I pulled back, breathing ragged.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Tell me you want me to stop.”
She stared at me, chest heaving, lips swollen. For a long moment, I thought she’d fight. Thought she’d slap me, spit at me, call me a bastard.
Instead, she whispered, “No.”
The words hit me like a punch. A fucking altar. A vow.
I crushed my mouth to hers again, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against me so she could feel exactly how hard I was for her, how much I needed her.
“Good girl,” I breathed against her lips. “Now let me show you exactly what that means.”
Chapter Fifteen
Zara
His mouth found mine the second he stepped through the door.
I’d barely had time to draw a breath before he was there, pressing me against the wall, his hands already sliding beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers digging into the bare skin of my stomach.
“Lorenzo—” I gasped against his lips.
“Zara,” he growled, and kissed me deeper, swallowing any protest I might have formed.
His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, tasting of expensive whiskey and that dark, masculine heat that was uniquely him. I should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him of the rules, the boundaries I’d so carefully constructed. But my hands betrayed me, fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of creating distance.
He groaned his approval, one hand tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access. His other hand roamed upward, palm sliding over my hip, my waist, stopping just beneath my ribcage. I felt his thumb brush the underside of my breast through the thin silk of my dress, and a shiver raced down my spine.
“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he murmured against my throat, his lips trailing down to where my pulse hammered wild and frantic. He bit down lightly, just enough to force a gasp, thensoothed the spot with his tongue. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. About you. About the sounds you’d make when I finally touch you.”
His hand moved higher, cupping my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric. It hardened instantly, a traitorous response that I couldn’t control. He felt it, and a low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
“Sì, così,” he breathed.
The ache between my thighs was a live wire, pulsing with every brush of his fingers, every press of his hips against mine. I could feel his cock, thick and hard, straining against his trousers, and a part of me—the reckless, desperate part—wanted to sink to my knees and free it, to take him in my mouth and taste his surrender.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
“Wait,” the word came out weak, barely a whisper. I pressed my palms against his chest, trying to create space. “Lorenzo, stop.”
He stilled immediately, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breathing was ragged; his body strung tight as a bow. “Why, Tesoro? Tell me why.”
“Because we have an agreement.” I forced the words out, hating how shaky they sounded. “No sex—not because I don’t want you, but because I need to protect myself. I can’t risk getting hurt again. That’s why I made the rule.”
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His dark eyes were blazing, pupils blown wide with want, but there was something else there too—a flicker of understanding, of restraint.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I remember the agreement.”
“Then respect it. It’s the one rule I can’t break.”
A beat of silence. Then he stepped back, releasing me completely. The loss of his heat made me feel suddenly coldand exposed. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to hold together the pieces he’d so easily shattered.
