Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Zara
His mouth found mine the second he stepped through the door.
I’d barely had time to draw a breath before he was there, pressing me against the wall, his hands already sliding beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers digging into the bare skin of my stomach.
“Lorenzo—” I gasped against his lips.
“Zara,” he growled, and kissed me deeper, swallowing any protest I might have formed.
His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, tasting of expensive whiskey and that dark, masculine heat that was uniquely him.
I should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him of the rules, the boundaries I’d so carefully constructed.
But my hands betrayed me, fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of creating distance.
He groaned his approval, one hand tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access.
His other hand roamed upward, palm sliding over my hip, my waist, stopping just beneath my ribcage.
I felt his thumb brush the underside of my breast through the thin silk of my dress, and a shiver raced down my spine.
“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he murmured against my throat, his lips trailing down to where my pulse hammered wild and frantic.
He bit down lightly, just enough to force a gasp, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day. About you.
About the sounds you’d make when I finally touch you. ”
His hand moved higher, cupping my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric. It hardened instantly, a traitorous response that I couldn’t control. He felt it, and a low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
“Sì, così,” he breathed.
The ache between my thighs was a live wire, pulsing with every brush of his fingers, every press of his hips against mine.
I could feel his cock, thick and hard, straining against his trousers, and a part of me—the reckless, desperate part—wanted to sink to my knees and free it, to take him in my mouth and taste his surrender.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
“Wait,” the word came out weak, barely a whisper. I pressed my palms against his chest, trying to create space. “Lorenzo, stop.”
He stilled immediately, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breathing was ragged; his body strung tight as a bow. “Why, Tesoro? Tell me why.”
“Because we have an agreement.” I forced the words out, hating how shaky they sounded. “No sex—not because I don’t want you, but because I need to protect myself. I can’t risk getting hurt again. That’s why I made the rule.”
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His dark eyes were blazing, pupils blown wide with want, but there was something else there too—a flicker of understanding, of restraint.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I remember the agreement.”
“Then respect it. It’s the one rule I can’t break.”
A beat of silence. Then he stepped back, releasing me completely. The loss of his heat made me feel suddenly cold and exposed. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to hold together the pieces he’d so easily shattered.
“I respect your boundaries, Zara.” His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the effort it cost him. “I will never take what you don’t willingly give.”
Relief washed through me—but so did disappointment. A confusing, infuriating tangle that I couldn’t unravel.
He reached out, tracing a finger along my jawline, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “But make no mistake. You will beg for me. Soon. You’ll beg for your husband to fuck you, to fill you, to claim every inch of your beautiful body.”
My breath caught.
“And when that day comes…” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, his voice dropping to a dark whisper.
“I will make you pay for making me work so hard. Every night you locked me out, every time you pushed me away—I’ll collect.
In screams. In tears. In orgasms that leave you broke and sobbing my name. ”
My thighs clenched involuntarily. The image he painted—his body dominating mine, his cock surging into me as I pleaded—sent a bolt of heat to my core.
He saw it. His lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Go on, then,” he said, stepping back fully. “Lock your door. Run from me. We both know it’s only a matter of time.”
I wanted to slap that smug expression off his face.
But more than that—so much more—I wanted to fall to my knees and surrender.
And I couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that. I’d been hurt before—used and discarded by men who claimed to love me. I’d built these walls brick by brick, determined to avoid the pain of betrayal again. That fear drives my boundaries, even as my body screams for him.
So I did the only thing I could.
I pushed him.
“Go,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please, Lorenzo. Just… go.”
His expression softened, just a fraction. For a moment, I saw the man beneath the monster, the one who had wiped away my tears, who had whispered promises in Italian that I didn’t understand.
He turned and walked toward the hall, pausing with his hand on the frame. “When you’re ready—when you want me—you know where to find me.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and I stood there, trembling, my body still echoing with the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice.
I crossed the room in three quick strides, turned the lock with shaking fingers, and pressed my forehead against the cool wood.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I didn’t know who I was apologizing to—him or myself.
I closed my eyes, and the tears I had been holding back slipped down my cheeks.
Why did he have to be so much? So intense, so consuming, so impossible to resist?
But I couldn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust anyone. Men took, took, took, and when finished, left. Lorenzo would be no different. The obsession, the possessiveness—they would one day fade. And then I’d be left hollow, broken, alone.
Better to keep my walls up now. Better to protect myself.
As irrational as the thought was, I could still feel him on the other side. Could still feel the heat of his palms on my thighs, the roughness of his voice in my ear, the way his cock had pressed against me through his trousers—hard, insistent, wanting.
I pressed my thighs together, which was a bad idea because the pressure only made the ache worse.
Don’t think about him.
I pushed off from the door and crossed to the vanity, where my journal lay open from this morning. I’d been writing about the wedding, about the contract, about how I’d keep my walls up and my heart locked away. Such tidy words. Such neat little plans.
I sat down, picked up the pen, and stared at the blank page beneath my last entry.
Dear whoever reads this when I’m dead. Dear future me, who hopefully has her shit together.
I paused, the pen hovering.
How could I write about everything I was feeling when I couldn’t even admit it to myself? How could I put words to the way my skin still tingled where his hands had been? The way my lips still burned from his kiss?
The way my cunt was throbbing, wet and empty and desperate for something I’d sworn I wouldn’t give him?
I set the pen down, hand still shaking.
For ten minutes, I tried. I wrote a few lines about the ceremony, about his father’s rudeness, about the champagne.
Safe topics. Boring topics. But my mind kept drifting back to the wall, to the way his body had pinned mine, to the growl in his voice when he’d said, “I’ll make you pay for making me wait. ”
The word pay shouldn’t have made me wetter, but it did.
And with that, I slammed the journal shut.
This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. I had needs, and I wasn’t going to lie here aching for a man I barely knew—a man who’d bought me like a piece of property, who spoke of ownership and possession as if they were words of love.
I reached into my suitcase and pulled out my vibrator.
It was sleek, silicone, curved perfectly to hit that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. I’d bought it after the last disaster of a relationship had left me raw and bleeding. I’d sworn off men, sworn off letting anyone close enough to hurt me again.
The vibrator hummed to life in my hand, a low thrum that made my clit twitch in anticipation.
I closed my eyes.
And immediately, he was there.
Lorenzo’s face. The sharp cut of his jaw, the darkness in his eyes, the way his lips had curled when he’d said, “you’ll beg for it.” I tried to push the image away, to focus on something else—a faceless lover, a fantasy from a book, anything but him —
But my body had already chosen.
I pressed the vibrator against my clit, and a gasp tore from my throat.
The fantasy was already unfolding behind my eyelids.
I’m back against the door. His hands are on my hips, bruising and possessive. But this time, when he leans in, I don’t push him away.
This time, I let him kiss me, feel me.
His mouth crashes against mine, and I open for him, my tongue meeting his in a dance that’s all hunger and demand.
He tastes like whiskey and sin, and I drink him in like I’ve been starving for years.
His hands slide up my ribs, dragging the fabric of my shirt higher until my breasts are bare, my nipples hard against the cool air.
He breaks the kiss to look at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed.
Then his mouth is on my neck, hot and wet, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below my ear. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. He groans against my throat, and the vibration sends electricity straight to my core.
His hand finds my breast, palm rough and calloused, thumb circling my nipple until I’m whimpering. He pinches, just hard enough to make me gasp, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
“Lorenzo—”
“Sì, Tesoro. Keep saying my name.”
He dropped to his knees.
My breath catches as he pushes my jeans and panties down , exposing me completely.
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide as he takes in the sight of my wet, glistening pussy.
I don’t feel exposed or vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful—because the way he’s looking at me, I’m the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So fucking beautiful.”
He leans in.
His tongue touches my clit, and I see stars.
He laps at me like he’s been thirsting for years, like I’m the only water in a desert. His tongue circles my clit, flicks, presses—each stroke sending bolts of pleasure through my core. I’m gripping his hair, riding his face, my hips bucking against his mouth as he groans against me.
“Lorenzo, please—”
“Please, what, Mia Moglie?”
“Please—I need—”
He stands abruptly, his mouth glistening with my wetness, and I whimper at the loss. But then he’s lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist, the head of his cock is pressing against my entrance.
“You need this?” he teases, pushing just the tip inside before pulling it back out. Over and over again as I clench around him, desperate. “You need me inside you, filling you, fucking you until you forget every man who came before me?”
“Yes—yes—”
He slams into me.
The stretch is perfect, exquisite, the way he fills me completely, hitting that spot deep inside that makes my vision go white. He fucks me against the wall, hard and fast, his hips slapping against my thighs, his cock sliding in and out of my wet heat of my pussy with obscene, wet sounds.
His mouth finds my breast again, sucking, biting, marking me as his.
“I own you,” he growls against my skin. “Every part of you. This pussy—” He thrusts deeper. “—is mine. These tits—” He bites down on my nipple. “—are mine. That come you’re about to give me—” He reaches between us, fingers finding my clit, circling hard. “—is mine.”
I’m close. So close. The pressure is building, coiling in my belly like a spring ready to snap.
“Are you done making me chase you?” He asks, his voice dripping with heat.
“Y—Yes.” I choke out.
“Good… Now come for me, Zara.”
His command breaks me.
I came so hard my vision went black.
The vibrator was still pressed against my clit, buzzing away, but I was too far gone to care. Waves of pleasure rolled through me, each one pulling me deeper, until I was nothing but sensation and heat and him.
“Fuck, Lorenzo,” I gasped, the name falling from my lips like a prayer.
I bit down on my hand, hard, stifling the cry that wanted to escape. My teeth sank into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger as the last aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me trembling and soaked and utterly, miserably wanting.
My eyes flew open as I’m hit with the reminder that I was in my room.
Alone.
The vibrator still humming in my shaking hand.
He was down the hall.
Lorenzo Falcone.
My husband.
The man I’d sworn I wouldn’t let touch me. The man whose name I’d just cried out as I came.
I pulled the vibrator away and stared at it, slick with my release. I should feel satisfied. I should feel like I’d won—I’d taken care of my needs without giving him anything.
But the hollow ache in my chest told a different story.
I set the vibrator aside and curled onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest.
Through the wall, I could almost feel him. The weight of his presence. The hunger that matched my own.
I’m not going to let him win, I told myself.
But as I lay there, still tasting his name on my lips, and my core still spasming, I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore.