The lion tattoo on his hand. It stood for me. My family. The family he’d been inducted into before he was legally able to drink. One of the most dangerous families in the world.
And here he was, fucking the princess of that family, while a gang of soldiers roamed around her heavily guarded castle.
“I live for you,” he said in Italian. “I die for you.”
“Don’t,” I said, a tear slipping down my cheek. A droplet created from the pleasure and pain. “Don’t remind me.”
He lived for me. He’d die for me. In my world, it meant the same thing.
He seemed to go even deeper, and I did exactly what he wanted me to. I scratched a trail down his back, drawing blood. Marking him. Even though I couldn’t commit to this, to him, he wasmine,too.
A droplet of sweat ran down his back, mixing with his blood. He hissed and stilled, his neck tilted back, his throat exposed. His father had a scar there—a vulnerable spot. His son, who knew the cost, was giving me access to his.
I made a pleading noise, my hands slipping from his back to his firm ass, spurring him on. He refused to move. His eyes slowly opened, and he looked down at me. The connection between his eyes and mine moved like a strike of lightning.
“This changes nothing, ah?”
Before I could respond, he started to fuck me. Fuck me like he was trying to burn the miles and years between us. Fuck me like he was trying to reverse every denial and “no” from me. Trying to fuck me into submission—into commitment. Into admitting that what existed between us was a real and living thing that had no name.
I knew it existed. But if I admitted it, that only made it real.
Solid.
Unbreakable.
It meantalways.
It meant that there was nomewithoutus.
And his life wouldalwaysbe in danger because of mine. Because of who I was.
No. I couldn’t do that…not like…
He seemed to sense where my mind was headed, and his attack on my body made me almost delirious. I couldn’t fight it any longer. My body submitted to his—I came around him. He spilled himself inside of me, resting his forehead against mine after.
I lost track of how many times I surrendered to him that night, but as the sun shone through the slats of the window blinds, he stood at the door, his sleeves rolled up, his suit jacket hanging over his arm.
He’s beautiful. Too beautiful.
The craving to have him beside me was stronger than anything I’d ever felt.
Then I remembered…
His life wouldalwaysbe in danger because of mine. Because of who I was.
No. I couldn’t do that…not like…my parents.
“Mia,” he said.
I sat up some, the covers falling. I hastily pulled them up, like it made a difference. Somehow it did. My truce had faded with the night.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night.” He paused. “I’m proud of you. So fucking proud of you.” He set his hand against his heart and then left, probably for a meeting about my safety.
The day before should have worn me out, the night finishing me off. And I was sore, but only from him. He had marked me, too. I still felt him inside of every bone and muscle in my body, even when I lifted a finger. But. A spark that he had left behind made me get out of bed and get dressed.
It was starting to burn as brightly as the sun outside of my window.
I was going to talk to my family.
