Page 314 of Rosetti Family New York
His scent fills my lungs, cologne mixed with sweat, adrenaline, and desperation. I try to speak, but he kisses the spot at my collarbone and my thoughts shatter into need.
“It broke something in me,” he continues, sliding his hands under my sweater to touch my skin. His fingers tremble despite his calm tone. “Made me into someone I didn’t recognize. Someone who would burn half of Europe just to know you were safe.”
I’m not afraid. Instead, heat pools between my legs, desire tangled with adrenaline. The antiseptic smell can’t hide my need in this close air.
“Good,” I manage. “I wanted you to break. Wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting.”
His hands freeze. His gray eyes darken like a winter storm. For a moment, I see vulnerability before his mask slides back on, colder than before.
“Is that right?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet, making every nerve in me tighten. “You wanted me to suffer?”
“Yes.” The confession comes out raw. “I wanted you to feel what it’s like to lose everything. To have your world torn apart by someone else’s choices.”
He stares at me, his expression shifting between hurt, understanding, and rage. The harsh fluorescent light carves shadows across his face, making him look like marble and malice. Then he snaps.
He spins me around and pushes me face-first against the door. My palms hit the cheap wood hard, stinging me. A splinter pokes my palm, drawing blood. His body presses behind me, all hard muscle and barely controlled violence, trapping me between him and the door.
The door is rough under my cheek, the painted wood scraping my skin. I feel him trembling with controlled fury, his breath harsh at my ear.
"You want me broken?" His breath is hot on my ear as his hands grip my wrists, pinning them above my head while the other slides around to cup my throat. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You succeeded."
The endearment sounds like a curse, making me arch despite the danger radiating from him. His heart pounds behind me, matching my own frantic rhythm.
"But here's what you didn't count on," he continues, lips brushing my ear. "Broken things don't play by the same rules. They don't have limits. They don't stop when they should."
His free hand slides down my body, finding the button of my jeans and working it open. The zipper's sound cuts through the small room, impossibly loud.
"Emilio," I breathe, not sure if it's protest or plea.
"No." His grip tightens on my throat—not enough to restrict breathing, but enough to show dominance. "You don't get to say my name like it means something. Not after what you put me through."
His hand slides inside my jeans, fingers finding wetness that betrays exactly how his dominance affects me. I can't stop the moan when he circles my clit with practiced skill, muscle memory guiding him to exactly what I need.
"Christ, you're soaked," he growls, satisfaction threading his voice. "Years of running, and you're dripping the moment I get my hands on you."
Two fingers slide inside without warning, and my back arches as pleasure spikes through me. He knows my body too well, remembers exactly how to touch me to make me lose control. The door groans under my weight as I lean into it, legs threatening to give out.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, fingers moving with merciless precision while his thumb works my clit. "When you left without a word, when you made me hunt you across continents, is this what you imagined? Me breaking you apart in some shitty motel room?"
I can't respond, struggling to breathe as he lifts me higher. The carpet is rough under my boots, the air heavy with stale cigarettes and fresh desire. Somewhere down the hall, a door slams, but it feels distant compared to the fire growing inside me.
"Answer me," he insists, fingers curling to hit the spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Yes," I gasp, honesty pulled from me by pleasure. "God, yes. I wanted this. Wanted you."
"Then take it." He pulls his fingers away, and I whimper at the loss. "But you take all of me, Mara. The obsession, the fury, the parts you broke when you left. You don’t get to pick and choose anymore."
I hear his zipper, the sound of fabric moving, and anticipation mixes with a darker need in my racing pulse. When he spreads my feet apart and positions himself behind me, I’m shaking with want.
"Last chance to run," he murmurs near my neck, and I feel him hard and ready at my entrance. For a moment, his voice cracks, showing the man beneath the predator. "Because once I'm inside you, I'm never letting you go again."
Holy hell. Violence and desire mix in my chest, inseparable. Desire tightens low in my belly. "I'm done running," I whisper, meaning it more than anything before.
He enters me in one fierce thrust that knocks the air from my lungs and makes me cry out. The sound echoes off thin walls, shameless and raw. For a moment, we're both still, adjustingto the connection. He's larger than I remember, or maybe I've forgotten what it feels like to be filled so completely.
"Christ," he breathes near my neck, words strained between pleasure and pain. His whole body shudders, and I feel his forehead drop between my shoulder blades. For just an instant, the predator mask slips, leaving only a man overwhelmed by finally having what he's hunted so long. "I'd forgotten..."
"What?" I manage, though speaking around the overwhelming fullness is nearly impossible.
