I give her what she wants, fucking her hard enough to shake the bed. Skin slaps against skin, loud and obscene.
“Is this what you wanted?” I growl against her neck. “You wanted to see what I’d do without a leash?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m never going back,” I tell her, biting down on her collarbone.
Pulling out suddenly, I ignore her whine of protest and flip her over, dragging her up onto her hands and knees.
“Ass up,” I command.
Zoë arches her back, presenting herself to me. The boots are still on, framing her ass, turning her into something dark and mythic. I grip her hips, fingers digging in, and slam back into her. The angle is deeper. I can feel her tightening around me.
“Fuck,” I grit out. “You feel so good.”
Reaching around, I find her clit and rub tight circles, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. Her moaning turns constant now—a low, desperate sound that goes straight to my head.
“Come for me,” I order. “Come on my cock.”
She does. Her pussy clamps down like a vise, her whole body shuddering. I ride her through it, prolonging the pleasure until she collapses forward, face buried in the pillows.
After pulling out, I flip her onto her back again. She looks dazed, eyes wide, lips swollen.
“Gio,” she breathes. “I can’t.”
“You can,” I say, positioning myself between her legs again. “You will.”
Sliding back inside her, I move slowly this time—torturously—holding her gaze. I want her to see me. I want her to see who I am now.
“I love you,” I say. The words feel foreign on my tongue, but right. “I love you so much.”
Her expression softens, just a fraction. Zoë reaches up, cupping my face in her hands.
“I know,” she says. “I love you too.”
Something breaks loose in my chest. I move faster, chasing the release coiling at the base of my spine. She meets me thrust for thrust, her legs locking around my waist, the leather boots pressing into my skin.
“I’m going to come,” I warn her.
“Do it,” she says. “Come for me.”
I let go. Burying my face in her neck, I groan as my whole body goes rigid, emptying myself into the condom. It’s overwhelming. A total system reset.
I collapse on top of her, careful not to crush her, breathing her in.
We stay like that for a long moment, hearts pounding in sync. Eventually, I roll off her, disposing of the condom in the trash beside the bed. Pulling her into my arms, I tuck her head under my chin. The leather of her boot traces against my calf, grounding.
“You okay?” she asks.
Looking around the room—the expensive furniture, the tech, the clothes—it all feels different now. Just stuff. Just background noise.
“Yeah,” I say, tightening my hold on her. “I’m good.”
Millions are gone. Family is gone. The future I was handed is gone. But lying here, with the smell of sex and leather in the air and Zoë warm and solid in my arms, I feel like the richest man in the world.
“No more fixing things for me,” she says suddenly, her voice serious.
I pull back to look at her. “What?”
