Page 22 of Blood and Redemption

Now? Not so much.

The man above me isn’t just splitting me open—he’s carving his name into my ribs with every inch he has to give. Rocco. He doesn’t just hold my heart; he crushes it in his fist, owns the ragged pulse of it, until all my stupid fears shatter like glass beneath his hips.

One brutal stroke was all it took. My innocence, claimed. The future no longer scares me.

He’s exactly where I need him—my nails carving half-moons into his back as his hips roll against mine, each slow, deliberate thrust pulling a fresh wave of sensation from my oversensitive nerves.

Even after the aftershocks of my climax still tremble through me, heat licks up my spine again, relentless. My body arches, hips stuttering against his, while unfamiliar sounds tear from my throat—raw, pleading things I don’t recognize as my own.

It isn’t until I lock my legs around him, clinging like a vice, that he finally understands: I’m not just alright—I’m starving.

One moment, his thrusts are measured, restrained. The next, his rhythm shatters. His hips snap forward, driving into me with a roughness that steals my breath. A groan tears from his throat, raw and guttural, as his fingers dig bruises into my thighs.

“Look at me,” he grits out, but his own gaze is already hazy, unfocused.

I obey, watching him through my lashes.

Every thrust curls my toes as pleasure pools hotter, darker, coiling low in my belly. The stretch burns just enough to make me whimper, but the second he pauses—just to watch me squirm—I’m sobbing, hips jerking up, desperate for more.

“Are you always this greedy?” he asks in a growl against my throat, but he rewards me anyway, snapping his hips harder, knocking a broken moan from my lips. The rhythm turns ruthless, each snap of his pelvis hitting that sweet, swollen spot inside me until my vision blurs. I’m shaking, clinging, unraveling—

And still, he doesn’t stop. He won’t. Not until I’m sobbing his name, not until I’m split open and remade by the only man who knows how to ruin me this perfectly.

Finally, the loss of his rhythm gives me the chance to watch him come undone.

His release hits like a brand, molten heat spilling deep as his body locks against mine. But even as he pulses inside me, he doesn’t stop. His hips grind forward, deeper, like he’s trying to fuse us together. Like if he pushes hard enough, he can claimmore than just my body—my bones, my breath, the space behind my ribs where my heart hammers against his.

“Fuck—” His voice is wrecked, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he shudders. But his hands are still moving, dragging up my waist, palming my breasts, like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he stops touching me.

And then—

His fingers find my clit, rough and demanding.

“Come again,” he murmurs, lips against my sweat-slick skin. “I want to feel you milk every last drop.”

The command sends a shockwave through me. I’m already oversensitive, trembling, but the pressure of his touch is relentless. It builds too fast, too much—until my vision whites out and my back arches off the bed, a broken cry tearing from my lips as another orgasm rips through me.

Rocco growls, low and satisfied, as my body clenches around him. He’s still buried inside me, still rocking faintly, as if he can’t bear to pull away. As if even now, spent and breathless, he’s trying to plant himself deeper.

When he finally stills, his breath hot against my neck as we both fight to collect ourselves.

I lose count of the seconds as they turn to minutes before he slowly pulls out, refusing to go far as he collapses next to me.

Feeling like a wet noodle, I don’t have the strength to move anywhere but curl up at his side. He must be the same way as he lazily throws an arm around me.

I don’t feel like taking another shower, not now. Not while he’s so warm, and I’m exhausted. Just keeping my eyes open is a fight in itself.

“Tell me you’re not going to leave after all that,” I murmur against his chest as I snuggle closer.

Rocco laughs, his own exhaustion seeping through. “After that, angel, I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I’m going to startthinking about what kind of ring I’ll be getting for you. If you’re worried about Renato, don’t. I’ll get his blessing by the end of tomorrow.”

While he kisses my forehead, I try to register what he’s just said.

Rings are for marriages. Marriages are permanent.

Moving to sit up, I take in the curve of his smile. It feels like the first one I’ve ever seen on his face, and he’s so handsome, it’s not funny.

Thisguy could be my husband?

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