A sparring session has never left me a boneless heap on the floor before, but I like it. Satisfaction flows through my soul. None of my attempts at self-soothing have been half as effective as beating on the massive male who kidnapped me and threatened my sister.
He let me hit him pretty hard without complaining. Most of the men I spar with at the gym always whine that my punches hurt so much more only because my fists are so small, but I know it’s just them being pussies. Ermanno Mancini doesn’t have an ounce of femininity in him. He’s all male with rock-hard muscles for days and overwhelming strength.
I want to think he didn’t hold back, but I’m not that egotistical or delusional. He offered me a service and, fuck, he delivered.
If he were to stalk back in here glistening with sweat and his muscles pumped from overpowering me, I’d go belly up. Ankles behind my ears. Hell, I’d probably get on my knees and beg him to let me suck him off.
My core clenches. I’ve never given head before, but with him, the experience might be so overwhelming I orgasm just from watching him find pleasure in my mouth.
Wow. I’ve lost my mind. He stole it.
Ermanno Mancini stole my heart and my mind.
I scoff and shake my head, but tears trail down my temples and sobs wrack my chest.
Alone and sprawled out on my apartment floor like so many times before, I can’t help but notice the stark changes deep within me all because a ruthless mafia man barged into my life yesterday.
Was it only yesterday? What the hell is wrong with me?
I drape my arm over my face but can’t stop crying, so I ride the wave of emotions, expecting them to wane any second, but the storm never abates.
Strong arms lift me off the floor and cradle me against a broad chest. My torrent of tears worsens. I cover my face with my hands, mortified over my lack of control but unable to stop, and tuck my face against his shoulder.
He smells too good. Without his normal cologne and after using my fragrance-free soap for sensitive skin, he smells clean and masculine. Very masculine.
I stink. Even through my snot and tears, my stench invades my nostrils.
He sets me on the bench in the shower and pulls the detachable showerhead off the holder before adjusting the temperature and slipping it into the handle built into the bench.
The door shuts. I peek through my fingers and sob harder as I confirm he left me alone in the shower. With limbs made of jelly and emotions pouring from my eyes, I strip and wash from top to bottom. By the time I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, sobs no longer wrack my chest. As I stand and rise on tiptoe to place the showerhead back in its top holder, tears no longer trail down my face. After I dry off my hands and face, I step out onto the bathmat and grab some toilet paper to clear my nose and end my pathetic sniffling before drying the rest of my body.
Belatedly realizing I don’t have a set of clothes to change into, I wrap the towel under my arms and peek out through a crack in the door.
I jump when Ermanno’s bare chest fills my vision, but he offers me the pajamas I left at the top of my clean pile in my closet.
“Thanks,” I croak through a sore throat as I take them.
He nods and pulls the door closed. I fumble a few times as I pull on the baggy long-sleeved shirt and fluffy pants. The dog and pizza pattern is absolutely ridiculous, and the orange and green colors shouldn’t work together, but the moment I saw it, I knew I needed a pair.
Which is why this set is three sizes too big.
I cinch the drawstring of the pants tight and tie it, but lose patience when the sleeves refuse to cooperate after the third time I try to roll them. I huff, bunch them onto my shoulders, and finish my facial skincare routine to give my emotions more time to settle.
When I open the door, Ermanno is right there. I fiddle with the door handle and look everywhere except at him as I gather my thoughts. After a deep breath laced with masculine pheromones, I meet his eyes and nearly melt through the floor from the soft, loving expression written on his rugged, handsome face.
After I killed my mother, I never thought anyone would look at me like that again.
It’s because he doesn’t know. The moment he finds out I’m the reason my mother died, he’ll hate me too, just like everyone else.
I’m too emotionally exhausted to cry again. A strange numbness falls over me. I fill my lungs with a bland breath and meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
The softness leaves his expression. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“For what?” he asks.
“For crying all over you,” I say.
He smirks and leans closer, looming over me in the doorway.
“Baby, you can use my shoulder however you need it. Cry, bite, scratch, hit. It’s all yours,” he says.
My stomach flips. With a few words, he breaks the ice infecting my veins, shattering my numbness, but nausea grips me as I imagine his expression when he learns the truth.
He cups my face and moves closer.
“If you’re that concerned, you can kiss it better,” he murmurs.
The rumble of his voice and the hunger in his eyes reawaken my lust.
I shake my head. He sighs, drops a closed-mouth kiss to my forehead, and pulls me out of the bathroom by my nape.
With fatigue weighing down my limbs, I follow him into the kitchen and blink in disbelief at the plates of food sitting on the counter. Ermanno leads me to the nearest bar stool and guides me onto it as though I’m an invalid.
No, not like an invalid. Like a precious, fragile doll in need of protection. After the sparring session we just shared, it’s ridiculous.
And undeniably sweet.
I study his face as he pulls the plates closer and asks me what I want.
I want you, Ermanno. Not just for today. For forever.
The tears I thought were all dried up scratch at the back of my eyes. I clear my throat and look down at the food.
Sausage, eggs, fried potatoes, sautéed spinach, oatmeal with blueberries on top, and strawberry yogurt all sit within reach.
Even though I bought the ingredients, the meal looks foreign and exotic as a spread. Probably just because Ermanno laid it out for me.
I reach for the oatmeal. My fingers tremble from the weight of Ermanno’s eyes as he studies my every move. I fill my plate, taking a small amount from each dish, and wish it would always stay this way: overflowing with his care and devotion.
He called me his amore mio and now he’s proving it. It’s stupid. It makes no sense. We haven’t known each other for a full day yet, so declarations of love can’t hold so much depth.
Except my heart throbs with the same beat.
We eat in silence.
A deep sadness rises from the shrunken black hole in my chest. It grows with every bite I take. As I eat his carefully prepared meal, more of my plate shows, and visions of me in the kitchen alone fill my mind. I’ve spent countless evenings eating alone. Once he finds out I killed my own mother, I’ll be alone again.
I set my fork down.
“You need more calories. Keep eating,” Ermanno demands.
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. My sleeve slips off my shoulder.
He presses his fork to my lips. I hesitate, but he narrows his eyes in warning, so I accept the bite. He sets down his fork and swivels me toward him before lifting my arm and placing my hand on his thigh.
My mouth waters. I watch in dumbfounded delight as he rolls my sleeve. His scarred and tatted hands hold so much strength, but he uses them with such gentleness.
My eyes wander to his chest and shoulders. The mix of scars, tattoos, bruises, and red patches from our sparring session fill me with longing.
He shovels another bite into my mouth before rolling my other sleeve.
I chew, swallow, and slip off the stool before he can offer me another bite.
He gives me a warning look.
“Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” I promise.
My love for him grows when he stays on the barstool as I walk away. Despite his need for control, he gives me the space I need, even though he doesn’t know where I’m going or why.
I grab the first aid kit from the bathroom and set it on the counter beside my plate.
He moves faster than I can process, weaving his hand into my hair and pulling me against him with his powerful arm.
“Where are you hurt?” he growls.
I shake my head. He pulls my hair, exposing my throat, and growls as he crowds me against the counter. I grab his wrist when he curls his fingers into my collar.
“I’m not hurt! It’s not for me. It’s for you,” I say.
He stills and meets my eyes.
“Let me treat your injuries,” I demand.
After an intense study of my face, he shakes his head.
“These are old scars. They’re beyond help,” he says.
I scoff and pinch the reddened flesh of his pectoral where my knuckles left clear marks. His eyes darken and he hisses as he pulls my neckline aside to expose my collarbone.
“Not your scars,” I say as I pinch harder. “These are the areas I need to soothe. I hurt you.”
He twists his hand in my hair and asks, “You don’t care about my scars?”
I shrug.
“I have my own, remember?” I quip.
“That’s not the same. I earned mine through violence,” he says.
“I know. It’s okay.”
By the wonder creeping into his slate-grey eyes, he understands the hidden meaning behind my words.
I don’t care. I love you.
I take the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life, wrap my hands around his nape, and pull his lips down to mine.
Relief spears through me when he leans down and devours my mouth like a starving man at a feast.
Just once. Even if it’s just once, I want to know what it feels like to be adored and worshipped. Even if it’s rough, raw, and terrifying, I want it. I want him as lost and desperate as I am.
His tongue explores every inch of my mouth, stroking and flicking until each sensation spears down my spine and echoes in every erogenous zone in my body. When he pulls back, I sink my nails into his nape and dive into his mouth with all the fervor he used to invade mine. His low groan vibrates deep into my soul and melts my bones. Magma bubbles in my core. I lick his teeth and nip his bottom lip before rising onto my tiptoes, wrapping my arms more firmly around his nape, and demanding deeper access into his mouth.
He obliges with a low, throaty moan. I rub my breasts on his chest, curl my tongue along the roof of his mouth, and hook my leg around his hip. He grabs my ass and twists his hand in my hair.
I whimper when he pulls his lips away from mine and forces my head back.
“Mio Dio, you’re testing my control. I thought you were going to treat my wounds, not eat me alive,” he growls.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, enjoying his lingering taste, and drop my hungry eyes to his broad shoulders.
“I’m treating your wounds, but… maybe next time?”
My breathy voice should embarrass me, but the lust in his eyes encourages me to give him everything.
“Anytime, gattina. I’ll always be ready for you,” he murmurs.
“Promise?”
I shouldn’t ask, not when I know he’ll change his mind the moment he learns the truth, but I need the words even if they aren’t true.
He tightens his fist in my hair, nips my chin, and digs his fingers into my ass.
“For you? Always,” he whispers against my throat.
“Kiss me,” I half plead, half demand.
He growls, closes his mouth over my jugular, and sucks. Pressure builds in my core. Wetness slips down my inner thighs and soaks into my loose pajama bottoms.
I spear my fingers into his hair, tilt my hips, and give myself to him. He sucks harder. I grind my pussy against him and moan.
He lifts his head and speaks with his breath and lips ghosting over my throat.
“Are you sure you know what you’re asking for, gattina?”
I nod and scratch my nails over his scalp. His hand tightens painfully in my hair.
“If I taste your lips again, I won’t be able to stop, no matter how hard you hiss and claw at me,” he growls.
“Don’t worry, il mio sovrano. I’ll blame you if I can’t handle it,” I gasp, throwing his words from before our sparring session back at him.
His lips tilt in a smirk against my throat.
“Fuck, Loretta, you’re so goddamn perfect. Keep fighting me. I need more,” he murmurs.
I sink my nails into his back and tug him closer.
He snarls and takes my mouth in a hungry, drugging kiss. I hang on for dear life as he releases my ass, knocks the plates off the counter, and lays me out in their stead. Our tongues duel until he peels his lips away and trails stinging kisses down the side of my throat. I roam my hands over his shoulders, arms, and chest. He’s so big. So hard.
Everywhere.
He growls and sucks on my collarbone as I wrap my fingers around his clad cock.
I might not survive, but I’ll take every inch of him inside me. Somehow. Maybe.
He grabs my wrists and pins them against the counter above my head. I wrap both legs around him and wriggle. His snarl arrows deep into my chest. He transfers my wrists to one hand and yanks my lapel. Buttons skitter across the counter and patter onto the floor. Cool air wafts over my chest.
He closes his hot, wet mouth over my right breast and laves my nipple with his tongue. Lightning arcs through me. My toes curl. Pressure builds in my core. He moans and shifts his attention to my left breast.
Need throbs between my legs. I tug my arms, so close to the most intense orgasm of my life a gentle stroke of my finger will send me over the edge, but he tightens his grip and curls his tongue around my nipple.
I gasp and arch my back. He swirls around my nipple before increasing the suction of his mouth and pulling his head back. My breast lifts. I squeak as pleasure and pain morph into a glorious abomination of sensation.
I never want it to end, but it’s too much.
My breast pops free of his mouth. I hiss and fight to free my arms, but he chuckles and nuzzles my sternum before licking his way down to my stomach.
I whine as he pulls his hips away from mine, but he presses the hard planes of his chest against my pussy and wraps my legs around his ribs.
My breath hitches when he traces his tongue around the scar on my upper right abdomen. When he sheathes his teeth with his lips and nips along the line, tears clog my throat.
I haven’t told him when or how I got my scars, but the reverence in his tongue as he skims along the long crescent in the lower left quarter of my abdomen steals my breath.
He releases my wrists and yanks my pajama bottoms off my legs before bending me in half and pinning my knees against my shoulders. I snarl and fill my fists with his hair.
Feral hunger fills his eyes as he studies my pussy. Fear skitters along my spine.
Even though I encouraged this, I feel like cornered prey. He’s terrifying. Handsome. Intense.
Mine.
He seals his mouth over my entire sex.
I open my mouth on a silent scream as he consumes me. With a few ruthless swipes of his tongue, he releases the dam of pleasure within me. I clamp down in an all-consuming orgasm. No toy has ever worked me to completion so quickly. My head reels.
I suck down a breath and unclench my muscles, only to let out a pathetic squeak and lose myself in another whirlwind of pleasure as he focuses on my clit.
My insides tremble when he lifts his head and blows cool air over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“No. Stop.”
I don’t know what I’m asking for. One of my hands pulls his head closer while the other pushes him away. His diabolical smirk and glistening chin have me teetering on the edge of another release.
Sweat drips down my sides.
He pins my knees to my chest with his forearm and uses his free hand to pull back my clit hood.
The air conditioning hums. Wicked mirth glints in his grey eyes.
“Scratch me like you mean it, gattina. I deserve it for what I’m about to do to you,” he growls.
I forget how to breathe when he dips his head and blows a teasing breath over my exposed clit. He holds my gaze with his as he sticks out his tongue. With the barest flick, he strokes directly over the sensitive bundle.
Electricity zaps from my clit to my core. My thighs bunch.
His nostrils flare as he fills his lungs.
I shake my head and sink my nails into his scalp.
He blasts cool air against my oversensitive clit.
I scream and buck as my womb contracts.
The orgasm ends as quickly as it began, leaving me breathless, dizzy, and unsatisfied.
He rises, shoves his waistband down, and fits the head of his cock to my pussy.
His massive cock. My virgin pussy.
Fear squeezes my heart.
I push against his hips.
He thrusts into me. Deep. Hard.
It hurts.
I fly apart.
The world splinters and fits itself back together with him as the axis.
Ermanno Mancini kidnapped me, broke my defenses, and stole my heart, and for as long as he wants me, I’m his.
Even if it means he won’t keep me forever.
