“I almost lost you today,” he says against my hair. “If you hadn’t noticed that car...”
“But I did,” I reassure him, tracing my finger along the tattoo that winds across his collarbone.
“It’s not enough.” His arms tighten around me. “Tartarov is obsessed with destroying both families. He won’t stop until we’re all dead or broken.”
I turn in his embrace, cupping his face between my palms. His stubble is rough against my skin, his eyes dark with worry and something fiercer.
“Then we make sure he fails. Together.”
Silvo’s mouth crashes against mine, his kiss brutal and desperate. I taste his fear, his rage—all the emotions he’d kept carefully controlled in front of the Morettis. I match his ferocity, digging my nails into his shoulders, reminding him I’m here, I’m alive, I’m his.
His hands are everywhere, tearing at my nightgown until the silk shreds beneath his fingers. I don’t care. Material things can be replaced; this moment between us can’t.
Silvo flips me onto my stomach, his body covering mine like a shield. His lips trace a burning path down my spine while his fingers dig possessively into my hips.
“I need all of you tonight,” he growls, voice rough with desire. He strokes the curve of my ass, his intention clear. “Let me have this.”
I nod, breathless with want. “Yes.”
“I want you,” I whisper against his ear, arching my back to press myself against him. “Every part of me is yours, Silvo.”
His breath catches. I feel his hesitation melt into hunger as his hands grip my hips tighter.
“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice gravelly with desire.
I nod, face flushed with want. “I’m sure.”
Silvo reaches for the bedside drawer, extracting a small bottle. The snap of the cap opening sends a shiver through me—anticipation mixed with nervous energy.
“Relax,” he murmurs, spreading warm oil across his fingers. “I’ll take care of you.”
The first gentle pressure makes me gasp. Silvo’s free hand strokes my lower back in soothing circles.
“All of you is mine,” he says, his voice possessive yet tender. “Every inch, every breath.”
His fingers work slowly, carefully, stretching and preparing me with a patience I didn’t know he possessed. The initial discomfort gives way to a strange, building pleasure that makes my thighs tremble.
“That’s it,” he encourages when I press back against his hand. “You’re perfect.”
When his other hand reaches around to stroke between my legs, I nearly collapse. The dual sensations—his finger inside me, his expert touch on my clit—send sparks shooting up my spine.
“Silvo,” I moan, no longer caring how desperate I sound. “Please...”
He increases the pressure, the rhythm perfectly synchronized. My body responds with a will of its own, rocking between his hands as tension coils tighter in my core.
“Come for me,” he commands, curling his finger just right while his other hand works relentless circles. “Let me feel you.”
The orgasm crashes through me without warning, intense and all-consuming. I cry out his name as my body pulses around his finger, the pleasure almost too much to bear.
Behind me, Silvo’s breathing turns ragged. “You’re ready,” he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers across my skin.
I glance over my shoulder to see him slicking lubricant over his cock, his eyes locked on my body with primal hunger. His length glistens in the dim light as he strokes himself.
“I need this,” he groans, positioning himself. “Need to claim every part of you.”
The blunt pressure against my entrance makes me gasp. My fingers clutch at the sheets as he presses forward, stretching me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses. “So perfect for me.”
