I kiss her. She kisses back, desperate and hungry, her mouth opening under mine. This isn't gentle. This is survival, twopeople who came too close to losing each other trying to prove they're still here.
I roll her onto her back, careful of my shoulder, and she arches into me. Her hands are everywhere—my face, my neck, sliding down my chest. When she reaches for the button of my jeans, I catch her wrist.
"Francesca." My voice is rough. "You sure?"
"I watched you kill for me." Her eyes are fever-bright in the dim light. "I watched you take a bullet for me. I watched you wade through hell to get to me. Yes, I'm sure."
I release her wrist and she makes quick work of my jeans, shoving them down. I pull her shirt over her head, unclasp her bra, peel off her pants and underwear until there's nothing between us.
For a moment, I just look at her. Bruised, shaking, beautiful. Mine.
"I thought I lost you," I say, my hand sliding up her thigh. "When I woke up and saw they’d taken you?—"
"You didn't lose me." She pulls me down, her legs wrapping around my hips. "I'm right here."
I position myself at her entrance, feeling the heat of her against my cock, then push inside—slow, deliberate, watching her face as I stretch her open inch by inch. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting on a gasp that turns into a moan as I sink deeper.
She's so fucking tight, her pussy gripping me like a vice, slick and hot and clenching around me. I feel every ripple of her inner walls as they adjust to take me, feel the way her body opens for me, yielding and accepting until I'm buried to the hilt. Perfect. She feels perfect—like her body was made specifically to take mine, to be filled by me, to be claimed this way.
"Look at me," I order.
Her eyes open, locking with mine.
"You're mine," I say, pulling out and thrusting back in, deep. "Say it."
"I'm yours." Her nails dig into my back. "Luca?—"
I start moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and measured. I want to feel every inch of her, want her to feel every inch of me. This isn't the frantic fucking from before—this is different. This is claiming and being claimed, two damaged people finding something whole in each other.
She moves with me, her hips rolling to meet each thrust, her breath coming in short gasps that I feel against my neck. I watch every expression that crosses her face—pleasure, need, desperation, something that looks like surrender. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from my kisses, and the sight of her like this—undone, vulnerable, mine—makes my cock throb inside her.
"Harder," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Please, Luca, I need?—"
I give her what she needs. I drive into her hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall, pulling her hips up to take me deeper. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, and I feel her pussy clench around me, inner walls rippling and squeezing my cock.
"That's it," I growl against her throat, my teeth grazing her pulse point. "Take what you need from me. Take everything."
Her hands fist in my hair, pulling my mouth to hers. The kiss is messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth and raw need. I can taste the salt of her tears and don't know if they're from pleasure or everything else—the fear, the violence, the terror of almost losing each other. I kiss her harder, swallowing her moans.
I shift the angle, hitching her leg higher over my hip, and drive in deep. The new position lets me hit that spot inside her—that place that makes her gasp and her whole body shudder. Shebreaks the kiss, head thrown back, throat exposed, and I take advantage.
My mouth moves down her neck, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. When I take her nipple between my teeth and bite down—not hard enough to truly hurt but hard enough to make her feel it—she whimpers and her pussy clenches so tight around me I almost lose control.
"Luca, I'm—" Her voice is ragged, desperate. "I can't—I'm so close?—"
"I know, baby. I can feel it." I slide my hand between our bodies, fingers finding her clit, slick and swollen. I circle it with my thumb while I continue to thrust into her, hard and deep and relentless. "Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart around my cock."
She shatters. Her whole body goes taut, every muscle locking as the orgasm tears through her. Her inner walls clamp down on me so hard it's almost painful, rhythmic pulses that milk my cock.
She cries out my name, nails scoring down my back hard enough to draw blood, her legs trembling where they're wrapped around my hips. I fuck her through it, each thrust prolonging the waves of pleasure, watching her come undone beneath me—face flushed, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as she rides it out.
The sight of her—completely lost, completely mine—pushes me over the edge. I bury myself as deep as I can go and let go, coming so hard my vision whites out. The pleasure is almost violent, ripping through me in waves that seem endless. I feel myself pulsing inside her, filling her, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.
I collapse on top of her, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. My shoulder throbs where I was shot but I don't care. Nothingmatters except the feel of her beneath me, around me, her heart racing against mine.
After a moment, I start to pull out and she stops me, her legs tightening around my hips, keeping me locked inside her.
"Not yet," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "Stay. I need to feel you."
