I meet his eyes, heart pounding. “Then take it. Takeme.”
That’s all it takes.
He’s on me in a blink, slamming his mouth to mine, rough and consuming. His hands areeverywhere. One in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me gasp. The other wrapped around my throat—not squeezing, justholding, like he needs to feel my pulse under his palm.
But even as he devours me, there’s thisrestraintin him like he’s burning alive and still pulling back forme.
When he breaks the kiss, his forehead presses to mine. His breath fans hot over my lips. “Tell me if I go too fast. If anything hurts. I need to hear you,Mia Ragazza. I need you toneedthis.”
“I do,” I whisper. “I want you to ruin me.”
A vicious sound tears from his throat, and then he’s stripping me bare, slow but desperate. Like he’s fighting the urge to rip every piece of clothing off my body, his knuckles brush my skin like he’s memorizing it. Reverent. Possessive.
When I’m naked in front of him, his mouth drops open. He stares like he’s starving.
“Cristo, sei perfetta.” His voice is wrecked, like he is holding back. “I’ll go slow. I’ll worship every fucking inch of you.”
Rafa touches me like I've never been touched before because I haven't. His fingers find places I didn't know could burn. His mouth, hot and wet, trails down my throat, over my chest, acrossmy belly. When he finally settles between my thighs, my breath catches, and I grip the sheets, finding an anchor.
“Kira,” he groans against my inner thigh, kissing it. “This perfect little cunt ismine, you hear me?”
I whimper. Nod.
“No,say it,” he demands, voice dark velvet. It’s not just about my body. It’s about the choice I’m making. The line I’m crossing. “Say who owns this.”
“You do,”I choke, trembling beneath him.“You, Rafa.Tvoi?a ya. Navsegda.”The words feel like stepping off a cliff. I’ve never belonged to anyone. I’ve never wanted to.
He groans again like the words wreck him and then his tongue is on me, slow and teasing, until I’m writhing. He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking, gripping his hair, crying out for him.
Then he’s above me, kissing me deep and filthy.
“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice vibrating through me.
I wrap my legs around his waist. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
When he slides inside of me, it’s slow. Careful. It steals the air from my lungs. It hurts, sharp and I cling to him. Not because I’m fragile. But because I trust him not to break me. He pauses, buried just halfway, panting against my neck.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “Let me in,stella mia. Voglio sentire tutto di te.”
I exhale. His declaration of wanting to feel all of me is disarming. He sinks deeper, inch by thick inch, until he’s fully inside me. And then he stills,shakingwith the effort it takes not to move.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispers. “So fucking tight. You have no idea what it does to me,” he whispers, like a confession. “Knowing I’m the only one who will ever feel this.”
Then he starts to move.
It’s primal. Fluid. His rhythm isn’t slow—hefucksme, but with this barely-leashed gentleness, like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge. Like he’s still treating me like something to behandled, even while his body drives into mine like he’s trying to carve himself into my soul.
His hand slides down my spine, fingers gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. The next thrust knocks the breath from my lungs, rougher than before, deeper, possessive in a way that should scare me.
It doesn’t.
It makes heat bloom low and fierce inside me.
“Rafa—” His name is a warning and a plea tangled together.
“I’ll never let anyone else touch you.” His voice is darker now, strained, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. Each movement of his hips is deliberate, claiming. “Never. Say it, Kira. Tell me who you belong to.”
The world narrows to him. To the rhythm of his body against mine. To the way his hand slides up to wrap around my throat—not squeezing, just holding—forcing me to look at him.
