Page 120 of The Ache That Stayed

(You’re so beautiful when you break for me.)

“Look at me,” he said, rough, breath breaking. “I want to see every emotion flashing in those pretty eyes.”

I didn’t even know my eyes had closed. They opened of their own accord.

“That’s it,” he said. “My good girl.”

That did it. My hips instantly moved to meet his rhythm.

“Santi…”

He gripped my hips harder and slammed into me with a force so hard, I was certain the bed moved a few inches.

I was drowning in the sheer sensation of him, overwhelmed by the pleasure vibrating through every nerve until I hovered helplessly on the brink of breaking apart.

“Sa… an… tino… “

“I know you can give me one more.”

“Santi—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

His pace increased; the sound of his balls slapping on my skin echoed through the room. He pinched my nipple and I shattered around his cock.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d come, but he didn’t stop—didn’t slow—driving deeper, harder, until his rhythm broke. His body tensed, an animalistic sound tore out of him as he lost control.

“Fuck—uugghh. Fuck.”

A rush of heat spilled deep inside me—thick, unmistakable, leaving no space for doubt.

My breath caught.

The warmth curdled, sharp, immediate, cutting through the haze of pleasure.

Wait—

He didn’t—

My fingers tightened against his shoulders as reality crashed back in, cold and unforgiving.

And for the first time since he touched me, I felt it—a sudden, suffocating panic that drowned out every trace of want. Because there was nothing between us. No barrier. No protection.

Just him.

Raw and claiming me in the most dangerous way possible.

CHAPTER 32

Roxanne

Ilay facing him, my body still humming from the wreckage he’d left me in. His chest rose steadily beneath my palms, his warmth wrapping around me as though letting go had never crossed his mind. I shoved at his chest, my palms pressing against warm, unyielding skin, but he didn’t move. Didn’t budge an inch. It was like trying to push against a wall—solid, immovable.

“I need to shower,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

Because I could still feel him. Everywhere. On my skin, lingering like heat that refused to fade. Between my thighs, a dull, aching reminder of just how thoroughly I had unravelled. Inside me—like he’d branded me.

I needed it gone. Or at least pretend it could be.