My chest felt tight, and I started to almost pant. In front of him, however, I was determined to tame my reaction. I did not want him to see, or feel, how that unsettled me. I would leave him if it ever came down to his life. We had a war to face in Italy, and I would not see another scar on his flesh. Flesh that belonged to me. His Papà and Mamma might have created him, but he was created for me, as he said I was created for him.
I was almost in a trance as I continued to stroke his skin, attempting to ignore the intense look he was giving me.
He knew.
He always knew.
The gauze flew from my hand as he turned on me, took my wrists in his hands, and walked me back to the bedroom.
“Mariano!” I barely got out. “We need to call Savre?—”
“Say his name.” His teeth rolled over his bottom lip.
“Your wound,” I barely got out. My voice sounded weak, and I cursed myself for it!
This man could do to me what no one else could—draw tears from my eyes. My family enjoyed me being unfeeling. Less chance I would explode and cause a scene. This was my sister’s job. Her feelings were uncontrolled and allowed to be wild. I was the same in certain ways, I had a temper, but the world mostly called me unfeeling.
I was cold. Callous.
Uninterested in anything but designing and creating jewelry, all my warmth and feeling directed toward those areas of my life. I could not recall how many Fausti men attempted to speak to me only because I presented a challenge to them.
Although Mariano had sparked something in me right away, again, I had considered myself only a challenge—especially to the Casanova Prince, a man who was perhaps never toldnoby a woman.
For him, and him only, I turned as hot as the butane torch I worked with.
“Fuck my wound. My blood runs hot. It’ll kill anything that threatens me. And fuck the rest of the world. Us. We’re the only world I’m in. So fucking deep, I can’t see straight unless my eyes are on mine—you.” He refused to move his stare from mine. His next words were spoken in Italian. “No other man will come between us in this moment. A moment where I am sovulnerable, I will die if I am not inside ofmywife.” He took his hand, my wrist with it, and punched over his chest.
The back of my knees hit the bed, and I went down on top of it, him with me. He was not hurting me, but I felt the weight of him. The weight of all he felt for me. I could barely breathe as his mouth came over mine and kissed me. His lips were smooth, but the kiss was rough and hot. I melted into it before he even truly began.
I gave myself over to him.
Tothis.
Whateverthiswas between us.
I could barely breathe, yet he was keeping me alive. I could not speak, but every word I longed to say seemed to slip from his lips as his cock slipped inside of me.
I made a garbled sound, my hands seeking a part of him to touch.
He stilled, eyes closed, neck back, mouth parted.
He moved inside of me and growled low in his throat.
He hissed out a breath when I touched the wound on his back, and it seemed as though he became even harder, moving faster. My hands went to hisculoinstead. I pulled him toward me, demanding he go deeper, and he did.
My mistake or not. I realized how deep he could go.
I could not escape from him.
Fromthis.
Whatever this sweet, maddeningthingwas between us.
He slid out, and I whimpered at the loss of the connection before he came back and sent all the breath from my lungs and all sense from my mind.
All I could feel was him.
He owned me.
