Page 52 of Shattered Engagement

I close my eyes, allowing myself to imagine it—a life beyond these gilded cages, beyond family legacies and blood debts. A life where I’m not the De Angelis princess or the Calviño bride, but simply Isadora. A woman who makes her own choices.

“We could go to the coast,” Stefano murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that leave fire in their wake. “I have a house in Amalfi that no one knows about. Wake up to the sound of waves instead of threats.”

The image is so beautiful it makes my chest ache. “I want that,” I admit, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. “I want you. But—”

“No buts,” he interrupts, his hand sliding to cup my cheek. “Just yes or no. Tonight. We leave everything behind and start new.”

His intensity is magnetic, his certainty contagious. For a moment, I allow myself to believe it could be that simple—that we could outrun our pasts, our families, the blood in our veins.

“If we leave,” I say slowly, “we never come back. We can never see Maria again. Or my parents. We’d live looking over our shoulders forever.”

He nods, understanding the weight of what he’s asking. “It’s not freedom from consequences,principessa. It’s the freedom to choose our own fate, rather than accept the one written for us.”

The way he says it—like it’s the most natural thing in the world to walk away from everything we’ve ever known—makes me wonder if I’m the crazy one for hesitating.

I lean closer, drawn to him like gravity, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly blazes into something more desperate, more consuming. His hands tangle in my hair, cradling my head as if I’m something precious, even as his mouth claims mine with the hunger of a man starving.

Right now, I cannot—will not—think about the answer. Right now, I only want him. Inside me.

I climb on him, straddling him, my dress pooling around my hips. His breath catches, and he mutters a curse that sounds suspiciously like an endearment.

“Wait,” he tries to protest. “Isadora—”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I cut him off, lifting my dress high enough to give him access.

The shock in his eyes only lasts a split second before lust wins out. His hand moves to the seat lever, reclining us both. Between my thighs, I feel him harden against me, straining against the confines of tailored slacks. He shifts just enough to unzip his fly, unleashing his impressive length. When his fingers brush against the already-damp lace of my panties, he groans, burying his face in my neck to muffle the sound.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me,” he hisses, fingers dipping below the fabric to stroke bare skin.

“Always.” It’s the only word I can form before his fingers find my clit, turning thought into sensation.

Pleasure builds as he presses against me, his thumb in constant motion, those cunning fingers relentlessly driving me higher. In seconds, I’m balanced on the knife’s edge, desperate to fall, barely restrained by the flimsy cloth separating us.

“Stefano, please...” I grind against his fingers, needing more friction, more pressure. “I need you inside me.”

He’s the only one who can answer my plea. The only one who can fill the emptiness inside me.

“Your wish is my command, princi—” The words die in his throat as I grip his erection, my hands shaking with desperation. “Fuck,principessa.”

“Now,” I beg, stroking the full length of him, my thumb finding the slick drop at his tip. “Fast and hard and urgent.”

“Gladly.”

With my dress bunched around my waist, he slides my panties to the side, placing himself at my entrance. He’s big and unyielding—everything I need, everything I crave, especially now, when anxiety has me coiled tighter than a spring.

His hands grip my hips, lifting me as his lips find the side of my neck. Slowly, agonizingly, he lowers me onto his cock, sheathing himself entirely inside me, groaning with pleasure at how perfectly we fit together. I bite back a gasp at his size, my pussy clenching instinctively around him.

“God, you feel incredible,” he mutters, teeth grazing my sensitive skin. “I’m crazy about you.”

The words steal my breath more effectively than his penetration. Before I can respond, he withdraws slightly, then snaps his hips upward, driving his full length back inside me in a thrust that leaves me lightheaded with pleasure.

I moan, shifting to adjust to him inside me, but he’s done letting me lead. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, marking me, holding me captive as he claims me. But unlike the bruises Luca’s left, Stefano’s are a testament to passion rather than possession. A record of the pleasure we bring each other, the fire we kindle in each other’s veins.

“Stefano,” I pant, needing something—pleasure, pain, ecstasy. All of it. “More.”

He gives me more. More strength, more depth, more of his beautifully perfect length, deeper, harder, deeper, harder, chasing the release we both need. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, keeping me in place for him to pound into again and again and again, deeper, harder, faster, sending sparks through me, building the pleasure too fast, too dangerous, too inevitable.

Before I can catch my breath, my orgasm crashes through me. Wave after wave of pure physical bliss, coming undone around his cock, shuddering, shattering, clinging to him like a life raft as I float to the surface once more.

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