Chapter 22
Loriana
My heart pounds as I climb the cold marble steps, the sound bouncing off the mansion’s walls. Ten minutes ago, I said yes. Now his ring weighs down my hand, and there’s no going back.
His wife. The thought makes me burn with want, desire, and lust, even waking up parts of me I never knew existed.
I freeze at our bedroom door, fingers shaking as they hover near the handle. Something waits for me beyond this threshold—something that will reshape us completely. The very air hums with unspoken intentions, and my heart races with a cocktail of terror and longing I can’t untangle.
When courage finally moves my hand to open the door, the world narrows to a single, breathless moment.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, stepping into what looks like a fairy tale brought to life.
The entire room has been transformed. Dozens of ivory balloons drift against the ceiling like captured clouds.
Their ribbons hang down halfway, and several surfaces are decorated with rose petals.
Candles burn on every other surface—the dresser, the nightstands, the windowsills—casting everything in a golden light that makes the scattered petals resemble drops of blood and fire.
It’s romance cranked to eleven, over-the-top, and absolutely breathtaking.
“You did all this?” I turn to find Simeone standing beside the windows, still wearing his tuxedo but with his jacket discarded and his bow tie hanging loose around his neck. The candlelight catches the silver in his hair, making him look like something carved from marble and moonlight.
“Every balloon, every petal, every candle.” His voice carries a note of uncertainty I’ve never heard before. “I know it’s excessive—”
“It’s perfect.” The words slip out before I can stop them, honest and raw. “Completely, ridiculously, overwhelmingly perfect.”
Relief floods his features, and I realize he was genuinely worried I might think it was too much. This man, who commands empires and ends lives with a word, was nervous about whether his romantic gesture would please me.
“I wanted tonight to be special,” he says, moving toward me with that fluid grace that never fails to make my mouth go dry. “Our first time as an engaged couple. Our first time when you officially agreed to be mine. Our first time with no barriers between us.”
“No barriers?” I arch an eyebrow, trying to maintain some semblance of control despite the way my body is already humming with awareness. “What makes you think there were barriers before?”
“Because you were still fighting this. Fighting me. Fighting what burns between us.” He stops close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Tonight, you’re choosing to be here. Choosing to be mine.”
The possessive declaration should irritate me, but instead it sends heat pooling low in my belly. “And what exactly does being yours entail?”
His smile is pure sin, sharp and dangerous and absolutely devastating. “Everything you can handle, stellina. And then a little more.”
I swallow hard, hyperaware of how alone we are in this candlelit sanctuary he’s created. “Simeone—”
“Do you know what I realized tonight?” He moves closer, backing me toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps. “You’ve never been properly romanced. That pathetic excuse for a relationship with my nephew—he never gave you flowers, never planned special evenings, never made you feel like a queen.”
“How do you know what he did or didn’t do?”
“Because I know what you deserve.” His hands come up to frame my face with infinite gentleness. “And you deserve everything, stellina. Every romantic gesture, every beautiful moment, every indication that you’re precious beyond measure.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. “Our relationship isn’t exactly conventional.”
“No, it’s not.” His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones, and I have to fight not to lean into the touch. “It started with protection, escalated to passion, and evolved into something neither of us expected. But unconventional doesn’t mean unromantic.”
“So this is you being romantic?” I gesture around the transformed bedroom, trying to keep my voice light despite the way my heart is hammering against my ribs.
“This is me giving you everything within my power to give.” His voice drops to that whisper that makes my toes curl.
“If you want to be romanced, you’ll be romanced.
If you want to be cherished, you’ll be cherished.
If you want to be worshipped like the goddess you are, then that’s exactly what will happen. ”
The intensity of his declaration makes my knees weak. “And what if I want to be claimed? Possessed? Marked so thoroughly that I forget my own name?”
Fire blazes in his dark eyes at my bold words. “Then you’ll discover exactly why they call me the Silver Devil.”
Before I can respond, he’s lifting me in his arms like I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the bed through his romantic wonderland. Rose petals scatter beneath his feet, and the balloons drift overhead like silent witnesses to whatever’s about to unfold between us.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” I observe as he sets me down beside the bed, noting how the candlelight plays across his sharp features.
“So are you.” His fingers find the zipper of my dress, sliding it down with agonizing slowness. “But we have all night to remedy that situation.”
“All night?” The silk whispers against my skin as it pools at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but black lace and his grandmother’s engagement ring. “What exactly do you have planned?”
“Everything.” His hands map the newly exposed skin with reverent touches that make me arch toward him instinctively.
“Every fantasy I’ve had since that first night in your apartment.
Every way I’ve imagined claiming you. Every position that will leave you shaking and satisfied and absolutely certain of who you belong to. ”
“Promises, promises,” I manage, trying not to lose myself in the raw desire radiating from his dark eyes.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Maybe I need a demonstration. To really appreciate the... scope of your plans.” The words fall from my mouth before I can think better of them.
Instead of taking offense, his smile sharpens with satisfaction. “Is that a challenge, stellina?”
“That’s an invitation,” I breathe, tilting my face up and biting my lower lip the way I know will drive him wild.
“No marks,” he says, tracing his thumb across my mouth. “I want to do that myself tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” His expression becomes more determined. “Get on the bed, Loriana.”
“But—”
“Now,” he snaps, his usual tone of command instantly washing away the romantic stranger. “And turn around so I can take the dress off your body completely.”
Heat rushes through me at the forcefulness, reminding me of the man who’s always been lurking just beneath the surface. I scramble onto the bed as quickly as I can. From behind me, I hear his soft growl as the tight dress gives way, followed by the muted thud of my heels striking the floor.
“Now lie down,” he commands, and the harshness in his voice betrays his arousal. “Across the bed so I can look at you.”
I move on the cool sheets, lowering myself until I’m lying flat on my back. Above me, the ivory balloons are silent witnesses, their faces frozen in smiles I can’t mirror. Not because I’m not happy—I am. Ridiculously so.
Because right now, as Simeone runs his hand possessively up the length of my leg, I realize he’s changed me.
This man, who keeps pieces of himself locked away and only reveals those pieces that will inspire obedience, has cracked me open and left me bare.
Despite the fact that he’s still holding back, I feel stripped of armor, carved of honest wood instead of carefully constructed glass.
Naked and uncertain and entirely vulnerable.
He pulls away, and I miss his touch like a piece of myself has gone missing.
I twist my head up to watch him undress, every movement sleek and elegant.
His fingers undo the buttons of his shirt before letting the tailored fabric whisper to the floor.
Pale skin stretches over ribs and abdominal muscles formed by decades of combat training, and the hollows and angles of his body catch the shifting candlelight like a tarnished statue brought to life.
He might be twenty years older than Flavio, but he looks years younger—rippling muscle and raw strength that makes me shiver in anticipation.
Because even though the front of his pants is still belted and zipped, I recognize exactly what his clothes are hiding: something that promises everything and will probably leave me wanting more.
He unties his shoes with quick, methodical motions, then sets them next to the closet along with his socks.
Despite his promise of a wild night, he’s still fighting for control.
Claiming it in small ways like the careful placement of each item.
It’s fascinating, the conflicting demands of chaos and order inside him. .
Turning back to me, his fingers are already undoing the belt buckle, and the weight of his gaze makes me shiver in anticipation. The belt slithers through the loops with a gentle hiss that makes my thighs clench with want.
Instead of setting it down, he walks up to me and smiles. “Raise your arms.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I want you to let go. Fully. Completely,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Give me your control. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
I stare at him, breathless, uncertain. How can I be out of breath if I’m not even moving?
“Submit to me, stellina,” he says, and I’m helpless to deny the compulsion in his voice. “I’ll hold your trust close to my chest and keep your pleasure for my own.”