Page 92 of Crown of Blood

Instead, my hands find his shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle. I kiss him back with equal violence, equal need.

When he finally breaks away, we're both breathing hard, rage and desire mingling in the scant space between us.

"You see?" he says, voice rough. "You can't leave because you don't want to. You're as fucked up as I am. As twisted. As broken."

"No," I shake my head, tears burning behind my eyes. "I saw what you did to that man. I heard what Matteo said about your father. This world—your world—it's poison."

"It's reality," he corrects, one hand sliding to my throat. "And you've already tasted too much of it to go back to ignorance."

His other hand finds the tie of my robe, pulling it loose with a single tug. The silk parts, exposing my naked body to his gaze, to the cool night air of the cottage that was supposed to be my haven.

"If you truly want to leave," he says, fingers trailing down my sternum to the mark he carved above my heart, "I won't stop you. Same choice I gave you that first night. Take the money in that bag and disappear. Or stay, stop your fucking games and be mine completely."

"You'd let me go?" I can't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"I'd find you eventually," he admits, brutally honest. "But yes, I'd let you walk out that door right now. You always had a choice. And that remains true, even now."

His fingers trace the healing cuts on my breast, sending shivers through me despite everything.

"But first, let me remind you what you'd be leaving behind."

His hands are everywhere at once, rough and demanding as he lifts me against the wall. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, body responding to his touch with a readiness that shames me.

"Look at you," he murmurs against my throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "So scared, yet still so eager for the monster. You're wet for the man you're trying to escape."

I close my eyes, unable to face the truth of his words as his fingers find me, already slick and aching despite my fear, my anger, my decision to flee.

"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm begging him to stop or continue.

"Tell me you don't want this," he challenges, voice rough against my ear as his fingers slide inside me, curling against the walls that grip his touch so tight. "Tell me you don't need it as much as I do."

I can't lie to him. Not about this. Not when my body is betraying me so completely, clenching around his fingers, hips rocking against his hand.

"That's what I thought," he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching, only to replace them with the thick head of his cock. "Remember this feeling, Mrs. Ravelli. Remember who you belong to."

He enters me in one brutal thrust, filling me completely, the burn and stretch making me cry out. There's no gentleness in this claiming, no restraint. Just raw possession as he fucks me against the wall of the abandoned cottage, each thrust a punishment and a reminder.

"You think you can run from this?" he growls, hips snapping against mine as the palm of his hand lands on my ass with bruising force. "You think you can find this anywhere else?"

His hand finds my throat again, applying just enough pressure to make my pulse race, to remind me of his absolute control.

"No," I gasp, the word torn from somewhere deep and honest. "Only you."

Something shifts in his expression—triumph, perhaps, or something deeper, more complex. He adjusts his angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

"Come for me," he commands, fingers sliding between us to circle my clit. "Show me what only I can give you."

My body obeys without hesitation, pleasure crashing through me in violent waves as I shatter around him. My nails rake down his back, drawing blood that could well mingle with that of the man he tortured hours earlier.

The thought should horrify me. Instead, it sends another spike of dark pleasure through my core.

He follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, spilling inside me, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.

As we slide to the floor, still joined, still trembling with aftershocks, I feel something wet on my face. Tears. I'm crying, though I couldn't say why exactly—fear, release, revelation, all tangled together into something I can't name.

Luca's arms come around me, gentler now, cradling me against his chest as I break apart in his embrace.

"I know what I am," he says softly against my hair. "I've never pretended to be anything else. The man you saw tonight—that's part of me. The darkness is real, my love."

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