Every inch of me.His.Il suo.
We were both sweating, panting, no chance in hell of catching our breath. I wanted to shed my skin to get even closer—I wanted him deeper. So much deeper.
I screamed out when he gave me what I’d wanted.
The pain ripped through me when he went even deeper, ramming my uterus, before a warm flood of pleasure came back to soothe the ice-cold hurt. Over and over, he batteredthatspot that made me go insane. My hands were everywhere, on his ass, his chest, his shoulders, clawing his skin and pulling his hair. Then he’d pull out, real slow, and then ram me even harder, until I was soaking wet and begging him to have mercy, to give me what I needed for that violent release to rip through me before pleasure rushed every sense.
“What do you want, Rosalia?” he said, his voice deep and gruff.
“You,” I said, my voice not sounding like my own. It was desperate, wild, hoarse. “I can’t—” I couldn’t even get the words out. He pulled out again, entering me in a slow delicious stroke, before he rammed me, but stilled after.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.Perfetto. Come for me, Rosalia. Come.” He started to move again, his eyes closing as he did, his neck back, throat exposed.
My hands climbed his chest, like ivy, stilling over his heart, hiding his weak spot.
He looked down at me, and in that moment, I’d never felt so powerless. Like he was the air that I breathed and the fire that consumed it. A loud whimper slipped past my lips before something inside of me exploded, a hot rush through my veins making me feel overheated and dizzy, and I blacked out.
My vision returned as Aniello started to spill himself inside of me. His face was a mask of pure pleasure. The noise he made as he finished was like nothing I’d ever heard before. His chest seemed to rattle with it. I felt the vibration of it beneath my palms.
“Fuck,” he said, looking at me.
“I think I died,” I said, still feeling lightheaded and like I couldn’t even move. I was afraid to test my legs, to see if he had paralyzed me with that weapon between his legs.
“La petite mort,” he said, his voice still strained. “It meansthe little deathin French.”
“Yeah,” I said, breathless. “That. I just died in your arms, but it felt like a lot, not a little.”
He looked down at me for a minute, something in his eyes changing. Hot to cold. Taking me from immeasurable pleasure to stabs of pain.
He pulled out of me, and I winced. It surprised me how much it bothered me when he did. I suddenly felt so empty. Lonely. Cut in half, my other side missing.
I wondered if it had been…this intense before? But since I’d decided to concentrate on the future, I sighed and turned over, getting closer to my pillow, refusing to dwell.
A gasp escaped my lips when his arm wrapped around me, pulling me so close that I was having a hard time breathing again. He kissed me behind the ear. “Nothing’s changed,” he said, his voice still deep, but more content. He’d caught his breath.
I took one to calm my heart. “How did you know what I was thinking about?”
“Just do.”
“That’s dangerous,” I said. “Reading my mind. It’s twisted.”
“How fucking shocking,” he said. “The first time I realized I wasn’t the most dangerous person in the room.”
Before I could respond, a cool breath left his mouth, and I felt his entire body relax around me. He’d fallen asleep.
A minute later, I did, too.
* * *
I hadno idea what time it was when a buzzing sound woke me up. The room was pitch dark except for the small solar candles that came on at a certain time by themselves. Together they formed a halo of light in deep darkness.
The front door slammed, and I flinched. A few seconds later, it happened again, but in a different room.
Cilla was home. Sounded like she wasn’t happy.
I tried to sit up, but an iron hold around my waist held me down. Aniello was still beside me, keeping me as close as skin.
“I already took the dog out,” he said, his eyes still closed.
