I shatter with a cry, body convulsing around him, my walls pulsing as heat erupts through every nerve.

He follows seconds later, with a harsh groan and a final thrust.

He pulsates in me. His grip tightening, as he's spilling inside me, his body trembling against mine.

My pussy continues to slide down his still hard length, milking every last drop of his warm arousal.

He holds us still, both arms wrapping me up as the hot water pours over us. The waves of pleasure wash over us as his cum slowly trails down my thighs.

We stay like that for a moment, breathless, clinging, spent.

Then he gently turns me, brushing wet hair from my face. And our eyes lock.

He peppers me with soft kisses.

Wordless, he lathers soap in his hands and begins to wash me, my arms, my thighs, my aching core. His touch is achingly tender.

He presses a kiss to my collarbone. My chest. My shoulders.

And another to my temple.

Not because it’s part of the sex.

Because it’s him.

Because it’s us.

Later that night, Alessio’s breathing is slow and even beside me, one arm slung over my waist like I’m his anchor.

My muscles feel like melted wax, relaxed, spent, the kind of ache that comes from being thoroughly, unapologetically loved.The steam from the shower may be gone, but its imprint lingers in every bone-deep throb of satisfaction.

But my mind?

It won’t stop spinning.

I slip my phone off the nightstand, careful not to disturb him, and open my inbox. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe a PR update. A campaign thread. A meme from Halie.

Instead, there’s another email.

No subject. No name.

Just one line:

Let him go, before he breaks you.

I stare at the words, cold dread slicing through the afterglow.

My finger hovers over the delete button.

But I don’t press it.

Instead, I close my phone, tuck it under the pillow, and shift my gaze to Alessio.

He looks peaceful.

But all I can hear is that warning echoing in my head like a heartbeat.

What if it’s already too late?