The shower runs hot enough to scald, washing away blood and violence but not the memory of Elena’s arms around me. Not the way she held me despite everything, the blood, the admission, the darkness that should have sent her running.
Steam fills the bathroom as hands brace against the marble tile. Three men dead tonight. Greco’s lieutenant bleeding out on a warehouse floor. The message sent in the only language the underworld understands.
And Elena waited. Didn’t run. Told me to come to bed.
The water shuts off. A towel wraps around my hips. In the mirror, the reflection shows exactly what years of this life have created, scars crossing my torso from knife fights and bullets, tattoos covering most of the damage, dark circles under eyes that have seen too much.
Not the kind of man who deserves what’s waiting in the bedroom.
But for once, selfishness wins over self-preservation.
When I enter the bedroom, every coherent thought evaporates.
Elena is lying on the bed, my bed, wearing nothing but one of my white dress shirts and black lace panties that should be illegal. The shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of her breasts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her dark hair spreads across my pillow like silk, and those honey-colored eyes are watching me with a heat that goes straight through my chest.
“Hi,” she says softly, like she’s not currently destroying every defense mechanism built over fifteen years.
“Hi.” The word comes out rougher than intended. “You’re in my bed.”
“I am. You told me to wait here.” She sits up slowly, the movement making the shirt gape open further. “Having second thoughts?”
Second, third, and fourth thoughts. Because walking across this room means crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed. Means taking this beautiful, innocent woman and marking her as mine in ways she can’t fully comprehend yet.
But her eyes hold no fear. No hesitation. Just want, trust and stubborn determination.
“Last chance to run, tesoro.” The warning comes out dark, promising. “After this, you’re mine. Completely. No going back.”
“Stop trying to scare me.” She rises to her knees on the bed, and the sight of her like that, in my shirt, on my sheets, looking at me like I’m something other than a monster, nearly breaks my control. “I want this. I want you. Stop making me wait.”
The distance between the door and the bed closes in three strides. Her sharp inhale when my hand tangles in her hair, tilting her head back, is the most satisfying sound in the world.
“When I take you, it won’t be gentle.” The words are delivered against her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. “I’m going to use you, take everything you’re offering and then demand more. I’m going to make you scream, make you beg, make you forget every man who came before me.”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathy. “God, yes.”
“Safe word. Choose one now.”
Her eyes meet mine, pupils blown wide with desire. “Red.”
“Good girl.” The praise makes her shiver. “Now tell me, have you ever let a man completely control your pleasure?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been truly dominated? Pushed past what you thought were your limits?”
“No.” Her breath hitches as my free hand slides under the shirt, splaying across her stomach. “Alessandro—”
“Have you ever been fucked by a man who knows exactly what he wants and takes it without apology?”
“No.” The admission is almost a whimper.
“Then you’re in for an education.” The shirt gets stripped off in one smooth motion, leaving her in nothing but those black lace panties. “Cristo, look at you.”
She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Skin like cream, curves in all the right places, nipples already hard and begging for attention. The urge to worship every inch of her wars with the need to take, possess, and claim.
Taking wins.
“On your knees. At the edge of the bed. Now.”
