“This way,” Tomaso murmured, lifting my hand to his lips. He kissed each fingertip, reverent, teasing, as he led me toward the outbuildings at the edge of the estate.
But then… I felt it.
That prickle on the back of my neck. That shiver had nothing to do with lust.
I turned my head.
A shadow moved.
Standing just beyond the lantern’s reach beneath the trees was a man—a silhouette etched in the moonlight. Tall, still, and watching, his eyes glinted like obsidian. His mouth pulled into a grin, too knowing, too dark.
It was him.
The stranger from before—the one who had beckoned to me with nothing but a stare. The one who had felt like a warning.
My breath caught. That lust-drenched heat in my belly cooled to ice.
He looked like temptation carved by the devil’s hand—razor-sharp jaw, long black coat, and a smile like he already owned my soul.
Fear slipped beneath my skin.
Tomaso didn’t notice. He kept walking, tugging me with a lightheartedness that now felt brittle and blind.
I clung tighter to his hand, trying to leave that wicked grin—and the cold that followed it—far behind. But something in the air had shifted, subtle and sour.
As if the night had just turned its face… and a presence was about to follow me into the dark.
The figure vanished into the shadows, swallowed by the folds of darkness.
But the fear didn’t disappear with him. It morphed into a tight, nauseating knot ofknowing. I glanced around, searching, the masked laughter and candlelit wonder of the masquerade now a distant blur. He was gone—completely.
“Let’s slip into the barn,” Tomaso murmured, brushing his lips against my ear. “I want you all to myself,cara mia.”
I hesitated. The mention of the barn sent a cold shiver down my spine.
Francesco.
The hay. His broken body. His cries. His curse.
The images collided with the present: Tomaso’s eager hand, the scent of barn dust, and the rustle of animals nearby. My desire twisted into something uneasy.
Still, I followed. Numbly. Willingly.
The barn was dark and thick with the stench of sweat, horses, and straw. Tomaso closed the door behind us, sealing us into shadows. He didn’t wait—he pulled me close, his mouth claiming mine with unrestrained hunger.
And just like that, the fire returned.
My body betrayed the memory of pain. It wanted the now—the way he touched me, the pressure of his hands, the way his desire pulsed against me. My core grew wet, aching for more.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled, lips brushing mine. “Hard.”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Please?—”
And then he was inside me, slamming me against the cold stonewall of Pietro Costa’s barn. Our moans tangled with the quiet nickering of the horses, bodies moving in a frantic rhythm.
It was rough and beautiful.
We climbed higher, closer to that edge?—
