“You’re mine,” he growled against my mouth.
The sound rumbled through my chest and lit every nerve in my body on fire. Two years. Two years of being told I wasn’t enough. Two years of carrying this bond alone. And now his voice, raw and fierce and certain, claiming me like he should have from the beginning.
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Then prove it.”
Rocco pulled his shirt over his head in one rough motion, tossing it to the floor. Then he stretched out on top of me, and the weight of him—solid, warm, real—pressed me into the mattress and drove every rational thought from my mind.
He kissed me. Not softly this time. This kiss was hungry, demanding, two years of starvation poured into the press of his lips and the sweep of his tongue. I arched into him, my hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, feeling the muscles tense and flex beneath my palms.
This was real. He was real. After two years of imagining what it would feel like to caress him like this—to finally have my hands on him with nothing between us—the reality was so much more than the fantasy that it nearly broke me.
His hands moved over me—rough, calloused, unhurried. They mapped every curve, every dip, every inch of bare skin like he was claiming territory he’d been too afraid to explore. His palm skimmed down my ribs, across the flat of my stomach, and I shivered beneath him. Not from cold. From the wayhis fingertips dragged slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the feel of me.
I was doing the same thing—my fingers tracing the ridges of his shoulders, the scar along his ribs, the dip of muscles at his hip. Learning him. Memorizing him. Terrified that if I stopped touching him, he’d disappear again.
I gasped against his mouth when his hand found my hip, his grip tightening, pulling me closer. There was nothing between us now—no masks, no walls, no careful distance. Just skin against skin and the bond between us burning so bright I could feel it in my blood.
He moved down my neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat against my skin, pausing at the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammered wildly. Each kiss lingered longer than the last until he found my nipple, taut with anticipation. His tongue circled it slowly before he drew it into the wet warmth of his mouth. I arched against him, fingers tangled in his hair, still unable to believe this was Rocco—the man I’d wanted for so long— finally claiming what had always simmered between us.
His fingers slipped beneath the delicate lace edge of my panties. I sucked in my breath as the rough pads of his fingertips sent electric shivers racing through me, tracing lazy circles over my sensitive skin, stroking and teasing until my hips instinctively arched toward his hands.
Heat coiled low in my belly, tight and spiraling. My thighs trembled. A moan slipped past my lips before I could catch it as his mouth curved against my throat—satisfaction, hunger, something possessive that should have scared me but only made the ache worse.
“I want you, Selena.” His razor-sharp fangs scraped over the sensitive peak of my breast, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I want to discover what pleases you. I want to hear you scream.”
The words undid me. Every last wall I’d built, every promise I’d made to protect myself—gone. My back arched off the bed and my fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
Rocco slid down my body with predatory grace, his silken midnight hair brushing against my feverish skin like a whisper of darkness. The sound of tearing lace shattered the silence and I gasped. My crimson panties lay in tatters around my thighs.
He spread my thighs apart with firm hands, his dark eyes gleaming with hunger as he lowered his head. I clutched the blue comforter with my fists as he slowly devoured me, his skilled tongue exploring every hidden crevice with devastating precision.
Barriers crumbled like ancient walls as I surrendered to the hot, insistent pulse between my quaking thighs. His tongue created deliberate patterns across my most sensitive flesh, each flick and swirl drawing gasps from my parted lips. The rough pads of his fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me as pleasure coiled tighter in my core.
I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, acutely aware of Rose and Valentin just beyond that thin door. But when his tongue found exactly the right spot, I bit down on my knuckle and stopped caring who heard.
Lightning sparked behind my eyelids. I was close—so close—every muscle in my body coiling tighter and tighter until I couldn’t tell where the pleasure ended and the desperation began. Two years of longing had led to this exquisite unraveling. I needed him deeper, needed to feel him claim every inch of me.
I’d waited so long for this. Longer than he knew.
All those mornings waking up with the phantom ache of him still pressed against my chest like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. All those moments I’d imagined his hands on me, his mouth onme, his body covering mine—and then hated myself for wanting someone who’d thrown me away.
I needed more than he knew. More than this kiss. More than his hands on my skin. I needed him to want me the way I’d wanted him—desperately, recklessly, with everything he had. I needed to know that this wasn’t guilt or blood bond or the heat of the moment. I needed it to be real.
More than anything, I wanted him to echo the words that I was his.
Chapter Eighteen
Rocco
“Take me," she whispered. And something inside me snapped.
Mad desire had taken over. It had sunk its claws into me the moment her blood had touched my tongue, and it hadn't let go since. It was in my veins now—burning, relentless, consuming everything in its path like wildfire through dry timber.
Nothing else mattered.
Not Angelo and his threats.
Not Costin and his hunters.
