“Chiara,” he warned quietly. The way he said my name nearly melted me completely. Nobody had ever looked at me like this before. Like they wanted to consume me whole.
My eyes dropped helplessly to his mouth. Big mistake. Leo’s breathing changed. Slower. Heavier. The room felt hotter now. Smaller somehow. Thick with tension and the smell of him surrounding me from every direction. I couldn’t breathe properly anymore.
“I should hate you,” I whispered.
“You do,” he reminded me. “You’ve made it pretty fucking clear.”
“But I still want you…” I let out in a whisper.
Leo closed his eyes briefly like the confession physically hurt him. When he looked at me again, something dangerous burned there now. Raw hunger. Barely controlled.
“You have no idea,” he said quietly, “how hard it is not to flip you onto your back right now.”
Heat rushed violently through my body. My thighs pressed together instinctively beneath the sheets. Leo noticed. A dark sound almost like pain escaped him. “Fuck.”
The single word sounded wrecked. Embarrassment hit me, but underneath it came something worse. Excitement.
Because Leo Moretti, the cold, terrifying man everyone feared, looked seconds away from completely losing control over me. And God help me, I wanted to see it happen.
His forehead rested lightly against mine now, his breathing warm against my mouth. Every inch of him felt tightly restrained, like his body was physically fighting itself not to touch me more.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured roughly. The words barely sounded human anymore. My stomach twisted. Because I knew if I told him to stop, he actually would. And somehow that made wanting him worse.
I looked at his mouth again. Another mistake. Leo’s grip tightened slightly in my hair.
“Christ,” he muttered darkly. “You keep staring at me like you want me to ruin you.”
A helpless little sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. His eyes darkened.
“Yeah,” he whispered roughly. “That sound isn’t helping either.”
My pulse hammered painfully hard. Everything about him overwhelmed me. His size. His warmth. The rough scrape of his thumb against my skin. The smell of whiskey and smoke wrapped around expensive cologne. The tattoos disappearing beneath sheets while moonlight painted silver across hard muscle. Sinfully beautiful.
And worst of all?
He wanted me just as badly. I could feel it. In the tension locked through his body. In the way his hand flexed against mywaist every few seconds like he was resisting the urge to drag me fully on top of him. In the way he looked at my mouth like he was starving.
“Leo,” I whispered. His nose brushed mine lightly.
“Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to take it further,” he bit out.
“I… don’t know what I want,” I admitted. That dangerous smile appeared again.
“You are going to fuck me up,” he muttered. The words sent another shiver through me. Because he was right. This felt dangerous. Not just because I wanted him.
Because some part of me already knew one kiss from Leo Moretti would never be enough.
His hand slid lower against my waist slowly, dragging my body flush against his beneath the sheets. The hard length of him pressed against my thigh. I sucked in a sharp breath. Leo groaned softly against my mouth, his eyes falling shut for one brutal second.
“See?” he muttered darkly. “This is exactly why I’ve been trying not to touch you.”
Heat flooded every inch of my body. His lips hovered just above mine now. Not kissing. Almost. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath every time he exhaled slowly through his nose. It was torture.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered shakily. “You’re making me crazy.”
A low laugh escaped him, rough and sinful.
“Chiara,” he murmured. “You’ve had me losing my fucking mind since the second I saw you.”
