But my husband is relentless and doesn’t stop.
Instead he rides me through it, drawing it out until I’m shaking, oversensitive, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the intensity.
Only then does he let himself go.
“Valentina.”His rhythm turns wild, hips snapping, cock driving deep again and again until he buries himself to the root and comes with a primal sound that vibrates through both of us.
I feel the hot rush of him inside me, pulse after pulse, and the knowledge that he’s filling me, marking me, sends an aftershock rippling through my spent body.
He collapses over me, careful to keep some of his weight on his forearms.He presses his forehead to mine, and our rapid breaths mingle.
For long moments we simply lie there, hearts hammering in sync, skin slick with sweat, the scent of sex heavy in the air.
He strokes a stray strand of my hair, gentle now, and I feel the shift in him—the same man who commanded my pleasure moments ago now cradling me like I’m something—someone—precious.
That juxtaposition settles deep in me, warm and terrifying.And right.
Despite myself, I turn my face into his neck.
As I inhale the dark, masculine scent of him, I let the truth wash over me: I don’t just crave his body.I crave this joining.
I want him.
His possession.
And that makes him the most dangerous man on the planet.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Dante
The study smells faintly of leather, whiskey, and the cedar logs burning low in the stone fireplace along the far wall.It’s a scent I’ve known most of my life—rooms where decisions are made, where men weigh loyalty against ambition and blood against business.
Tonight the air is heavier than usual.
I thought that things would get easier once Valentina was mine.
Now, with the car wreck and the fact the Russos attempted a rescue of her at the cathedral, things are even more complicated.
I stand behind the desk that once belonged to my older brother, Matteo.Fitting.Transferring it from the former underboss to the current one.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt before slipping on the charcoal jacket that matches the rest of the suit.The fabric settles cleanly across my shoulders, the weight familiar, grounding.
Meetings like this require a certain armor, even when the men walking through the door are the same ones who have stood beside me since we were barely old enough to hold a gun.
The thrum of helicopter blades had echoed across the property not long ago, the sound carrying through the Hill Country evening as Nico and Dario arrived from Houston.I’d watched the aircraft descend from the window for a moment before stepping away to prepare.
I greet them as they enter.
Hugs.Respect.
The mafia way.
My brother takes a seat, but Nico moved to a place near the window.
I pour everyone a Bonds whiskey from the decanter resting on the sideboard.
Also part of the ritual.
