“I’m yours,” I breathed, the words tumbling out without hesitation.“Always have been.”
His response was a primal.He buried his face in my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point as his hips stuttered.He throbbed inside me as he pushed me over the edge, leaving me breathless and clinging to him.
When he pulled back to look at me, his eyes softened, though the possessive gleam remained.
“My wife,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I’m going to make you come again,” he whispered against my ear, his voice a dark promise that sent shivers down my spine.
I could barely form words, still reeling from the orgasm.“I don't think I can?—”
“You can.You will.”He laid me down on the bed and hovered over me and then eased himself inside, hitting a spot inside me that made me squeal.“For me.”
My nails dug into his shoulders as he drove deeper.This fucking man was delectable.If this was what our nights looked like… I should’ve said yes sooner.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I forced my eyes open to find his face inches from mine, his expression intense and focused.Sweat beaded on his forehead, his jaw clenched with restraint.
“I’ve waited years to see you like this,” he said, his pace never faltering.“Years of imagining how you'd feel around me.Nothing compares to reality.”
The pressure built again, impossibly fast.My body tensed, hovering on the edge of something monumental.He sensed it, his rhythm changing, becoming relentless.
“That's it,” he encouraged, his voice strained.“Let go for me.”
When I came the second time, my vision blurred as pleasure crashed through me in waves.He followed moments later, his body shuddering against mine, my name a prayer on his lips.His forehead rested against mine.
“Worth the wait,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.“But this is just the beginning.”
15
ENRICO
Dawn crept across the city like a slow confession.Pale light bled through the edges of the study curtains.Jasmine lingered on my shirt.Her scent.I hadn’t slept.
The ledger laid open on my desk: columns, sums, the clean logic of an empire that never lied to me.Numbers told the truth even when men didn’t.But my eyes wouldn’t stay on the ink.They kept straying back to the memory of her mouth when she first said my name last night in the dark—soft, disbelieving, like a question and an answer at once.
I told myself I had done what was necessary.The marriage forced the hands that needed forcing: Moretti’s enemies would think twice.And still, beneath the solidity of those decisions, something shifted.
Guilt was a strange guest in my house.It wasn’t welcome, but it made itself comfortable anyway.
The door opened with Marco slipping inside.The collar of his jacket turned up against the wind.“You should sleep.”
“I will.”I closed the ledger.“When this is all over.”
He huffed—half a laugh, half a prayer for patience.“Then never.”
I turned from the window and leaned back on the desk, palms to the cool wood.“Gotta report for me?”
“The south docks are steady.We’ve got a new rotation in place, men we trust watching.”He ticked items off.“The crews on Third took delivery at four.Clean.No tails.I’ve tightened the outer perimeter here at the house—new eyes, no one gets within a block without a face we know.”
“And Russo?”
“Quiet.”A pause, then a glance sharp enough to draw blood.
“Good.”The word tasted like a lie.“Keep it that way.”
He nodded but didn’t leave.“So,” he said at last, carefully.“She’s your wife now.”
