Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Sharon
I can't stop trembling. Even hours after we've returned to the penthouse, even after a hot bath and Fabio's gentle care, my body won't stop shaking.
Not from cold—from the aftershocks of fear.
Those men's hands reaching for me. The look in their eyes.
The certainty that flashed through me in that moment: if they got me in that car, I was never coming back.
I've been sheltered my whole life. Never faced real danger.
Never understood that some people in this world move through it like predators, seeing the rest of us as prey.
But Fabio knows. Fabio's always known. And now I understand what it means to be his—to be protected by the biggest predator in the jungle.
I woke up alone in our bed, the sheets cold beside me.
Found him in his office, surrounded by men and monitors and maps.
Planning. Hunting. He came back with me, held me until I dozed off again, but I can't stay asleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel hands grabbing at me.
Hear voices that aren't Fabio's. See strangers' faces instead of his.
Now I'm sitting up in bed, knees drawn to my chest, watching as he steps out of the bathroom. He's stripped down to his boxers, all lean muscle and olive skin and scars I've traced with my fingertips but never asked about. His eyes—those dark, intense eyes that see everything—find mine immediately.
"Still can't sleep?" He crosses to the bed, sits beside me. His large, warm hand covers both of mine where they're clenched together on my knees. "You're safe now, angel."
"I know." But my body doesn't know it. My nerves are still firing warning signals. My heart still racing.
He takes one of my hands in his, turns it palm up, presses a kiss to the center. Then one to each knuckle, each fingertip, the inside of my wrist where my pulse hammers.
"I was so scared," I whisper.
"I know." He moves to my other hand, repeating the gentle kisses. "But you were brave."
"I wasn't brave. Your men saved me."
"You kept your head. Didn't panic. That's brave."
His lips trail up my arm, across my shoulder, finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my collarbone. My breath catches. Despite the fear still lingering in my system—or maybe because of it—my body responds instantly to his touch. Like it knows what it needs to feel safe again.
"I saw you in there," I murmur. "In your office. What you were doing."
His lips pause against my skin. "And?"
"No one's ever..." I swallow hard. "No one's ever cared that much. About me."
His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Get used to it."
The trembling in my body shifts, transforms. No longer just fear—now something else. Something hungry. I grab his lapels, pull him closer.
"I need you," I whisper against his mouth. "Now."
He studies my face for a moment, making sure I mean it. Then his control snaps. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry, desperate, his hands tangling in my hair. I open for him instantly, my tongue meeting his, matching his urgency.
It's different than before—not sweet, not gentle. There's an edge of desperation to it, like we both need to confirm the other is really here, really safe. His hands are everywhere, stripping away the t-shirt I sleep in, my panties, leaving me naked and trembling for entirely new reasons.
"Fabio," I gasp as his mouth moves to my breast, teeth scraping over my nipple just hard enough to send sparks through me.
"I thought I lost you" he growls against my skin. "When that call came in—"
"You didn't," I assure him, hands clutching his shoulders, holding him to me. "I'm here. I'm yours."
Those words break something in him. He groans, presses me back against the mattress, his body covering mine completely. I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel sheltered. Protected. Claimed in the most primal way.
"Mine," he agrees, voice rough. "Say it again."
"I'm yours." I arch up against him, seeking more contact, more friction, more everything. "Only yours."
He strips off his boxers, positions himself between my thighs. I'm already wet for him, have been since his first touch. When he pushes inside me, it's with one smooth thrust that makes us both groan.
"Never letting you go," he promises against my throat, his hips driving into mine with controlled force. "Never letting anyone take you from me."
His words are as much a part of this as his body—dark promises growled in my ear, fierce devotion in every syllable. He tells me I'm his, that he'd tear the world apart for me, that he'll keep me safe forever. And I believe him.
My nails dig into his back, leaving marks of my own as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each thrust. He reaches between us, circles my clit with his thumb, and I shatter around him, crying out his name as waves of release wash through me.
He follows moments later, his body tensing above mine, my name a broken sound on his lips. Afterward, he doesn't pull away, just rolls to his side, taking me with him, still joined, still connected.
We lie like that for a long time, his hand stroking lazily up and down my spine, my head tucked under his chin. My trembling has finally stopped, replaced by a bone-deep contentment that feels like floating.
"Better?" he murmurs against my hair.
"Mmm." I press closer, breathing in his scent—soap and sex and something uniquely him. "Much."
His fingertip traces my collarbone, follows the line of my throat, tilts my chin up so I'm looking at him. His eyes are softer now, the predator momentarily at rest.
"I meant what I said," he tells me. "No one will ever hurt you. Not while I'm breathing."
"I know." And I do know it, with a certainty that should terrify me but somehow doesn't. "I trust you."
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or wonder. Like he can't quite believe I'd place my trust in him so completely. Then his arms tighten around me, drawing me impossibly closer.
In the quiet dark of our bedroom, his heartbeat steady under my palm, I realize something: Safety isn't the absence of fire. It's being surrounded by it, knowing it'll never burn you, only keep you warm.
Fabio is dangerous—I've seen enough now to know that without doubt. He moves through the world like a weapon, sharp-edged and lethal. But never toward me. Never with me. With me, those edges soften. Those weapons are sheathed. That fire burns controlled.
Or maybe that's not quite right. Maybe he's still just as dangerous, just as powerful, just as capable of destruction. But all of it—all that force, all that fury—is pointed outward, away from me. A shield, not a threat.
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and feel him sigh contentedly.
"What was that for?" he asks, voice rumbling under my lips.
"For keeping me safe," I say simply. "For being exactly who I need you to be."
His hand tangles in my hair, tilts my face up for a gentle kiss—so different from the desperate ones before. This one tastes like promise. Like forever.
"Rest now," he murmurs against my lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
And for the first time since those hands grabbed at me outside the boutique, I feel my body truly relax, knowing that the most dangerous man in Vegas is watching over me. Keeping me safe. Loving me in his fierce, possessive way.
I drift off to sleep in his arms, no longer afraid of what might be lurking in the dark. Because whatever it is, it should be afraid of my husband.