"Even though it's complicated? Even though there are a dozen reasons this is a bad idea?"
"Especially because of that."
Something shifts in his expression. The walls he's been maintaining, the professional distance he's been forcing—it all crumbles.
"Fuck it," he mutters, and then his mouth is on mine.
This kiss is different from the others. There's no hesitation, no holding back. This is Marco giving in completely, letting go of all the reasons he shouldn't want me.
His hands are in my hair, on my waist, everywhere at once. I'm pushing his jacket off his shoulders, reaching for his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
We stumble backward until I hit the counter. He lifts me onto it without breaking the kiss.
"Tell me to stop," he says against my lips.
"No."
"Elena—"
"Marco." I pull back to look at him. "Rina said she'd handle Vito. And I just told you everything about the debt. There's nothing standing between us anymore except your control. So let it go."
He searches my eyes for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Okay."
And this time, when he kisses me, I know he's not going to walk away.
CHAPTER 25
Elena
Marco crasheshis mouth to mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s a collision—teeth, tongues, breath—months of tension igniting into a kiss that’s messy and ravenous and all-consuming. His hands grip my face like he’s anchoring himself, his body slotting between my knees as I cling to him, pulling him closer, needing more.
His tongue pushes past my lips, and I meet him with everything I have. We kiss like we’re starving. Like we’re finally allowed to devour what we’ve been craving.
He drags his mouth along my jaw, down the column of my throat. My breath catches as he peels my shirt up and over my head. Then my bra—gone with a flick of his wrist. His mouth descends on my breasts, licking, sucking, biting with just enough pressure to make my hips jerk against his.
The friction of his body against my core is maddening.
I reach between us and undo his belt, pop the button, slide down the zipper. He freezes, looks at me like he’s checking for hesitation. There’s none. I want this. I want him.
So I wrap my hand around his cock.
He groans—deep and guttural—his head dropping to my shoulder as I stroke him. His dick is thick, hot, pulsing in my grip. I spit into my palm and keep working him, watching the way his abs tighten, how his hips flex into my hand.
“Jesus, Elena?—”
His voice is wrecked, like I’ve already undone him. I pick up the pace, wanting to push him over the edge. His forehead presses into my collarbone, his hands gripping my thighs so hard I’ll bruise. He’s so close.
And then he comes—hot, thick ribbons painting my stomach as he shudders against me, muscles locked tight.
But even as he gasps for breath, he doesn’t pull away.
He kisses my shoulder. My neck. My cheek.
“My little fox can’t just jerk me off and think that’s the end of this,” he growls.
