Driving me higher with each thrust, then dragging me down on top of his rigid shaft.
Stars dance behind eyes I didn’t remember closing.
My nails dig into his jacket. Then dive beneath, craving skin-to-skin contact.
I hear a rip and I know I’ve dislodged several buttons.
But his chiselled perfection is bare to me and I whimper in delight and hunger as I lean forward, lick his collarbone, uncaring that I taste his blood, drag my hands down his torso.
Then lower. To where we’re joined.
I open my eyes to look down and his gaze follows as he shudders.
“Go on. Touch yourself,” he commands gutturally. “Show me how my little virgin pleased herself before I came along to take over the job.”
It’s absurd that after all we’ve been through, all we’ve done to each other in the short weeks I’ve been back, that this should make me blush.
But heat suffuses my face and my head drops a little even as my hand creeps lower.
For a moment I’m arrested by the sight of Giovanni moving inside me. By the pleasure he’s dragging out with every surge of his cock.
“Lucia,” he warns at my prolonged hesitation. “Do it. Now.”
I touch myself, stroke the swollen bundle of nerves.
My muscles clench as the electricity charging through me doubles.
I cry out, uncaring, unashamed.
His men can hear.
Let them. Let the whole city hear.
This is what it means to belong to Giovanni Dragoni.
And he’s relentless in his possession, urgent, as though he can’t bear a single inch of distance between us.
As though the only way to survive what almost happened is to fuse us together so completely that nothing can pry us apart.
His chest is suddenly bare beneath my hands, chiselled heat against my palms, and I whimper at the contact, at the reality of him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, reverent and wrecked. “Look what you do to me.”
“Giovanni,” I gasp.
“Yes,” he answers instantly. “Always yes.”
The warehouse spins and the wall presses into my spine as the flaming pillar that is my husband consumes me completely.
With his mouth, his hands, the brutal tenderness threaded through every movement, he transports me to a place I never even dreamed, a place I know in my bones I’ll crave visiting every day now for the rest of my life.
Tears film my eyes as I accept why I waited, but why this coming together was also inevitable.
Because this isn’t just sex. It’s aftermath. It’s surrender. It’s a war treaty written in breath and heat.
And when he notches his head against mine, when he commands me, “Come for me, Lucia. Come for your husband,” I finally break apart in his arms, trembling, undone.
Giovanni holds me like he has just dragged me back from death.
