The truth is a jagged pill. I’d never had a home. I’d had houses, and apartments, and hotel rooms. But this man—this possessive, dangerous man—is the first person who has made staying feel possible.
I lean down and kiss him. It’s a slow exploration. I taste coffee and steel, the hunger he’s trying to keep in check. I don’t want it in check. I want him close enough that, for one night, the woman who ran can rest.
I pull back an inch. “I want you, Alessio. Not because I’m scared. I want you because you’re mine.”
He lets out a guttural sound, hands sliding to my hips. He grips me, fingers digging into my flesh through the leggings. “You have no idea what you’re saying. If I take you again, Amara, there is no going back. If I take you again, I won’t know how to pretend this is temporary. I’ll want you on my side of every door.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m tired of crossing them alone.”
I reach for the hem of my hoodie and pull it over my head, tossing it into the shadows. The cool air hits my skin, making my nipples peak instantly. Alessio’s breath hitches. His gaze drops, pupils dilating until his eyes are almost entirely black.
“You are so beautiful,” he rasps, hands trembling as he reaches out to cup me. “So fucking perfect.”
He thumbs my nipples, touch cautious. I arch my back, leaning into his hands, a moan escaping. “Don’t treat me like glass, Alessio. I’m here because I chose to be.”
The last of his control snaps. He growls and lunges. He captures my mouth in a kiss that is anything but gentle, his tongue invading, marking me.
He pins me against the metal cabinet beside the worktable. The cold metal is a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body. He fumbles with his tactical pants, kicking them off, then peels my leggings down.
When I’m finally naked, he just stares. He looks at me like a miracle. He reaches out, hand sliding over my belly, down to the dark curls between my thighs. He finds my wetness, fingers dipping into the heat, and I cry out, head hitting the metal.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, face buried between my breasts. “So ready.”
“Please,” I sob, legs wrapping around his waist. “Now, Alessio.”
He doesn’t make me wait. He positions himself, the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against my opening. He’s a thick, pulsing weight. He pauses for a heartbeat, forehead resting against mine.
“Tell me you want this,” he commands. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want only you. Take me home, Alessio.”
He thrusts.
He pauses only long enough for the foil tear, the same care he took the first time, and then he enters in one long, slow motion, his size stretching me to the limit. I gasp, eyes flying open as he slides home, impossibly deep, claiming territory. For one breath, the hollow ache I’ve carried for ten years has something else beside it.
I clench around him, muscles pulsing. He groans, a sound of pure agony and ecstasy. He stays still, letting me adjust, hands gripping my hair to hold my head steady.
“You’re here,” he says. “You’re safe. And I love that more than I know what to do with.”
“Yours,” I echo.
He begins to move. Each thrust is a calculated invasion. He withdraws until he’s almost out, then plunges back in, bottoming out as his pelvis grinds against my clit.
The friction is agonizingly perfect. Every time he slides out, I whimper. Every time he slides back in, the world tilts. He’s taking his time, savoring me, his movements rhythmic and relentless.
“Look at me, Amara,” he commands.
I open my eyes, vision blurred. He’s watching me, face tight, jaw locked. He looks like a man in the middle of a battle. He’s pouring a decade of silence into the way he looks at me.
I reach down between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His eyes widen. “Yes,” he rasps. “Touch yourself for me. Let me watch you come on my cock.”
The sight of my fingers against his hard length, the way he’s stretching me open, the sound of our bodies colliding—it’s too much. The first tremors hit, a violent shuddering that started where he was buried deepest, my muscles clamping down on his length.
“Alessio,” I scream, back arching.
“I’ve got you,” he says, pace becoming feral. “Give it to me.”
I shatter.
