The way his eyes would darken as he watches me.
My fingers find slick heat between my thighs, and I gasp at the contact.
With his face in my mind, I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, my back arching off the bed as pleasure builds inside me.
"Alessandro.”
My movements grow more frantic, chasing something I can't quite name.
In my mind, Alessandro watches me with those penetrating eyes, his expression hungry and possessive.
Mine, his gaze seems to say. And in this moment, I want to be his.
The tension coils tighter, my breath coming in short gasps until finally, it snaps.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, Alessandro's name coming out in a moan as my body trembles.
As the aftershocks fade, reality crashes back. I lie breathless, staring at my ceiling with wide eyes.
What have I done?
I press my palms against my hot cheeks, mortification and exhilaration battling inside me.
I've just pleasured myself while fantasizing about a man I barely know.
A man I'm being forced to marry.
A man who makes me feel more seen, more alive than I've ever felt before.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I was prepared to endure this marriage as a political necessity, not to crave his touch.
These feelings complicate everything.
If I give him my body willingly, will my heart follow? And if it does, will he handle it with care or crush it?
I take a deep breath and stare at the ceiling.
Whatever path lies ahead with Alessandro, I'll walk it with my eyes open.
He was clear that this marriage is business and that his attraction to me, while something he’ll indulge if I want, isn’t something he wants.
He’s not looking for love and family.
So I’ll need to take care to keep my heart out of this arrangement because if I fall for him, I’ll only get my heart broken.
6
ALESSANDRO
My car weaves through Long Island traffic and all I can think is how insane this all is.
I've got the remnants of the Bratva still causing problems, three distribution centers that need restructuring, and a meeting with the Albini family in two days.
Yet here I am, en route to inspect a fucking wedding venue.
Granted, I wouldn’t mind seeing Isabella again, which is irritating in and of itself.
