And I’m about to tell him I’ve fallen for the enemy.
The thought makes my chest lock tight.
I turn toward her again. My little lamb.
Her breathing is steady, but mine isn’t. I want to freeze this moment to live here in the quiet where the world hasn’t found us yet. She deserves that quiet. A life untouched by bloodlines, without knives behind every vow.
What if I can’t keep her safe? What if I make her another casualty of the Messinas?
I drop my head into my hands. The weight in my chest crushes until each breath feels like glass tearing through my ribs.
I could walk away.
Let her marry the man they chose.
Let her forget this bed, my hands, my name.
But the thought of her in another man’s arms, his hands on her, his control makes my fists close until my knuckles ache.
Because no matter what the world says, she’s mine.
The sheets rustle behind me a small, sleepy sound, but it cuts clean through me. My shoulders tense before I even turn
I close my eyes. My pulse stutters.
She stirs, the faint scrape of her breath catches, and her lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. The light from the window cuts across her face, a pale band over her cheek, and for a second she looks unreal.
“Matteo.” My name drags from her throat, rough, soft, like it hurts to say.
I move before thought catches up. The mattress dips under my weight as I crawl back to her.
She reaches for me, blind and sure, fingers clutching my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. The contact steals my breath. Her warmth. Her scent.
I cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the edge of her face. Her skin is warm, damp from sleep. She trembles under my touch, or maybe it’s me shaking.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, my mouth brushing hers. “You’re mine.”
She pulls me down, her mouth finding mine with a kind of hunger that feels older than both of us. The kiss isn’t careful. It’s desperate. Raw. A surrender and a plea tangled together.
Her legs part instinctively, letting me settle between them, our bodies fitting together like we were carved from the same violent storm.
I grind against her, and she moans, a soft, broken sound that makes my cock twitch hard against the thin fabric of my boxers.
I need her.
I need her more than I need air.
I kiss her like a drowning man.
She arches up, her body pleading for more without a single word.
My hand slides down, slipping under the top she’s wearing. I drag it up over her hips, baring the sweet curve of her thighs. I remove her panties with my other hand, and fuck she smells so good.
"Jesus, little lamb," I growl, voice wrecked. "Are you trying to kill me?"
She just whimpers, a soft plea, and tilts her hips up, offering herself like a fucking prayer.
I slide two fingers down the seam of her folds, soaked, hot, ready, and her back arches off the bed.
