Chapter 14 #2
I heard her moving around, heard the rustle of sheets, the thump of a pillow being rearranged.
I stood there for a long moment, my eyes fixed on the wood grain, my mind already working.
The door stayed shut for exactly four minutes.
Four minutes of me standing in the hallway, fists clenched, jaw tight, blood pounding hot in my veins. I counted every second. I felt every inch of the distance between us—thin wood, a lock, and her stubborn fucking pride.
Then I heard her footsteps. Soft. Pacing. Stopping just on the other side.
She was listening. Waiting to see if I’d leave.
I didn’t.
Instead, I pressed my palm flat against the door, leaned in until my forehead touched the cool surface, and let my voice drop low—dangerous, controlled, the kind of tone that made men twice my size step the fuck back.
“Open the door, Zara.”
Silence. Then, quieter, strained: “Go away, Lorenzo.”
“You’re my wife.”
“A piece of paper doesn’t—”
“It means everything.” I cut her off, the words rough, almost a growl. “That piece of paper says you’re mine. It says I get to tear down every single wall you’ve built. It says I get to have you—every part of you—whether you’re ready or not.”
I heard her breath hitch. A tiny, shaky inhale. Good.
“Open the door,” I repeated, softer now, but no less demanding. “I’m not asking.”
A long pause. Then the lock clicked.
The door cracked open. Just enough for me to see one eye, dark and wary, peeking through the gap. She was bracing herself, one hand on the frame, ready to slam it again.
I didn’t give her the chance.
I pushed. Not hard—just enough to make her stumble back a step. I slipped inside, kicked the door shut behind me, and crowded her against the nearest wall before she could blink.
My body pinned her. My hands landed on either side of her head, caging her in. My hips pressed against her stomach, trapping her between the cold plaster and the heat of me.
Her eyes went wide. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.
“Lorenzo—”
“Shut up.” I leaned in, my mouth hovering a millimeter from her ear. “You think you can lock me out? You think a door can keep me away?”
She trembled. I felt it—the vibration running through her, the way her thighs pressed together, the tiny whimper she tried to swallow.
“You’re shaking,” I murmured, dragging my lips down the side of her neck. “But it’s not fear, is it, Tesoro? It’s want, need. Your body knows what your mouth won’t admit.”
Her hands came up to push at my chest. Weak. Pathetic.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Scream.” I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, letting her see the dark, hungry thing swimming in mine. “Scream loud enough for the whole building to hear. Let them know who you belong to. Let them know that Lorenzo Falcone has finally claimed his wife.”
Her lips parted. Her breath stuttered.
I reached down, grabbed her wrist, and pinned it above her head. Then the other. She struggled—a half-hearted twist—but I was stronger, bigger, and I wanted her to feel it.
“Listen to me,” I said, my voice a low, possessive rasp.
“I don’t care that you don’t trust me yet.
I don’t care that you think I’m crazy. You’re mine.
And I will spend every fucking day proving it—chasing you, breaking down your walls, and burying myself so deep inside your life that you won’t remember a time before me. ”
Her eyes glistened. Not tears. Something fiercer.
“You can’t just—”
“I can. I did.” I released her wrists, but only to cup her face, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at me. “And you’re going to stop running. You’re going to stop slamming doors in my face. Because the next time you do, I won’t wait outside. I’ll break the damn door down.”
I brushed my thumb across her lower lip. She shivered.
“I want to own you, Zara.” The words fell out, raw and honest. “Every thought. Every breath. Every inch of that gorgeous body. I want to fuck you until you forget your own name, until the only thing you remember is mine.”
Her pupils blew wide.
“And I’ll be patient,” I added, leaning in until our lips almost touched. “I’ll wait. I’ll earn your trust. Be the man you deserve. But make no mistake—you’re already mine. You’ve been mine since the moment I saw you.”
I kissed her.
A claim, not a request.
My tongue slid against hers, tasting her surprise, her resistance crumbling as she moaned into my mouth—a soft, helpless sound—that I felt in my cock, in my bones, in the primal part of me that wanted to take her right there, against the wall, marking her as property.
I pulled back, breathing ragged.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Tell me you want me to stop.”
She stared at me, chest heaving, lips swollen. For a long moment, I thought she’d fight. Thought she’d slap me, spit at me, call me a bastard.
Instead, she whispered, “No.”
The words hit me like a punch. A fucking altar. A vow.
I crushed my mouth to hers again, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against me so she could feel exactly how hard I was for her, how much I needed her.
“Good girl,” I breathed against her lips. “Now let me show you exactly what that means.”