Page 62 of Rosetti Family New York
“Eleanor,” I say, because it’s the only word I know right now. She arches against me, and I lose myself all over again.
Her hand slips into my pants, fingers wrapping around my cock, and I swear I’ll die. Her touch is everything. Heat blazes through me, and I yank her closer, desperate and raw. “Fuck, I need you.” My mouth is on her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. She’s moaning, clutching at my hair, pulling me down and urging me on.
She’s going to undo me.
I slide a hand down her stomach, into her panties. She’s so wet, so ready, and I almost lose my mind. I thought I could hold out, go slow, but there’s no way in hell. Not with her like this, breathless and needy, saying my name like a plea, a promise. I get rid of the last scraps of clothing between us, and her skin isagainst mine, warm and electric. She’s the only thing I can feel, the only thing I want to feel.
I kiss my way down her body, take my time with her. Her legs tremble as I spread her open, as my tongue finds her clit. She cries out, back arching, and it’s the best fucking sound in the world. She tastes incredible, sweet and fierce, and I want to drown in her. My hands hold her thighs, and I lick and suck until she’s gasping, until she’s begging me not to stop. She comes, wild and hard, and I drink in every shudder.
“Leo,” she breathes, wrecked and beautiful. “Please.”
I can’t take any more. I need her now.
I move over her, kissing her hard as I slide into her. Her legs wrap around me again, and she clings to me. I thrust into her, deep and rough, and we both come undone. Her fingers dig into my back, and I think this is what dying feels like. She meets me stroke for stroke, frantic and perfect. She’s the only thing in my world, in my head, and I’m too far gone to ever come back.
We roll, and she straddles me. She takes control, and the sensation is fucking unreal. I grab her hips, pull her down, watching as she rides me, as she takes everything I have and more. She’s fierce, breathtaking, everything I’ve ever wanted. Her hair spills around her shoulders, wild and loose. Her eyes are bright, so alive, and I don’t look away. I can’t. I’m losing it. I’m lost.
I push up, driving into her. I can tell she’s close again, can feel it in the way she shivers.
“Look at me,” I say, and it’s not a request. “Come for me.”
I roll us over one last time, pin her beneath me, thrusting hard and deep until there’s nothing left of either of us. Until we’re raw and wrecked and whole. She comes with a shout, and I follow, burying myself in her. I collapse against her, both of us breathing like we’ve just run miles, like we’re still running.
She’s going to be the death of me. And I fucking love it.
33
Eleanor
I’m out of bed before the sun, leaving my tangled sheets and Leo’s steady breathing behind. His touch lingers on my skin, even now. I tighten my robe, step out onto the terrace, and feel the cold sting of morning air, sweet and sharp as lemonade. I drink it in, breath after breath. Manhattan wakes in the distance, but here, it’s silent, the world pared down to whispers. Pale light pools around me.
I stand and watch the sky bleed pink and gold and tell myself,It’s mine. All of it. Even the parts I thought I didn’t want. When Leo joins me outside, he’s shirtless, the bruises from last week’s fight at the Albanian warehouse blooming like dark flowers, and overlaid with more recent ones from the fighting ring.
His hair is wild, catching the dawn’s light like fire. I take him in, every line of him. The tight muscles in his shoulders and the tattoos curling up his arms. The breath on my lips turns shaky, warm against the cool morning. I love him, I think, and the thought lands with more force than I expect. The sky opens, gold spilling across the gray, and I open too, heart pounding.
Leo sees me and smiles, that unfiltered grin. “You’re up early,” he says, accusing and teasing at the same time. I take a step toward him, my eyes on the bruise shadowing his ribs. I can still hear Domenico’s words from the fighting ring:Let him fight, Eleanor. It’s in his blood.
I hated it then, the way his family spoke about him like he was some animal, born for violence and nothing more. Now I see the way Leo stands there, bruised and alive, and I know they were right in a way. He will do anything to protect me, and to protect Juliet. Now I love him for it.
“You can’t sleep either?” he says.
“Too much on my mind,” I tell him.
He gives me a look like he’s about to ask what, but then I don’t give him the chance. “I love you,” I say. His smile vanishes, but it’s not shock that moves across his face, not like I expect. It’s satisfaction. Like he’s been waiting to hear it all along. He doesn’t speak. He moves toward me, quick, one hand closing around my waist and pulling me against him. The kiss is warm, tastes like his skin, his sweat, and the coffee he’s already had.
I don’t resist it. I don’t resist any of it. His hands slip up my arms, pushing the robe away from my shoulders, and then he’s pulling back, looking at me, pressing something into my palm. A ring, I realize, silver and gleaming. The Rosetti crest is etched into the face.
“You’re serious,” I say.
He shrugs, careless. “Try it on.”
I do, but it’s too loose for my finger. “I’ll have to resize it.”
“It’s not a collar,” he tells me. “It’s just what I’ve been trying to say all along. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
I turn my hand over, inspecting the ring from all angles. “We’re already married,” I say.
“But now you’re a proper Rosetti. Not just by marriage. By blood and soul.”
