Page 9 of Shattered Engagement

“Ask me properly,” I say, feeling the pleasure pool low in my body as she writhes beneath my fingers.

Her eyelids flutter, too caught up in sensation to be embarrassed. “Please. Please, touch me. Make me feel something.”

I growl in the back of my throat, ignoring the voice in my mind telling me I’m already in too deep. “Touch you how,principessa? Like this?”

I rub her through her panties, groaning as I discover her already soaked for me.

“Oh, yes,” she gasps, eyes rolling back in her head.

My control snaps.

I move us toward the counter beside the sink, picking her up and settling her on the cold marble. She spreads her legs, and in one swift motion, I rip off her panties, the expensive lace barely a barrier as the fabric shreds.

For a moment, I watch her—back arched, naked, a high flush staining her cheeks. She has the look of a fallen goddess. Mine.

Then I drop to my knees before her, pressing her thighs apart with rough hands, and she can only gasp my name—my fake name, the name she’ll remember when I’m gone from her life. But I don’t care. In this moment, my mission, the real Alessio, they cease to exist. The world narrows to this: her taste, her scent, her sounds as I stroke her with my tongue.

I tease her clit, circling the bundle of nerves, stopping whenever her thighs start to shake. Each time, she glares at me through hooded eyes. Only when I sink two fingers into her tight heat, continuing the rhythm with my tongue, does her annoyance melt into pleasure.

“Yes,” she pants. “Oh, yes, like that. Please, don’t stop!”

Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me to her as if she thinks I might pull away again. As if I could leave her like this. Her moans are music, each gasp a prayer. And as I feel her tighten, her thighs trembling, hear the sweet sound of her orgasm rip through her, I know nothing else will ever sound quite so beautiful.

I rise, allowing her to taste herself on my tongue as I kiss her, slow and deep. Her arms wrap around me, clinging as I continue to tease her, winding her up again.

When her hips begin to thrust against my hand, begging for more, I pull back slightly.

“I need you,” I tell her. A simple statement of truth, spoken like a curse.

She nods, and I see the same understanding in her eyes. This isn’t something either of us was expecting, but neither of us can fight it.

Without speaking, I pull out protection from my wallet and shed the rest of my clothes. Then I slowly sink into her, each moment suspended in time. Her body opens for me, welcoming, and we groan in unison as we fully join.

“Are you okay?” I murmur, sweat beading at my temple as I hold myself back. She feels like velvet and fire, like heaven and hell all wrapped into one impossible woman. If I had to pick my final moment, I’d choose this.

“So good.” She leans forward, resting her forehead on my shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

I brace my arms on either side of the counter and begin moving. Slowly at first, then harder, deeper, her pleas echoing off the tiles around us. One hand fists in my hair, pulling with just the right amount of pain. The other grips my shoulder, fingertips pressing into old scars and new heat.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, her breasts dragging against my chest with every thrust. Her body meets mine with an intensity that makes my vision go dark at the edges. She’s wild beneath me—a storm, a flame, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that contains desperation and darkness, bordering on violence.

She’s destruction personified.

And when her inner walls begin to clench around me, her second release ripping through her, I wonder what she’s done to me. What madness this passion has awakened. I have always been known as controlled, restrained, a ghost until the moment of attack.

But with her, I am falling apart, and I can only hope I’ll be able to put myself back together.

She sobs my name, fingernails biting into my skin, and that’s all I can take. I follow her over the edge, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Time shatters around us. Sounds fall away, leaving only our ragged breathing.

Slowly, too slowly, the world begins to reassert itself. The air is cool against my bare back, the silence filled only by the distant bass beat of the club. I focus on her—on the rose petal texture of her skin beneath my fingers, the lingering touch of her mouth on mine, the green eyes holding my gaze.

For a moment, the world sharpens back into focus. I am Alessio. I have a purpose. A goal. Tonight was only meant to be a distraction, an interlude between acts.

So why do I not want to move? Why does my heartbeat seem too loud in my ears? Why does the thought of walking away make my chest ache?

We stand entwined, her legs still wrapped around my waist, my forehead pressed against hers as our breathing steadies. I should feel satisfied, my body certainly is, but something unexpected lingers—a reluctance to let this moment end.

Carefully, I pull out of her and ease her down, keeping a supportive arm around her waist when she sways slightly. Her hair is wild around her face, her lips swollen from my kisses, and her cheeks flushed. She’s never looked more beautiful.

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