Page 38 of Shattered Engagement

Pain flashes across his features at the mention of his mother, raw and real in a way few people ever get to see. This is Stefano, not Alessio—the man beneath the enforcer’s mask.

“Thank you,” I say softly, “for what you did tonight. For stepping between us.”

“Don’t thank me for that.” His voice roughens. “I should’ve done more.”

“You risked blowing your cover to protect me. That’s enough.”

His hands move to my waist, holding me steady, solid and warm against the chill that’s followed me since the gala. “It’s never enough.” The words ghost across my skin, raising goosebumps of anticipation. “Not when it comes to you.”

The admission hangs between us, charged with everything we’ve been fighting since that night in the club bathroom. Desire, yes, but something more dangerous—something that feels disturbingly like hope.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, even as his hands tighten possessively on my waist. “Not here. Not with everyone under this roof.”

“I don’t care,” I tell him, stepping closer until our bodies press together. The heat of him burns through my silk nightdress. “I’m tired of being careful. Tired of playing by their rules. I need you.”

His pupils dilate, darkening those amber eyes. “Fifteen minutes on the security loop isn’t enough time for what I want to do to you,” he warns, voice dropping to a register that makes heat pool between my thighs.

“Then we’ll be quick,” I challenge, tilting my face up to his. “Unless you’re not up to the task.”

The taunt breaches his control. With a growl that sends shivers down my spine, Stefano claims my mouth, hands tangling in my hair. The kiss is nothing like the calculated intimacy we’ve shared before—this is raw, primal, a claiming. I match his hunger, nails digging into the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” I confess against his mouth. “Watching you at the gala, the way you looked at me across the room while Luca’s hand was on me—”

“Don’t say his name,” Stefano growls, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist, the thin silk of my nightdress riding up my thighs. “Not here. Not now.”

He carries me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that contradicts the hunger in his eyes. Standing over me, he looks like something from a dream—or perhaps a nightmare, for those who’ve faced him as an enemy. Scars map his torso, telling stories of violence and survival. I want to trace each one with my tongue, learn their history, honor the boy who became this warrior.

“You’re sure?” he asks, giving me one last chance to retreat.

In answer, I reach for the hem of my nightdress and pull it over my head in one fluid motion, leaving me bare beneath his gaze. His sharp intake of breath is all the validation I need.

“Come here,” I whisper, holding out my hand to him.

He obeys, crawling over me with predatory grace. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, voice rough as his hands trace the curves of my body. “How hard it is to keep my distance, to pretend I don’t want to claim you every time I see you?”

“Then don’t pretend,” I challenge, arching into his touch. “Show me.”

His mouth closes around a sensitive nipple, teeth grazing the peak. I moan in response, fingers weaving into his hair. Each soft bite drives me higher, my hips grinding against the bulge in his pajama pants. The pleasure bordering on pain reminds me of the danger he can wield, the violence he’s capable of. Yet instead of fear, a rush of arousal surges through my veins.

“We only have fifteen minutes,” he purrs against my skin. “I’ll have to remember to take my time another day.”

He catches my other nipple between his teeth as his fingers slide along the inside of my thighs, teasing.

“I need to feel you,” I groan, my hips thrusting into his hand.

“Be careful what you ask for,principessa,”he warns, nipping his way down my belly. “I’m not always gentle.”

“I’m counting on that.”

The breathless admission earns a wicked grin. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, exposing me fully. When his mouth closes around my clit, the world spins. I grip the sheets to anchor myself, my hips rocking against the delicious pleasure building beneath his tongue. With expert skill, he brings me right to the edge, drawing back at the last second.

I want to grab him, to force him closer, but the dark, demanding gleam in his eyes dares me not to. So, I lay there, trembling with desire and impatience, a helpless goddess pinned beneath his worship.

“Alessio,” I plead, using his alias.

“It’s Stefano,” he corrects, lifting one finger and sliding it into my slick depths.

I let out a guttural sound that draws a dark smile. “That’s better,” he says, adding a second finger.

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