I reach up, pulling his head down, my lips seeking his in the dark. It’s a desperate, starving kiss. Right now I’m just a woman on the edge of a breakdown, seeking the only anchor she has left.
"Fuck," he growls against my mouth.
He doesn't hesitate anymore. He flips me onto my back, his weight a welcome pressure as he pins me to the mattress. He starts softly, his mouth trailing down my neck, his tongue swirling over the pulse point that’s currently erratic. He kisses my collarbones, the valley between my breasts, his hands moving over my curves with a possessive, slow-burning intent.
"You want to forget?" he whispers, his hands gathering the silk of my nightdress and pulling it over my head. "I’ll give you something else to think about."
He moves down my body, his teeth grazing my collarbones, leaving marks that will surely turn purple by morning. His hands are everywhere—rough, heavy, and sure. He isn't treating me like glass; he’s treating me like territory. And god, it’s exactly what I need. I want to be handled. I want to be used until the image of Laura on that cliff is burned away by the heat of him.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a dark, gravelly snap.
I open my eyes, my breath coming in short, needy bursts. He’s looming over me, his silhouette massive and terrifying in the moonlight. He dips his head, his mouth marking a path over my stomach, his teeth grazing my hip bone hard enough to make me hiss. Then, he’s between my legs.
I gasp, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as he hooks my knees over his shoulders. He starts with slow, languid strokes of his tongue, tasting me, teasing the aching bud of my clit.
"You’re so wet for a woman who says she doesn't want to be here," he mutters, his voice vibrating against my most sensitive skin. "Tell me, Gia. Are you sure you don’t want to be here?"
"Rafael... please..." I'm losing my mind. The shame and the pleasure are a toxic mix, making my head spin.
"Not yet," he grunts.
He increases the pace, his tongue becoming more insistent, more rhythmic. He knows exactly how to build the pressure, his thumb joining in to grind against me until I’m arching my back, my fingers digging into his scalp. I’m writhing under him, my hands gripping the sheets until they threaten to tear. The first climax hits me like a freight train, an explosion that leaves me sobbing his name into the empty air.
But he doesn't stop. He doesn't give me a second to breathe.
He keeps going, his fingers sliding inside me, stretching me, his tongue never leaving its mark. He builds me back up immediately, a second wave of pleasure crashing over me before the first has even faded. I’m a mess of tangled silk and raw nerves, my body a live wire under his touch.
Finally, he pulls back, his face flushed, his eyes dark with a hunger that’s pure, unadulterated predator. He reaches for his trousers, discarding them in one fluid motion, and then he’s back over me. He’s thick, heavy, and pulsing against my thigh.
"Are you sure, Gia?" he asks, his voice thick with a warning. "Because once I start, I’m not stopping. I'm going to take everything you're offering and more."
"Don't stop," I beg, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.
Do it. Destroy the memory of my father, Laura, Cosimo. Destroy the memory of the blood.
"Don't ever stop, please."
He enters me with a slow, heavy push. I expect the fullness, the heat, the stretch—but I don't expect the sharp, blinding sting of resistance.
I cry out, my body going rigid, my hands flying to his chest to push him back. The ghost of Cosimo flits through my mind—the contracts, the bruises, the way I prepared myself to be broken. I’ve kept this one thing for myself for twenty-four years, a final scrap of dignity, and I’m handing it to Rafael Caruso.
It feels good.
Rafael freezes.
He stays perfectly still, his weight braced on his forearms, his eyes wide and disbelieving as he looks down at me. The silence in the room is heavy enough to choke on.
"Gia? What the hell...?" He looks down to where we’re joined, then back to my face, his expression a chaotic swirl of shock and something that looks dangerously like guilt.
"Don't," I whisper, my eyes squeezed shut as a single tear escapes. "Just... give me a second. It'll pass."
"You’re a virgin," he says, and the shock in his voice is like a slap. He sounds almost offended, as if I’ve tricked him into a crime he didn't want to commit. "You’re... fuck, Gia. Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me. I would have been kinder. I wouldn't have?—"
"I don't want kind!" I snap, my eyes flying open, my stubbornness flaring up to hide the raw vulnerability of the moment. I can't let him be soft. If he’s soft, I’ll believe he cares, and that’s a lie I can't afford. "I told you what I wanted. I want you to make me forget. I want it rough. I want the line to be clear, Rafael. This is attraction. This is a trade for my sanity. It isn't... it isn't a goddamn romance."
I see the moment the words land. I see the flicker of genuine concern in his eyes die out.
He was worried he’d hurt me, a man processing the fact that I’d given him something sacred. But my words? I just reduced that gift to a business transaction. I just told the Butcher he was a tool I was using to scrape my brain clean.
