Page 94 of Blood Debt
Another inch of earth breaks away. I lean farther, feeling my own footing threaten to give, and my hand is just there—just within her reach. “Please…trust me.”
Her breath comes in ragged pulls. Then—finally—her fingers lift from the rock, shaking violently as she stretches toward me.
The moment her skin touches mine, I clamp down hard and yank. My other hand closes around her wrist, and I pull with everything I have. She scrapes against the edge, a cry tearing from her throat as the cliff fights to keep her.
And then—she’s in my arms, slamming into my chest so hard the breath leaves me. We collapse backward onto the grass, her small frame crushed against me as I wrap my arms around her like a vice.
She’s gasping, nails digging into my shirt, her heartbeat wild against my ribs. My own breath comes uneven, but I hold her tighter, burying my face in her wet hair. “I can’t lose you,” I murmur, over and over, the words raw in my throat. “I can’t lose you.”
Her sobs shake both of us, but I don’t let go—not for a second.
Chapter 23 – Serafina
Bellarosa Estate
Cristofano doesn’t put me down until we’re inside his room. I can still feel his heart hammering against my side. His arms are firm around me, but his hold is careful, as though I might shatter.
He sets me on the bed, and I notice the faint tremor in his hands before he turns away. The drawer of his nightstand screeches open. A small black case lands beside me, the sharp smell of antiseptic following as he flips it open.
“Does it hurt?” His voice is low, almost tentative.
I shake my head, though my elbow throbs from the impact. He crouches in front of me, dipping gauze into disinfectant, his gray eyes trained on my skin with a focus that’s almost…reverent. When the cold sting touches the scrape, I flinch, and his jaw tightens.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, softer now, as if the word might soothe the burn.
I watch him work—broad shoulders bent toward me, fingers steady as they secure the bandage. He’s not the man I’ve studied from a distance. Not the judge, the executioner, the ruthless Bellarosa heir. This version…this man is gentle. And it’s dangerous how much my heart notices.
I’d done it on purpose. The slip near the ledge. I wanted to see if he’d catch me. I wanted proof that my identity was still safe, and I wanted to know if he’d reach for me. I expected coldness. Indifference. I didn’t expect this.
His thumb brushes over my skin in a lingering pass. My pulse jumps. I hate the way my body leans into the touch. I hate the way my resolve trembles.
Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and press my lips to his.
He stills, shocked, the antiseptic-soaked gauze hanging forgotten in his hand. His eyes search mine, almost like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened.
“Make love to me,” I whisper, voice trembling.
He freezes. His jaw works, a flicker of something tight in his eyes, His hands twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to touch me and hold back at the same time.
I step closer, close enough to feel the heat of him, and slide my hands up his chest. His skin is warm under my palms, taut muscle shifting beneath. I grab the hem of his shirt and tug it upward. He catches my wrists for a second, eyes searching mine. I take the gauze and box from him and place them on the side table.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low, husky, like he’s not sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no.
“Yes,” I breathe, firmer this time. “More sure than anything.”
He lets go, and I pull his shirt over his head, baring his chest. My fingers skim across the hard lines of his pecs, down the ridges of his stomach. He’s beautiful—broad shoulders, strong arms, that trail of hair that dips below his waistband.
I sink to my knees in front of him, not breaking eye contact, and undo his pants. The zipper rasps loudly in the silence, and then I push them down, along with his briefs. Hiscock springs free, standing hard against his stomach. I draw in a sharp breath at the sight of it. My pussy throbs in response, slickness pooling between my thighs.
He shifts, uncertain, almost as if he wants to pull his pants back up. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I cut him off, my voice fierce. “I need you.”
I stand again, and this time it’s my turn. My hands go to the thin straps of my sundress, easing them down my shoulders. The fabric slips lower, baring the swell of my breasts, nipples already hard. His eyes drop to them, widening slightly, and I feel heat lick across my skin at the intensity of his gaze.
I push the gown lower, past my waist, letting it pool at my feet. I’m bare now, every inch of me exposed to him. My breasts rise and fall with each shallow breath, my stomach tightening under his hungry stare. I can feel how wet I am already, thighs damp, pussy aching for him.
He reaches out as if he can’t stop himself, his palm brushing the curve of my breast, thumb sliding over my nipple. The touch makes me shiver, a gasp escaping before I can bite it back. His other hand moves to my hip, holding me steady as though he’s grounding himself as much as me.
