The kiss is an act of war. Hungry. Possessive. I crush my lips against hers, demanding immediate compliance. She opens for me instantly. The taste of black coffee and raw want floods my senses. I plunge my tongue into her mouth, taking everything. Claiming the slick heat of her tongue, swallowing the moans in her throat.
She does not push me away. She drags me closer.
Her hands fly up, grabbing the corded muscles of my shoulders. Her fingernails bite into my skin through my shirt. She kisses me back like she wants to break us both. Our teeth clash. A bruised, desperate something catches fire between us. She tastes like ruin, like salvation. She tastes like mine.
Ragged thoughts and fragmented instincts shred my control. My woman. My enemy. My obsession. I'm putting cracks in the foundation of my life for her and I don't care. Let my brothers rage. Let the Bellantis march on this tunnel. I'll cut down everyman who tries to cross this river to take her from me. I'll bleed for the privilege of keeping her in my arms.
I tear my mouth away from hers, dragging my lips down the soft, sensitive skin of her jaw. She pants, her breath hot and ragged against my neck. I suck a hard bruise into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
"Fabio," she whimpers. Her hands fist in my short-cropped hair. The sound of my name on her lips is a lethal injection straight to my heart.
"Say it again." I bite the flesh of her neck. "Say my name."
"Fabio. Please."
"Please what?" I slide my hands under the hem of her shirt. The damp cold of the tunnel is obliterated by the scorching heat of her bare skin. She fits my hands like she was made for them. My palms drag up her ribcage. "Tell me what you want."
"You're a brute," she gasps, dropping her head forward to rest against my chest. "You're a massive, feral brute."
"Tell me you hate it." I push her shirt up, exposing her gorgeous breasts encased in a black lace bra.
"I hate it." She bites my shoulder. "I hate you."
"Liar."
I unhook the front clasp of her bra with one swift motion. The lace parts. Her tits spill into my palms. Heavy. Warm. Real. I squeeze the soft flesh, pushing them together. Her nipples are tight, hard peaks, begging for friction. I roll my rough thumbs over the sensitive nubs.
Catalina screams into my shoulder. Her hips buck forward, grinding her center instinctively against the rigid steel of my cock.
The friction punches a flash of white through my skull. The ache in my balls is a physical torment. Precum leaks from the tip of my cock, slicking the inside of my boxers. I'm straining against my jeans, desperate to tear the fabric away, desperateto bury myself inside her dripping wet pussy and claim her so deeply she never remembers a life before this room.
But I can't. Not yet.
The tease is a necessary agony. If I take her now, unhinged, she'll confuse this with her family's brutality. She needs to know the difference. She needs to understand that my violence is reserved for the world, not for her. For her, my restraint is the ultimate proof of devotion. I will burn alive before I hurt her.
"You're so fucking beautiful." I bury my face in her cleavage, breathing her in. I flick my tongue over the swell of her breast. "Too good for this damp fucking hole."
"Then take me out of it." Her hands slide down my back, gripping the muscles. Her hips roll against mine. A slow, agonizing grind. The seam of her jeans rubs directly against the pulsing head of my cock.
"I will." I lift my head, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss. "When the sun comes up. When I've gotten you in front of Dominic with your intel intact, and not before."
"They'll try anyway." She kisses me back, her tongue hot and seeking.
"Let them try."
I grip the back of her thighs, hauling her closer to the edge of the crate. Her legs wrap around my waist, locking me tight against her center. The positioning is flawless. Every breath she takes, every shift of her hips, drags her clit against the denim ridge of my erection.
She throws her head back. Her moans echo off the brick.
"Costa," she whines, her fingernails digging into my scalp. "God, please."
I slide my right hand down from her heavy tits, tracing the soft curve of her stomach. I reach the waistband of her jeans. I slip my hand between our bodies, cupping the soft mound of her sex over the denim. She is soaked. I can smell the slick,intoxicating scent of her wetness. The honey is turning dark, rich, and purely sexual.
I press the heel of my palm hard against her clit.
Catalina shatters. Her body goes rigid. She cries out, a loud, unabashed scream that bounces off the brick ceiling.
I grind the heel of my hand against her, applying brutal, unrelenting pressure. Through the layers of clothing, the friction is agonizing for both of us. My own cock throbs, begging for release. Begging to be inside her. I clench my jaw, fighting the primal urge to rip her pants down and sink to the hilt inside her.
