His words make liquid heat pool at my core. I want him, I want to please him. I want him to come in my mouth so I can taste him. I want to belong here, even if I don’t know what that costs yet. “Do you like it?” I manage, licking the end of his rod while I wait for an answer.
He growls, his eyes darkening with hunger. “Yes.”
I smile. “Good. I aim to please.” Not because I have to—but because I choose to.
Without warning, he’s up, and before I can protest, he pins me facedown on the bed. He clasps my arm, holding it against my back. With my ass up in the air, he thrusts into me. I scream at his sudden, sweet intrusion. Shock turns instantly into need.
“Stephen,” I moan into the sheets as he relentlessly takes me. I feel him come down over me, never once losing his stride. “You like me owning you, taking you, marking you mine.”
I can’t deny it, not now, not after choosing him. I do like it, the secretive part of me that would never admit to wanting a man—any man—to have so much control, yet I allow Stephen to. Because he doesn’t take—I give.
I cannot say why. Lust? Perhaps I am in love with him after all. Maybe I’m deluding myself into believing I’m not when he has already professed to be. Maybe love doesn’t arrive gently—it crashes.
“I love you fucking me, yes.”
He growls against my ear, and I shiver, the first tremors of my release spiraling through me. “You love more than my cock stretching your sweet, tight pussy.”
I close my eyes, fighting not to respond and failing yet again. “I do. I love it. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.” Let me forget everything else, just for now.
He gives me what I want, and I come. My orgasm rips through me, stealing me of my senses, sense of self, and place.I’m lost in the pure bliss he brings me. His thrusts are relentless, prolonging my release.
“Dallen…” He moans my name, his body stilling as he joins me.
We slump onto the bed, lost in each other. Stephen pulls me into his side, kisses the top of my head as I try to gain my breath. His heart thumps loud under my ear, and I listen, hold him close as I allow everything that I know about this man, about myself, to settle around us. Nothing feels simple anymore—but it feels real.
“I’m never letting you go. You’re mine now, Dallen.”
I kiss his chest and snuggle him tighter. The words should frighten me. Instead, they feel like shelter. “You’re mine too.”
TWENTY-ONE
STEPHEN
Over the next several days,work keeps me busy, but at night, I get to spend time with the one woman I can’t get out of my mind. I fall hard. For the first time in my life, I’m content and determined not to fuck this up.
Content?
Christ. I used to think contentment is weakness—men like me don’t get comfortable. We stay sharp. We stay ready. And yet lately, when she’s curled against me at night, I feel something dangerously close to peace.
I know she's still struggling with my name, my past, and that of my family, but in time, she'll come to learn that we're trying to do the right things, trying to correct our past wrongs, even if they’re for good intentions, keeping those we love safe. I recall my father once saying, “In our world, love and protection are two sides of the same coin. It's your duty to keep your loved ones safe, no matter the cost.” His voice echoes in my mind, a reminder of what it means to protect fiercely, a legacy of hard decisions, and the burden of doing what needs to be done.
Just as I’d keep her safe from anyone who dares to take her from me.
And that’s the part I can’t soften for her. Protection in my world always means force. Finality. She believes in courts and due process. I believe in eliminating threats. Bridging that gap may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Lucien, accompanied by Anthony, strides into my office. I can see by the slight concern marring their brows that they’re worried about something. My guard goes up, and I lean back in my chair, willing to give them my full attention.
The steady rhythm of keyboards outside my office continues, phones ringing intermittently, the muted thud of the copier down the hall. Business hums along like nothing is wrong, like war isn’t always one misstep away.
“What?”
They sit and look at each other quickly before turning back to face me. “We’ve found out why Alex Romero’s sister, Isabella, is back on the scene. She’s been bequeathed a large real estate portfolio from Matteo. The building happens to be the Fairbanks building.”
“Next door to me here?” What the fuck. I think about that coincidence, and I know it’s far from that. “What is she going to do with it?” Nothing in this city happens by accident when a Romero is involved. Property lines are battle lines. Proximity is a strategy.
“Nothing, from what we’ve found out so far,” Anthony states. “Isabella is as crafty and dangerous as any Romero. She’ll likely use the building to keep an eye on you and our real estate branch of the business. Or she’ll rent it out, which I’m sure is probably the plan. She’s an astute businesswoman, much smarter than her family, and its probably why Matteo bequeathed her the building above anyone else. He knows she’d do something with it. While it’s not ideal that she’s so close, there is little threat for her to be so near at this time.”
“Any Romero within a foot of us is never ideal.” My words cause Anthony to flinch, and I have to ask, “You were fucking her, weren’t you?” I pause. “Don’t deny it. There’s a history there that Lucien and I picked up on when we saw her at the bar the other week.”
