His olive skin is a canvas of tattoos and scars—stories written in ink and flesh. A massive Italian design covers most of his chest, with what looks like Roman numerals over his heart. The tattoos continue down his arms and disappear beneath his waistband.
My eyes trace the defined muscles of his abdomen, the V-shape disappearing into his pants. Despite just experiencing an earth-shattering orgasm, desire pools in me again at the sight.
Damiano unbuckles his belt slowly, deliberately, the sound of leather sliding through fabric loops oddly erotic in the quiet room. His eyes burn into mine, gauging myreaction as he unzips his pants and pushes them down along with his boxer briefs.
He stands before me completely naked, magnificent and intimidating. My eyes widen at the sight of him—thick and hard, clearly ready for me.
I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of him. Every muscle, every tattoo, every inch of skin illuminates something primal inside me.
Damiano moves to the nightstand beside the bed, pulling open a drawer. The silver packet catches the moonlight as he tears it open with his teeth. My heart pounds against my ribs as he rolls the condom down his length.
He prowls back to me, his eyes never leaving mine. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than I've ever heard it.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks. "Last chance to walk away, lupacchiotta."
A voice screams inside my head.No! Stop this! Remember who he is! Remember your father!
"Yes," I whisper, the word escaping my lips before I can stop it.
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. He positions himself between my legs, but doesn't move closer. Instead, he traces one finger down my inner thigh, making me shiver.
"Beg for it," he commands, his voice like velvet over gravel.
I blink up at him, momentarily confused. "What?"
"I want to hear you beg me to fuck you." His hand strokes higher, teasing but never quite reaching where I need him most. "Tell me how much you want me inside you."
Humiliation flushes through me, mixing with desirein a dangerous cocktail. This is a power play—his ultimate control over me. Making me voice my surrender.
I press my lips together, determined not to give him this victory. But his fingers finally reach my center, circling with maddening lightness that makes me arch up, seeking more pressure.
He pulls his hand away completely. "Beg," he repeats. "Or I walk away right now."
My pride crumbles beneath the weight of my goal.
"Please," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
"Louder," he demands, positioning himself at my entrance but not pushing forward. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"Please, Damiano," I say, my voice cracking with need. "I want you inside me."
His eyes darken with satisfaction as he leans down, his lips brushing my ear.
"Good girl,"he murmurs.
With a single powerful thrust, he enters me, filling me completely. I cry out, unprepared for his size, the stretch bordering on pain.
"Fuck," Damiano growls against my neck, holding still for a moment. "So fucking tight."
He begins to move, each stroke deliberate and deep. My body responds instantly, wrapping around him, pulling him closer. And in that moment, looking up at his face transformed by pleasure, a horrifying thought crashes through my haze of desire.
What have I done?
The man moving inside me killed my father. The hands gripping my hips spilled my father's blood.
I close my eyes, unable to look at him anymore, but my body continues responding to his expert touch. Eachthrust sends waves of pleasure through me, even as my mind recoils in horror.
This is part of the plan,I tell myself desperately.This is my role. Get close. Gain his trust. Destroy him from within.
