55
Liv
I wake up sore in a way that reminds me exactly how hard Alessio fucked me, until I passed out.
Every inch of me aches, but before I can fully process it, I feel myself being lifted out of bed.
“Shh, I got you,” Alessio whispers, just as my body goes boneless.
I melt against him as he carries me like a baby.
The sound of running water hits my ears, I don’t need to open my eyes to know we’re in the bathroom.
He lowers me in first, and the second the hot water touches my skin, I damn near moan.
My muscles sigh in relief, unraveling tension I didn’t even realize I was holding.
Then, he steps in behind me, pulling me onto his lap, his broad chest is a solid wall of warmth against my back.
And then his hands start slowly moving, so carefully over my body.
Washing away the absolute wreckage of the night before with a tenderness that makes my stomach do things I am not emotionally prepared to handle in this state.
His fingers work through my hair, massaging the floral scented shampoo into my scalp, and I swear to God, I could fall asleep right here, just like this.
“This is better than most salons I’ve been to,” I mumble, words slurring because I am about ten seconds from unconsciousness.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“Good.”
Warm water runs over my scalp as he rinses my hair with the shower hose, then conditions it.
Fuck.
Then he grabs a brush and starts working through the tangles with a kind of gentleness that makes my brain glitch.
I’m too sore to move.
Too wrecked to do anything but sit here while he takes care of me.
And damn it, it feels good, almost too good if that’s even a thing.
The next thing I know, he’s wrapping me in a towel, carrying me back to bed, and tucking me in.
I’m asleep before I even register the weight of the blankets over my body.
I groan, my entire body protesting as I blink awake, no clue what time it is.
My limbs feel like they’ve been put through a meat grinder.
Everything aches, but it’s manageable, just a dull soreness reminding me exactly why I passed out in the first place.
Then the smell hits me—smoke and metal, sharp and pungent, like iron burning.
It slams into the back of my throat, making me want to gag.
My sluggish brain jolts to life.
Is the bed on fire?
I try to sit up, but that’s when I realize that I can’t see, and my pulse spikes.
My hands fly to my face, fingers clawing at the fabric.
A blindfold.
I rip it off so fast it nearly yanks my hair out at the roots.
My eyes burn as they adjust, vision swimming in the dark room until I see Alessio.
He’s shirtless, all muscle and ink, standing at the foot of the bed in gray sweats that hang low around his waist.
My greedy little traitor of a body is already perking up because, apparently, getting absolutely wrecked a few hours ago wasn’t enough.
Or maybe it was last night, I have no idea what time it is.
But then he grabs my wrists and cuffs them to the headboard.
We’re still in the den of sin, that much I can comprehend.
Kinky time isn’t over yet, and I’m so here for it.
My legs are already itching to part, ready to beg my Warden to rail me into oblivion again.
But then he turns, reaching for something, and my stomach plummets .
It’s not a toy.
It’s not lube.
It’s an oversized Bunsen burner .
The last time I saw one of those, I was half-asleep in high school chemistry, burning a hole in my textbook.
This…
well, this is something else entirely.
My eyes track the metal rod in his hand, with letters seared into the tip, the way the blue flame hits beneath it.
Oh, fuck no.
Branding.
He’s not serious!
Spankings, fine.
A paddle with his name on it, I love that for me.
But actual branding, like I’m some piece of livestock.
No, absolutely fucking not.
I jerk against the cuffs, scrambling backward as much as I can, but I’m naked and trapped, and the covers won’t cooperate with my desperate attempt to shield myself.
My legs twist, trying to pull up the sheets, trying to cover anything I can because holy shit he’s actually going to do it.
“Alessio,” I croak, my voice barely coming out as human.
He doesn’t even glance at me; he lifts the brand to his eyes, looking at the glowing letters as if he’s admiring artwork.
Meanwhile, I’m over here with my tits out, one bad decision away from getting a permanent scar on my ass .
I can’t make out what it says from this angle, but I don’t need to.
My body knows.
Every instinct I have is screaming to run, but there’s nowhere to go.
“You don’t want to do this,” I force out, trying for my best rational hostage negotiator tone, but it still comes out breathy and unconvincing because my brain is an idiot, and my body is confused as hell.
My throat tightens.
“No, Ale—”
“Olivia,” he cuts me off.
His blue eyes stare into mine, and he doesn’t even blink.
The sound that follows is straight out of a horror movie.
A disgusting, wet hiss of metal searing directly over his heart, like bacon in a hot frying pan.
But it doesn’t smell like bacon.
No, the smell of burning flesh slams into me, and my stomach flips so hard I might throw up.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” My scream rips out so hard it hurts my throat.
I yank against the cuffs, my wrists scraping against the stainless steel, but I don’t care.
“ STOP IT! ALESSIO!”
But he doesn’t fucking stop or listen.
He stands there, taking it, his face doesn’t even contort like when you touch something hot, all while I’m losing my goddamn mind .
Finally, he pulls the iron away and tosses it onto a piece of wood lying on the ground.
I’m fucking shaking and Alessio’s more worried about hurting his damn floor than the fact he just branded his skin.
My chest is rising and falling too fast, my pulse is all over the place, and he’s standing there like he didn’t just burn himself like a lunatic.
Alessio sits on the bed, a key flashes in his hand, and the cuffs drop from my wrists.
The second I’m free, I grab onto him, my fingers trembling as they gently skim around the fresh wound, over his singed skin that’s red and raw.
And then I see my name about two inches wide, seared over his ink across his heart, and I swear I stop breathing for a minute.
My heart is still pounding, but everything else…
stops.
My brain blanks .
My throat is raw, my head is spinning, but somehow, I manage to whisper, “What the actual fuck, Alessio? My fucking name?”
His forehead presses against mine, his breath is rough, his hands gripping my waist like he might run if he lets go.
“Now everyone will know who my heart belongs to.”
For a second, I stare at him, breathing too hard, my body still a mess from whatever the hell just happened .
My brain is still trying to catch the fuck up.
Then a laugh slips out of me, a little unhinged and a little breathless.
“You know, normal people just say shit like that or prove their love with rings or tattoos . They don’t brand themselves like fucking cattle.”
His mouth twitches, and I know he'd be smirking if he weren’t dealing with a fresh burn.
“Well, we’re far from normal, so why start now?”
Well fuck. He’s got a point . Nothing about us has been normal. Nothing has been soft or mundane.
He pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. “But I’m yours.”
I bite my lip, still coming down from everything that just happened, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the mark he just burned into his chest.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “You are. But you’re out of your goddamn mind.” My voice is still wrecked from the past ten minutes, but I don’t move away, and I don’t let go.
“I was going to wait,” Alessio starts.
Wait for what? To finish breaking me before he dumps my body in the river? Because honestly, that’s what this started out as.
“I should have said this sooner, but didn’t know how to.” He drags in a slow, uneven breath, his thumb pressing against my jaw like he needs the contact to ground himself. “I felt this way for a while, but the words never came out.”
My brain is buffering because there is no way Alessio is saying this right now.
“Then, I was going to wait until we got married to say it.” He keeps going, like he needs to get it all out before I can react. “You’ve said it twice now. Neither in the right state of mind.” His jaw clenches. “And I didn’t say it back.”
No shit, I want to say. I noticed.
But the words stay stuck in my throat because I can feel his struggle. Alessio Gualtiero, the man who takes what he wants, never hesitates, and kills without blinking, is struggling to say three little words.
Alessio cups my face and my chest contracts, because holy shit, is this happening?
Is Alessio actually about to—
“I love you, Olivia.”
I stop breathing. No, really. My lungs just straight-up boycott oxygen.
Because what the fuck?
He says it like it’s final. Like it’s a fact. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, and now that he’s said it, he’s daring me to argue with him.
But my brain scrambles for something to say, but all I manage is a breathless, “Oh.”
Oh? OH?! Alessio loves me, and my dumbass response is oh?
His grip tightens like he’s expecting me to fight him on this.
But I don’t because I can’t.
I’ve already said it twice. Once half-asleep, and once on the verge of death. But I meant it both times. Even if he didn’t say it back. Even if I swore I wasn’t waiting for him to.
But now he has. And suddenly, the bed feels a little warmer. And Alessio’s weight pressing into me feels less like a cage and more like home.
So, I do the only thing I can do. I smile up at him, all teeth. “Took you long enough, husband.” Well, soon-to-be husband.
A wicked grin spreads across his face right before he yanks me into him, and for a second, nothing else exists. No smoke, no fire, no past bullshit.
Just him .
Just me.
And the mark he burned into his skin to prove he’s mine.
“I love you, too,” I say, because how the hell could I not?