and buried his face against her neck.

Breathing hard, she threaded her fingers through his hair, giving him the time he needed to recover. With protectiveness welling up in her, she cradled his face against her shoulder, holding him with every ounce of comfort she possessed as the aftermath left him shaking.

She held him like that for several moments, feeling so surrounded by him that it was almost as though he had drawn her inside his very soul.

She closed her eyes, soaking up the feeling of opening herself to this man, of giving him what she had never given anyone in her entire life.

Trust, and as her armor dissolved, she pressed her palm to his heated, damp skin.

He moved, stirring at her touch, his fingers tangling in her hair as he turned her head and covered her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. He heaved a sigh. “Goddamn, woman. That was…fuck…as dangerous as being outside the wire.”

She cupped his jaw, unable to stop touching him, her fingertips brushing the stubble like it was holy. Then she pressed her mouth to his, a kiss that had no heat behind it, only the quiet beat of her heart.

A sudden rush of emotion climbed her throat, so fierce and unexpected she had to close her eyes against it. But he caught the back of her head and kissed her again, his mouth soft, grounding, his breath a tether.

When he exhaled, the sound felt like a vow. Slow. Certain. Steady.

“You shouldn’t exist,” she whispered, the words spilling raw. Her fingers traced the hard, beautiful line of his jaw. “Not in this world. Not in mine.”

His eyes stayed on hers, fierce and steady. “Then maybe it’s time we built a new one.” He drew her against him like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore and buried his face in her hair. “Lay with me, carino ,” he murmured. “Rest now. Let me hold you. I need to hold you.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She curled into him, tucking herself against the solid wall of his body, her hand over his heart. His warmth soaked into her skin like sun through glass, and for a moment, just a moment, she let herself believe in this quiet. In this man. This amazing man she wasn’t quite sure she deserved.

That thought caught her off guard. It flickered, quick and instinctive. Her old wound surfaced beneath the softness. She pushed it down. Not now. Not here. But it didn’t vanish. Would it ever?

Building a new world? God. What would that take? What would that cost?

Did she have that kind of courage?

Not the kind that made her run into fire. Not the kind she summoned when her hands were slick with blood and someone’s life was slipping through her fingers.

No. This was different.

This was asking whether she could be the kind of woman this man needed . The kind he had every right to expect.

Could she rise to meet him on even ground?

Could she be like Pippa, Izzy and Helen? Could she be his partner, like those women who had fiercely chosen their men ?

Her breath caught. He pulled her closer, chin brushing her hair, his arms tightening just enough to remind her that he was still here.

Her thoughts spun briefly, too big, too fast, too hopeful, before they dissolved into the steady rhythm of his breath against her skin. Her own breath followed, syncing to his, instinctive and slow.

For the first time in her life, she slept beside someone not because she was numb or exhausted, but because she was held .

Not certain. Not whole. But willing.

She absorbed the solid, aching feel of his powerful body, still humming with the energy that thrummed through his veins, and felt the shiver of it slip into her like current, curling low in her belly, and it made her want him all over again.

Not physically, although God , just the scent of him made her mouth dry and her core ache.

No. Mateo.

Zorro.

Could he possibly…oh God.

Her breath caught, a sharp hitch in her chest.

Could he have fallen in love with her back in Niamey? When she’d been fractured.

Scared. Bitter. Blaming. Needy in a way she still hated to admit. At her worst.

How could that have happened?

She closed her eyes, but it was already too late. The thought had taken root, and with it came the truth she’d been outrunning since she met him.

She didn’t just give in, she unraveled. Quietly. Entirely. Like surrender was a truth her body had been holding longer than her mind could bear.

She loved him.

She was deeply, utterly in love with him, and she couldn’t pretend otherwise. Not after this. Not after everything.

In this brave, uncertain world he’d offered her, this world of risk and joy and terrifying openness, she had no idea how to carry that truth. No idea what it meant to live with it.

This wasn’t the kind of love that waited until you were whole.

This was Mateo “Zorro” Martinez’s kind of love, the kind that found her wrecked, sifted through the rubble, and saw past all her bullshit to the damaged heart still beating beneath it.

How the hell was she supposed to breathe around a man like that?

How was she supposed to be the woman he saw when he looked at her?