Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or wonder. Like he can't quite believe I'd place my trust in him so completely. Then his arms tighten around me, drawing me impossibly closer.
In the quiet dark of our bedroom, his heartbeat steady under my palm, I realize something: Safety isn't the absence of fire. It's being surrounded by it, knowing it'll never burn you, only keep you warm.
Fabio is dangerous—I've seen enough now to know that without doubt. He moves through the world like a weapon, sharp-edged and lethal. But never toward me. Never with me.With me, those edges soften. Those weapons are sheathed. That fire burns controlled.
Or maybe that's not quite right. Maybe he's still just as dangerous, just as powerful, just as capable of destruction. But all of it—all that force, all that fury—is pointed outward, away from me. A shield, not a threat.
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and feel him sigh contentedly.
"What was that for?" he asks, voice rumbling under my lips.
"For keeping me safe," I say simply. "For being exactly who I need you to be."
His hand tangles in my hair, tilts my face up for a gentle kiss—so different from the desperate ones before. This one tastes like promise. Like forever.
"Rest now," he murmurs against my lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
And for the first time since those hands grabbed at me outside the boutique, I feel my body truly relax, knowing that the most dangerous man in Vegas is watching over me. Keeping me safe. Loving me in his fierce, possessive way.
I drift off to sleep in his arms, no longer afraid of what might be lurking in the dark. Because whatever it is, it should be afraid of my husband.
epilogue
. . .
Sharon
Two years later
Two years later,and his touch still lights me up like a Vegas marquee. We're tangled in the sheets of our bedroom—not the penthouse anymore but a sprawling estate outside the city with security that would make Fort Knox jealous. Fabio's hands are everywhere, his mouth hot against my neck, whispering filthy promises that make me arch against him like a cat. His business has grown, his power expanded, but here, in our bed, nothing's changed. He still looks at me like I'm the miracle he never expected. Still touches me like he's afraid I might disappear. Still claims me with a desperation that should have faded by now but somehow only burns hotter with time.
"Turn over," he commands, voice rough with need. "I want to see that perfect ass."
I comply, rolling onto my stomach, looking back at him over my shoulder. His eyes devour me—hungry, possessive, adoring. Two years of marriage, and that look still makes me wet instantly.
He grips my hips, lifts them, positions me on my knees before him. His hand strokes down my spine, over the curve of my ass, between my thighs where I'm already slick for him.
"So ready for me," he murmurs approvingly. "Always so ready."
His fingers push inside me, testing, stretching, preparing. I moan, pressing back against his hand, wanting more. Always more.
"You know what I want?" His voice drops lower, becomes a growl that vibrates through me. "I want to breed you, angel. Want to fill you up with my cum until it takes. Until you're round with my baby."
The words send a shock of heat straight to my core. It's not the first time he's talked like this. Lately, it's become almost an obsession for him—the idea of me pregnant, carrying his child.
"Want to see your belly swell," he continues, fingers working me slowly, deliberately. "Want everyone to know I did that to you. That you're mine in every possible way."
"Fabio," I whimper, rocking back against his hand. "Please."
"Please what?" He withdraws his fingers, leaves me empty, aching. "Tell me what you want, angel."
"You." I look back at him again, see the raw need on his face. "Inside me. Now."
He shakes his head, a wicked smile curving his lips. "Not yet. I want your mouth first."
He lies back against the pillows, his cock hard and thick against his stomach. I crawl between his legs, eager to taste him, to feel him lose control because of me. I lick him from base to tip, savoring his groan, the way his hand tangles in my hair.
"That's it," he encourages as I take him deeper. "Take all of me."
