“Elena,” I breathe against her skin, voice completely wrecked. “Dio… I can’t— I can’t breathe without you.”
She threads her fingers into my hair, her touch both a blessing and an order, and I nearly fall apart right here.
This is not about control anymore; this is about absolute, primal worship.
I slide my hands down, pushing the thin fabric of her dress up and out of the way. I settle my mouth over the hot, sensitive core of her, a final, definitive act of possession and surrender.
I am tasting her, claiming her, proving that the only thing that mattered in this world now is her pleasure.
She cries out immediately, a choked, desperate sound that fuels my desperation.
I use my tongue and fingers with focus, savage reverence, ignoring the cold tiles pressing into my knees, ignoring everything but her rising gasps.
When her body goes lax, trembling and slick, I rise.
I stand with her pressed against me, lifting her into my arms, and carry her to the small counter along the wall, settling her against the edge. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, pulling me in like she owns me.
Because she does.
I pin her to the counter with my hips, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist.
And when I sink into the kiss again—slow this time, reverent—I realize I am already gone for her. Completely.
“Alessandro,” she whispers, breath trembling against my ear. “I love you.”
I press my forehead to hers, chest heaving, my body hard and ready, poised for entry.
And then—I tell her the truth that had been clawing at my ribs for weeks.
I look directly into her eyes, which are shining, stunned, filled with fresh tears of love.
I drive into her in one deep, agonizing motion, feeling the sharp, intense friction of our bodies meeting completely. And I deliver my vow.
“I love you, Elena.” My voice a broken, shaking promise.
Her eyes widen, shining, stunned, and I kiss her again, gentler, deeper, everything in me—my history, my violence, my desperate, fragile hope—pouring into her mouth.
I don't break the rhythm. I begin to move, slow and deep, claiming her body with measured intensity.
I trail slow kisses along her jaw, up her throat, to the place beneath her ear that makes her whisper my name like a prayer.
“Ti amo,” I murmur there, the words, my vow. “Ti amo… with everything I am.”
I move to the other side of her neck, lips brushing her skin before I breathe the words again—
This time in the language she grew up hiding her soul behind, the language that unlocked her deepest fears and desires.
“Ya lyublyu tebya.”
She cries out—not from pain, but from the emotional shock of the acceptance. Her body trembles, convulsing around mine.
The fragile control I maintained—the self-control necessary to speak the vow three times—snaps. I lose the ability to be gentle, to be measured. I start fucking her harder, faster, driven by the raw, brutal certainty of her love.
My hips drive into hers with punishing, glorious speed, slamming her against the cold tile wall.
I bury my face against her neck, teeth nipping lightly at her skin, claiming her with every word.
“You are mine, mia vita,” I roar against her skin. “Mine, Elena! You are mine to keep, mine to love, mine to save! Say you’re mine!”
