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His hand strokes the back of my neck, and his fingers slide through the loose strands of my hair. My cheek still rests against his chest, but when I tilt my face up, the blackness envelops me, thicker, closer, and heated with passion.

His eyes soon find mine, every guard he usually carries gone. His lips part, but nothing comes out. He just peers at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been afraid to ask. Marco’s many things—controlled, observant, and occasionally infuriating—but I never would have imagined him like this, completely unguarded.

“Lucia.” He says just my name in that deep, serious tone. “I want to kiss you. If you don’t want that, tell me to stop.”

I don’t refuse him. I don’t say anything at all.

I lift my hand to the back of his neck and pull him down to me. His lips settle on mine in a soft, tentative, barely-present brush, like he’s bracing for me to change my mind.

I need this because I’m tired of keeping it together and following the thread of Matteo’s death down every dark corridor. I’ve been alone, always alone, and I forgot I was allowed to want things.

Warm, present Marco can help me temporarily forget my pain. Perhaps my selfishness runs deeper than I’m willing to admit, but I can’t bring myself to care.

My fingers twist into his hair, and I let out a small, desperate whine against his lips when I feel a tremor coursing through him. His arm bands around my waist, and he tugs me closer until I’m half in his lap with no space left between us.

I feel everything. The solid wall of his chest. The rough denim of his jeans against my bare thighs. The unmistakable press of his growing arousal against my hip.

His urgent mouth brazenly bites, nips, and grazes mine. His unmistakable desire mingles with the restraint corded in his shoulders and the strain in his hand that spreads across my lower back. His fingers dig in just shy of bruising as he struggles to hold back.

I don’t want him to.

“Marco.” I whisper his name against his lips, and he shudders like the noise unwinds part of him. His composure cracks, just a fraction, and the hunger beneath surfaces.

His mouth trails down my jaw, my throat, and the sensitive crook of my neck. With the enthusiastic way he nibbles me, I’ll surely have hickeys tomorrow. I tip my head back and let him explore. His lips, tongue, and teeth kiss and scrape my neck, overloading my senses until I let out a low, wanton moan, shift my hips into his, and grind against his already stiff length.

“If you want to stop, tell me.” Marco murmurs similar words as before against my skin as his hands slide under the sleep shirt. His rough palms climb up my sides, and when his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, I gasp.

“I don’t want you to stop.” My voice isn’t my own. It’s broken, already pleading.

He lifts his head and gazes at me. Even in the dark, the intensity of his hungry eyes causes my stomach to flip and my cunt to clench with anticipation.

“You’re sure?”

Instead of answering, I lean back and pull my shirt over my head. His breath hitches. I hear it and feel it at once. His chest stops moving for one suspended second, his caress freezing on my ribs. Then his calloused hands are on me again, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra. His thumbs drag over my nipples through the fabric, and they pebble instantly, aching for more.

“Dio mio. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

A moment later, he lowers me onto the bed and settles over me. His cock nudges my thigh, and my body responds before my brain can catch up. As my back arches and my legs part, a soft whimper escapes my throat. His abs flex as he holds himself above me, drowning me in that sea of sensation and heat.

He unclasps my bra, watching my face as my breasts fall free and then closes his mouth over one nipple. His hot, wet tongue circles the peak before he sucks gently. I cry out, my hands fisting in his hair to keep him in place. He switches to the other breast, worshipping that one too. I feel the pull of it deep in my belly and then between my thighs, where I’m already soaked and throbbing.

His mouth traces a path down past my stomach, grazing each inch. He stops at the waistband of my underwear and peers up at me, his dark eyes questioning. I nod, breathless, and he hooks his fingers in the soft fabric before drawing it past my hips and ass until I’m completely bare before him. As he strips them from my legs, he kisses my knees, calves, and ankles.

I’m trembling with need and wearing nothing but the damp evidence of my desire. I instinctively close my thighs, attempting to generate any bit of friction, but he pushes them gently apart with his knees.

“Look at you.” He trails one finger down my sternum, between my breasts, and over my stomach before stopping where I need him most. He hovers just above my clit, drinking in the pure heat radiating from me. “So beautiful. Così dannatamente bella. And already so wet for me.”

I can feel my arousal slicking my thighs.

I manage a pleading whisper. “Please.”

He dips that finger farther, parting my folds, and I gasp as he glides through my slickness, circling my entrance but not plunging inside. He’s driving me crazy with his teasing.

“Please what, Lucia? Tell me what you need.”

“You,” I manage. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you. All of you. Please, Marco. I’m dying without it…”