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“Oh,” he murmured against my lips, the hand on my throat sliding into the back of my wet hair to grip it in my fist and tug it back harshly enough to make my mouth bloom open on a gasp. “I’m more than willing to prioritize your needs, wife. Let me demonstrate.”

Before I could protest, his mouth was sealed over mine, his tongue sliding against mine in a silken, domineering caress that made the thoughts spill from my head like change from a broken meter.

Fuck it.

I’d gone to bed last night thinking the last time I ever saw him was over a dead body in his casino office, and now he was here. So alive his skin seemed to burn under my questing hands, my fingers tracking the strong beat of his heart beneath his ribs as I traced one pectoral and then another. His hair was like wet silk in my other hand as I curled my fingers into it, nails against his scalp in a sharp gesture to show him exactly how I wanted to be handled.

If he wanted to meet my needs, I was happy to let him.

And right now, after all the upheaval, I needed to be fucked.

I wanted to feel the thrust of his cock inside me in the back of my teeth. I wanted to burn with the stretch of him filling up every inch of me and ache under the press of his teeth against my neck.

I wanted to pretend he possessed me, body and soul, if only for the time it took us both to orgasm cataclysmically.

Dario seemed just as feral as me, maybe even more so. There was a barely leashed aggression to the strength of his hands as he lifted my hips away from his and angled his flushed cock at my entrance. His thighs quaked slightly, and his head tipped back on a heavy, almost agonized groan as he impaled me on his shaft. My eyes slammed shut at the sensation. He was so thick, even as wet as I was I could feel the pinch of his width, and it buzzed like an electric current straight up my spine, sending sparks into my brain.

“Yes,” I said, more breath than sound, tightening my legs around him so the rough hair at his root abraded my clit. “Fuck me.”

“Come vuoi,” he grunted.

As you wish.

He pressed my shoulders back into the glass wall and pulled out of me to the tip, staring between our wet bodies at the broad expanse of his cock tucked just inside me.

“Hold on tight,” he gritted out between clenched teeth before he drove back inside me.

I was forced to obey, each thrust making me clench my thighs around his slick hips, tipping my own as much as I could to meet his drives. This was what I ached for when he was gone, when he was strong enough to ignore the chemistry that always crackled between us.

He wasn’t ignoring it now.

Fucking me brutally, biting at my neck and chest until I was sure I wore a necklace of bruises in the shape of his mouth.

When he nipped my earlobe and murmured, “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up with so much cum you’ll be leaking the whole day and thinking about me. Or should I make you wear a plug so you don’t lose a single drop?”

A rattling moan loosened from my lungs, and he ate it off my tongue.

“Fuck, I want to throw out those little pills you take and plant my seed inside you. Claim you the way a husband should claim his wife and get you sexy and round with my child.”

I hit my head against the glass, rocked by the pleasure those words ignited in my belly, turning the flames of arousal Dario had been nursing into a raging wildfire that scoured through every inch of my body, leaving me gasping for breath and feeling as if I would come out of my skin.

I swore viciously in Italian before he covered my mouth, tasting my orgasm as it moved through me, feeling the squeeze of my cunt as I milked him until he groaned down my throat and the hot kick of his cum released inside me.

He held me in the comedown, so close I could feel his thundering heart through his chest. Mindlessly, I stroked my fingers through his hair and tucked my face into his neck, liking the scratch of his stubble against my forehead. My tongue languidly tracked a path down his slowing pulse, but I frowned when I noticed a ridge of hardened skin under my caress.

“When did you get this scar?” I asked, pulling away and pushing his hair back so I could see the two inch-long raised, white mark. It was straight and precise as if made with a scalpel or blade.

And it was right over his carotid artery.

My scowl deepened. “I don’t remember this.”

Dario was still for a moment before he sighed wearily and put me on my feet. He turned away before I could see his face, stepping out of the shower to towel himself off. I hastened to follow, shutting off the water and yanking my towel from his hands even though it was already damp so he was forced to walk across the room to get another.

“Dario,” I insisted. “When did you get that? It looks like it was serious.”

“I have many scars,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand, and I noticed he wasn’t wearing his heavy square gold pendant around his neck. Instead, he wore an obsidian-and-gold ring on his right middle finger, something I saw him with only on the rare occasion.

Jokingly, I referred to it as his mood ring, if only in my own head.