This time, he doesn’t stop.
He takes my virginity, filling me until there is no space left between us, until his hips settle flush against mine, and the coarse hair at his base brushes my clit in a single devastating spark.
“Christ.”
I am full.Claimed.Irrevocably his.
“My wife.”A few moments later, he begins to slide back and forth, each thrust measured to wring every sensation from my already shattered body.
Instinctively I arch my back, and pleasure coils tighter with every stroke, winding through my belly, my thighs, my entire being.
I hate how good it feels.I hate that my hips lift to meet him.I hate the low, helpless moan that escapes when he angles his hips and hits that perfect spot inside me again and again.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming storm of emotion I cannot name and my body’s shameless welcome of the enemy’s invasion.
“You’re taking me so well.”He slides his hand between us.Then his thumb finds my clit, and he circles it with ruthless precision.
“Take it.”
Despite my attempts to shove the orgasm away, it crashes over me, sudden and shattering, ripping a cry from my throat as my walls clamp down around him.
“Fuck, yes.”He rides me through it, thrusting deeper, harder, until his rhythm falters.
Moments later, he comes deep inside me, hot pulses that seal every legal loophole, every possible means of escape.
He stays buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling in the charged silence.
His solidness is both a cage and an anchor.
My body still flutters around his cock, and aftershocks ripple through me.The intimacy of it all—of being connected so completely while my mind still screams that this is wrong—leaves me dizzy.
He brushes a damp strand of hair from my temple, the gesture so unexpectedly steady that tears slip free.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness swallow the conflicting storm inside me—fury, humiliation, the terrifying bloom of something that feels like the beginning of surrender.
Ruthlessly I shove that thought aside.
I will never surrender.
Because even now, filled with Dante Moretti’s release and trembling from the force of my own pleasure, I am not finished fighting.
I now fully understand exactly what kind of war I’m being forced to wage—one fought with silk and skin.
“You are my wife now.In every possible way.”
He might believe that.
Might think he owns me.
I know otherwise.
ChapterTwenty-One
Valentina
Moretti presses his mouth to the crown of my head, firm and unyielding, the kiss less affection than declaration.
I am still trembling beneath him, his release warm and thick where it slides down the inside of my thigh.
