Page 23 of Savage Vows

Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my neck, head to my room, and walk straight through to the bathroom.

I’m surrounded by polished stone and gleaming chrome. The expansive shower stall has multiple jets designed to soothe and relax. But I’m not here for comfort. I’m here for a release, a desperate attempt to purge Alessia from my system.

I turn the shower on full blast, then drop the towel and strip off my drenched clothes.

The cool water cascades down my body as I step inside. I brace one hand against the cool tile wall, and I wrap the other firmly around my thick cock. I’m already painfully hard.

I stroke myself slowly at first, my fist tightening as I imagine it’s her soft hand gripping me instead. I almost feel Alessia’s soft hands on me, her innocent touch exploring, learning, driving me wild.

My grip tightens, and I pump faster.

I picture her watching me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with desire, her lips parted, unable to look away. I think about her beautiful mouth, and how I want to fill it, claim it, make her admit that she wants to be mine and no one else’s.

I groan as fuck my hand.

My body tenses as pressure builds at the base of my spine. I’m close, so fucking close. But I need more. I needher.

I want her helpless on her knees before me, her hands tied behind her back, completely at my mercy, her delicate tongue darting out to lick the bead of precum from my tip. And I want her to keep her gaze locked on mine as she looks up, seeking approval.

The image shoots a jolt of pleasure through me, and I can’t hold back any longer.

With a final, savage stroke, I come hard, a guttural cry ripping from my throat.

My chest heaves as I fight to catch my breath.

The last shudders fade, but the orgasm wasn’t enough. Every part of me knows it was a hollow substitution for what I really need. Alessia. Under me. Surrendered to me. Completely, utterly, irrevocablymine.

My cock demands I stalk down the hall to claim her.

Her response to my kiss had been as real as my reaction to her.

She’ll give in to me; I have no doubt.

She’s my fiancée. Why wait for the honeymoon?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alessia

Mayfair, London

My mouth falls open as I stare at Chiara. She’s holding my satchel and purse, and there is a suitcase standing next to her. The sight of my belongings—my link to freedom, to the life I truly want to live—sends waves of conflicting emotions through me.

“The boss figured you’d want your personal effects.”

My throat tightens.

Part of me was scared I’d never see them again, and the fact he managed to procure everything is a small miracle.

My art supplies matter to me almost more than anything in the world, next to my wallet and passport. These aren’t just possessions—they’re pieces of the life I chose for myself, far from the darkness of my family’s world. His gesture blurs the lines between captivity and consideration, making it harder to hold onto my anger.

But the guard outside my room last night was a stark reminder of my reality. When I’d tried to go downstairs for adrink, he’d blocked my path. Another soldier had to bring tea to my room—a gilded prison, no matter how beautiful the cage.

“Breakfast is ready in the dining room,” Chiara says, her voice brisk but not unkind. “And we’ll be leaving for the airport in an hour.”

My pulse quickens. The airport? A flicker of hope mingles with dread. “Where are we going?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”

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