I force my eyelids open, and the image burns itself into my brain: Alessandro, shirtless and golden in the sunrise, his hand between my legs, his jaw set like he’s about to go to war. Hisother hand is braced on the mattress, veins standing out like cables.
He leans in, pressing his mouth to my ear, and his breath is ragged. "Next time you want to die, tell me. I’ll kill you myself, but slow. I’ll make you beg for every inch of it. You don’t get to leave me, Emma. Ever."
I’m too far gone to answer. My body is already spasming, an orgasm ripping through me so intense it feels like a seizure, my muscles locking and releasing, again and again, until there’s nothing left but trembling. I clutch at him, anything to anchor myself to this world. When it’s over I collapse, boneless and spent.
He eases his hand out, but the next second he’s stripping off what little clothing he has left, tossing it aside like it’s contaminated. His cock is already hard and leaking, the head flushed almost purple. I reach for it, desperate to taste him, but he intercepts my hand before I can even close my fingers around him.
"No," he says, voice thick with pain and determination. "This isn’t about me. Not yet. I need to be inside you. I need to know you’re here, you’re alive, you’re not leaving me."
He lines up at my entrance, spreading my legs so wide it aches in my hips. The stretch is agony, but also a relief. He pushes in, slow at first, and the breath leaves my lungs. He’s too big, or I’m too small, or maybe I’m just too fucking raw, but I want all of it anyway.
He bottoms out with a brutal thrust, his hands bracketing my face now, fingers digging into my jaw. He stares at me like he’s memorizing every freckle, every tear track, every stupid, human flaw. The first few strokes are shallow, cautious, but not for long. After all that holding back, the dam is broken; he fucks me like he’s trying to carve his name into my bones.
It’s not gentle, but it’s not angry either. There’s too much love in it for that, too much fear. He’s chasing something, and I know what it is: he wants to erase the last twenty-four hours, rewrite the memory of finding me sprawled and dying on the roof. He wants to fill me so completely that nothing, not even death, could take me from him.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down until our foreheads are pressed together. My legs are weak but I hook them around his waist, dragging him deeper, locking him to me.
He’s panting, sweat dripping down his temple, and his thrusts are getting erratic. "Say it," he chokes out. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me. I need to fucking hear it, Emma."
"I want you," I sob, and it’s not a performance, it’s the only truth left. "I want all of you. Fuck, Alex. I love you."
The words break him. He makes a sound I’ve never heard, sharp and wounded, and his rhythm goes to hell. He fucks me harder, deeper, grinding against my clit with every slam of his hips, and I feel myself building again, impossibly, from the ashes.
I think of all the times I tried to run, tried to break free from the gravity of him. It was never going to work. I was always meant to orbit this man.
"I choose you," I breathe, wrapping my legs weakly around his waist. "I choose this. Life."
It feels wrong to be talking about life when Tommy is dead, but Alessandro drives all thoughts from me head when he drives into me in one smooth thrust.
He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a punishing pace that has the headboard hitting the wall. Each thrust drives deeper, harder, like he's trying to fuck life back into me, or maybe fuck death out of me.
"This is what you do to me," he snarls, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Make me fucking insane. Make me want to lock you up where death can't find you."
"You can't control death," I gasp, meeting his thrusts as best I can with my weakened body. "You can't control me."
"Watch me." He shifts the angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes the universe vanish just for a moment. "I'll fuck you so good you'll never want to leave. Chain you to life with pleasure."
His thumb finds my clit again, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation has me climbing fast toward another orgasm, my body remembering pleasure even after dancing with death.
"That's it," he encourages, feeling my pussy start to flutter. "Come back to me, stellina. Come on my cock and prove you're alive."
I do. I come so hard it’s a blackout, stars bursting behind my eyelids, my body locking up again, but this time it’s not about dying, it’s about claiming my right to exist. When I return to myself, he’s still holding me, still inside me, his body trembling like he’s on the edge.
"Alex," I whisper, and it’s all the permission he needs.
He buries himself deep and spills inside me, groaning my name like it’s both curse and salvation. His whole body bows with the force of it, and then he collapses onto me, letting his weight crush me into the mattress. I don’t mind. It feels like safety, like being pinned to the world so I can’t float off and disappear.
We lie there, tangled and shaking, for what feels like forever. His heart pounds against my chest, wild and irregular, and I know if he died right now, at least he’d go knowing I was still here, still with him.
Eventually, he lifts his head, brushing sweaty hair off my forehead. There’s a gentle awkwardness in him now, all sharp edges softened by afterglow, and I realize that for once, he’s as vulnerable as I am. Maybe more.
He kisses me, slow this time, and there’s salt on his lips—mine or his, I can’t say. He presses his nose to my cheek, breathing me in. "You’re mine," he says, soft but absolute. "Don’t you ever forget it."
"Alex," I whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by everything, the intensity of the sex, the grief still lurking beneath the pleasure, the complicated tangle of love and lies between us.
"I know," he says, finally letting me turn to face him. His hands frame my face again, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize were falling. "We have things to discuss. Trust to rebuild. But right now, in this moment, you're alive and in my arms, and that's enough."
"Is it?" I ask, searching his eyes. There's still that something, that careful withholding that makes my stomach clench.
