Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
RAFFAEL
I bridge the space between us. “You’ve ruined me.”
She bristles. Chin lifting. Spine straightening.
For a second, apprehension floods my veins, her alarm triggering something protective. But it’s not fear that stares back at me.
It’s goddamn attraction.
Living. Breathing. Fucking decimating.
I stop before her, close enough to see the pulse skipping wildly at her throat. To hear the rasp of her accelerating breaths.
This woman has stripped me of my talents. Made a mockery of my discipline. Pulled emotions from me like jagged shrapnel.
And I’d let her do it all over again.
Every day for the rest of my life if given the chance.
“Let me show you the destruction you’ve caused.” I palm her cheek, my control slipping for the briefest second as her lashes flutter.
Then she mewls. Soft. Feminine. A sound of surrender so profoundly yielding it infiltrates the deepest, darkest parts of me and rattles loose the possessiveness I’ve kept leashed.
I lose control and slam my mouth down on hers.
Her lips are warm. The kiss frantic. Desperate.
A collision of hunger and heat.
It’s obscene how quickly she melts—how friction becomes fusion—the outside world disappearing as the elevator doors close.
Her mouth wars with mine, the slick slide of her tongue a chaotic dance of urgency. Of starvation.
The elevator begins its descent, sparking something even more feral between us.
She grips my lapels with both hands, fingers digging in like thorns. And her body—fuck—it moves from the wall to press into me. Hips rolling. Intensity soaring.
The friction tears a groan from my chest.
Christ.
I’m so fucking hard for her it’s agonizing.
I slide a hand down her side, over the curve of her waist to her thigh. She welcomes the touch, her leg lifting, wrapping around my hip without hesitation.
I’ve dreamt about this. Woken hard and aching, my body betraying me for weeks, months, fucking years. And still, the kiss doesn’t end. Our mouths continue to claim, devour, take as I find the slit in her dress, my fingers delving beneath to indulge in the smooth skin of her leg.
She shudders, yanking me closer, demanding more with a tiny, meteoric whimper.
I become lost. In sensation. In everything that’s Isla. There’s only her and the damage she inflicts.
I slide my hand higher, along the back of her thigh, and palm her delectable ass, the brief brush against the resistance of her panties making my cock twitch.
“Tell me you want more,” I demand against her lips. “Tell me I can touch you.”
“Touch me.” Her submission is instantaneous. A glimpse of heaven in broken syllables and weathered tone.
I delve deeper, breaching the restriction of her panties, my fingertips gliding over slick, warm heat.
Sweet fucking mercy.
She’s wet for me.
Drenched and trembling.
“Merda.” My balls tighten, my shaft aching with an insurgence of blood flow. I’m forced to break the kiss. To take a beat. To inch back and breathe through the lust in an attempt to stop myself spilling in my fucking pants.
“More,” she whispers. Begs. “Please.”
I grind my teeth. Tense every muscle.
I’ll never deny her. Not again.
“Ho combattuto abbastanza a lungo, amore mio,” I beseech. “Sei la mia rovina. La accetto, volontariamente.”
“Tell me.” She arches her neck, lengthening it like an offering.
“I’ve fought long enough, my love.” I palm her throat with my free hand and whisper my lips along her carotid. “You’re my downfall. I accept it, willingly.”
She stills, but this time I swear it’s not in hesitation. It’s absorption. She wants to believe me.
Her hand closes around my wrist at her throat, not stopping, not urging—just holding me there, as if she needs to be more grounded in touch.
“I’ll stop at nothing to protect you.” I slide my fingers down her slit, parting her sex. “To keep you safe.” I tease her entrance, tormenting us both, and the moan she gifts me with is melodic. A symphony of her undoing and mine. “To make you happy.”
Pre-cum beads at the tip of my dick, every inch of me screaming for release beneath layers of clothing that seem sacrilegious. I have to fight not to listen to instinct and yank down my zipper. To not thrust into her so fucking hard and fast neither one of us will quit feeling it for days.
She deserves better.
More than my animalistic indulgence.
This is about her pleasure. About showing her I’d cut myself open before I ever cut corners with her.
I glide two fingers inside her and close my eyes, her moan pure angelic torture.
Her internal muscles clamp around me. She gasps for breath.
“Dio, quanto mi è mancata la tua figa.” I curl my fingers, place my thumb to her clit. “Sto morendo dalla voglia di assaggiarti.”
Her nails claw into my wrist, her other hand grasping my tie. Tugging.
I want her to come. Need to hear more sweet sounds of her pleasure. To feel that my presence in her life is more than pain and suffering.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” I nuzzle below her ear, taste the salt of her skin.
“You enter a room and my control ceases to exist.” I add pressure to her carotid.
Gentle. Firm. “I’m your slave, Isla. A fucking sinner on his knees at the shrine of your existence.
” I increase the pulse of my fingers. Faster. Harder.
Her breathing rasps. Her nails bite. Thighs clench.
“You’re the flaw in me that I refuse to correct, la mia rovina,” I growl against her throat. “There will never be another.”
“Raffael…” Her head falls back against the wall, a fractured sound tearing out of her. She comes undone, pussy fluttering, body trembling.
I pull back, drinking in the masterpiece of her release, those dark lashes fluttering shut, her delicate throat like putty in my palm as her hips grind into my hand.
Nobody else.
There’ll never be anyone who rewires me like this. Who turns my morals into easily disposable obstacles. Who makes mercy feel optional.
For her, I’d welcome the violence I’ve spent my life evading. I’d bury bodies at the bottom of the ocean.
But the elevator slows. Stops.
The jolt of returning reality has her eyes flashing open and her posture jackknifing.
“Steady,” I warn, as the doors open.
Stay with me.
I remove my fingers from her panties and lean back to give her an inch of space.
She releases my tie, her arms falling to her sides, her leg sliding from my hip.
I can’t tell what stares back at me—panic? Heartache? Regret?
But, God, she’s fucking beautiful. The swollen, kiss-bruised lips. The mesmerizing eyes, glassy with lust.
“Mi consacro a te, Isla,” I vow. “Hai il mio cuore. La mia anima. Il mio amore in questa vita e nella prossima.”
She doesn’t ask for clarification. It’s as if she understands the weight of my words through the language barrier.
“I devote myself to you, Isla.” I interpret anyway. “You have my heart. My soul. My love in this life and the next.”
She shakes her head, placing a hand to my chest.
I feel her slip away, despite her hips still pressed against mine. “Come home with me.”
She swallows. Anxiously moistens those fucking delectable lips. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I disagree. You’ll want for nothing—physically, financially, emotionally. Give me the chance to prove it to you.”
Her brow furrows, her eyes imploring, begging me to stop.
“This isn’t about me wanting to fuck you.” I brace a hand against the wall behind her to keep myself steady. “I’ll deny myself however long it takes to make this right.”
Someone clears their throat in the distance.
Fucking lobby security.
I ignore them and hold Isla’s stare, silently demanding she do the same. “We mean more than sex.”
She blinks back at me in silence, in torment, her brow pinching, nose scrunching.
“You know I won’t give up.” I grab her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, the kiss reverent. Worshipping. “I’ll win you over or die trying.”
She whimpers. “Raffael…”
“Give me the grace to love you, la mia rovina, and earn your love in return.” I stand before her, stripped of pride, devoid of shame, and all the better for it. “Admit you’re mine. Come home with me. And let us have the life we should’ve started years ago.”