40. CHAPTER 39—ISABELLA
CHAPTER 39—ISABELLA
E verything stops like that moment before music starts.
My breath.
My thoughts.
My heart.
Especially my heart - which was performing its own terrified ballet seconds ago, and now? Now it's hiding in the wings, waiting for its cue.
"I'll make sure you forget everything else," he said.
And just like that, I forget how to exist. How to move. How to be anything but aware of him. Give the Beast his trophy and run? Too late for that now.
His scent hits when he leans closer - dark spice and danger wrapped in memory. Those eyes pin me in place - midnight dark on the unscarred side, storm-wild where flames marked him. My gaze can't settle - catching on the curve of his mouth, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat moves when he swallows. Everything about him radiates power barely contained.
When those callused fingers brush my cheek, electricity tingles through me. His touch carries threat and tenderness twisted together, sending heat racing under my skin like fever. I catch my breath, shocked by how much I still want this.
Want him.
Even knowing I shouldn't.
"Bell'cenda." The nickname hits like a physical touch, dragging me back to piano keys and practice rooms. To times before fire rewrote our story.
"That's me," I whisper, and my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. Someone who hasn't learned how betrayal tastes. His knowing smile cuts through my defenses like a blade, illuminating everything I'm trying to hide. My pulse performs its own dangerous choreography, but for once it's not my treacherous body trying to fail me.
The space between us crackles with electricity, with all the words we can't say. His eyes drop to my lips and that hunger there makes my skin prickle with awareness. I find myself swaying toward him like I used to follow music - muscle memory responding to a different kind of dance now. Fighting this pull feels impossible, like those nights when my body turned against itself, when even breathing felt like a battle I might lose.
But this? This tangle of need and history and hurt coiling between us? It's more complicated than any medical chart. Every heartbeat carries the weight of what we were, what we lost, what we might become. Hope flutters in my chest, fragile as my first steps after treatments ended. Dangerous as trusting the Beast not to break me.
"Tonio." His old name slips out before I can catch it, and something shifts in those thunderous eyes. Like I've unlocked something we both tried to bury.
When his mouth claims mine, it's not gentle. Not sweet. Not anything like those romance novels hidden under my mattress.
The first kiss tastes like war - all conquest and claiming, his tongue demanding entrance while my body betrays me with need.
"Still taste like honeysuckle and sin," he growls against my lips, voice rough with something darker than desire. "Still surrender so sweetly."
"I never surrendered," I whisper back, the words more breathless than defiant. "Not to you. Not to anything."
The second kiss burns deeper, hungrier - his teeth grazing my bottom lip while his hands tangle in my hair, making me arch into him like I'm starving for his touch.
"Mine now," he breathes, the words vibrating against my skin. "No more running, Bell'cenda. No more lies between us."
"Then tell me the truth," I manage between racing heartbeats. "Are you still in there somewhere, Tonio? Under all this darkness?"
The third kiss undoes me completely. His mouth slants over mine with enough force to bruise, and I meet him halfway - no longer his victim but his equal in this dance of desire and destruction. My fingers find his shoulders like I'm trying to anchor myself against a storm, while his grip on my waist promises to leave marks I'll feel tomorrow.
He kisses like he's trying to devour me, to mark me from the inside out. And god help me, I let him. Because this?
This isn't about healing our past - it's about ripping it open and making it bleed. About remembering what we lost. What we might find again.
If we’re stupid enough to think the Beast remembers how to be gentle.
Somehow I'm pressed between cold stone and his burning body, the Mediterranean's roar matching the blood rushing in my ears. When did we move? God, that moan definitely came from me - especially when his teeth graze that sensitive spot below my ear, making my hips buck against his involuntarily.
We kiss like we've done this a thousand times before, like muscle memory survived everything that burned between us. His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, and heat pools low in my belly when he presses closer - letting me feel exactly how much he wants this. Wants me.
The raw power of him against me feels like safety and danger twisted together. My body responds with a need I never knew it could still feel, deeper than any ache treatments left behind. Every inch of me aches for more - more of his touch, his taste, the way his muscles flex under my exploring fingers.
His breath scorches my ear as he growls, "I want to taste every inch of you, Bell'cenda. Want to make you scream my name. Want to claim you in ways that'll make you forget anyone else exists." It's not a request or a threat - it's pure truth, burning away every lie we've told ourselves.
I want him too. More than air. More than survival. More than all the second chances I fought so hard to earn. Want him inside me, filling every empty space, making me whole in ways medicine never could.
And isn't that just the most dangerous truth of all?
His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up with an authority that makes my breath catch. His thumb traces my bottom lip, rough calluses catching on sensitive skin and need pulses deep within me.
His lips trail down my jaw, my neck, each kiss a brand that makes me shiver. "I'm going to make sure it's good for you. I promise." The words rumble against my pulse point, and something in his voice makes my insides liquify. He pauses, his other hand sliding into my hair, holding me still while he nips that spot below my ear that makes my hips buck against his.
Like he can sense the anxiety coursing through my veins, the way my pulse stumbles over what-ifs. What if he sees the scars treatments left behind? What if my body betrays me again? What if I can't...
"Hey." His voice cuts through my spiral, dark and sure. His grip tightens in my hair, making me meet his gaze. The world narrows to just this - just us, our breath mingling in a dance that belongs to no one else. The hunger in his eyes makes heat pool low in my belly, makes me want things I shouldn't.
"Go in the bathroom, under the shower." His voice is commanding. "I'll be there in a minute."
Suddenly I'm thinking about that book I read last summer, the one with the shower scene that had me aching, wondering if I'd ever feel a man's hands on me like that. If I'd ever have someone who cared about my pleasure as much as his own. Now Antonio - my dark prince turned Beast - is offering exactly that.
"You—you'll be..." The words tangle in my throat, reality tilting sideways. Because this isn't just fantasy anymore. This is real. This is happening. "With me?"
His answering smile carries enough heat to make my knees weak, promises darkening his eyes. And god help me, I want this. Want him. Want his hands mapping every inch of my skin, want to discover if he can make me feel the way I imagined late at night, alone with my thoughts and that book's dog-eared pages.
"Remember that night at the piano, Bell'cenda?" His voice drops lower, rougher. "How wet you were for me, how you trembled when I touched you? Been thinking about finishing what we started." His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him. "These fingers have been craving you for years. Tonight they're going to play you like I used to play Chopin - slowly, deliberately.”
"Okay." The word slips out breathless, unconscious, completely inadequate for everything burning between us.
His low chuckle vibrates through me like thunder, and heat floods my cheeks as I realize I said that out loud. But the hunger in his eyes when they lock with mine? That tells me exactly how much he likes hearing me agree to whatever darkness he has planned.
"First," his voice drops to pure sin, "I'm going to make that pretty mouth scream my name, Bell'cenda." His fingers trail up my arm like he's mapping territory. "Going to take my time learning every inch of you. Make you come on my tongue until you're soaking wet and begging." He leans closer, breath hot against my ear. "Then when you touch yourself at night, desperate and aching... you'll only remember how I felt inside you. How I made you take every inch. How good the Beast can make his princess feel."
"Oh." The sound slips out embarrassingly needy. When did his threats start sounding like everything I shouldn't want? Everything I crave?
My eyes betray me, drawn to where his jeans strain against obvious need. The memory of him with Paola burns - how thick he looked, how she took all of him. My mouth goes desert-dry with desire and something like fear.
"You won't fit." I whisper it like confession.
His lips find that spot behind my ear that turns my spine liquid. "I'll stretch that tight little pussy until you take everything I give you." The dark promise in his growl pools heat between my legs. Then he pauses, possession roughening his tone. "Has anyone else tried?"
I hesitate, but he already owns so many of my secrets... "My vibrator couldn't." Heat floods my face. "I mean, the rabbit ears worked fine, but... I wasn't... ready enough. And no. No one else."
His mouth claims mine like he's trying to devour the confession straight from my tongue.
"Christ, you're going to be the death of me, Bell'cenda." His growl vibrates against my lips as we part. "Shower. Now. I'll follow."
My pulse performs its own symphony as I walk away. Desire tangles with nerves - part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, part wants to hide under silk sheets until the Beast forgets I exist.
The bathroom surprises me - clearly renovated, all gleaming tile and modern fixtures. The shower could fit five people, the tub's big enough to swim in. Everything screams luxury in a fortress that embraces decay everywhere else.
I hover, uncertain. Strip now? Wait for him? The sound of his bedroom door closing makes my stomach flip, followed by muffled voices in the hall. Is he changing his mind? Was this just another game - get the virgin naked, then laugh? Something cold wraps around my chest.
Then I spot them - small bottles arranged with military precision. Each one I sniff carries the same scent.
Honeysuckle.
Like he knew I was coming.
Or maybe he hoped.
The bathroom door opens and my brain short-circuits - Antonio wearing nothing but jeans that ride low on his hips, every muscle a testament to power barely contained. My mouth goes dry at the sight.
"Had to have your scent ready." His lips find the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Like this." His fingers thread through my curls. "Short suits you."
"Hmm-hmm." Fantastic. Apparently my vocabulary's taken an early retirement. Really nailing this seduction thing.
"Strip for me." His voice carries dark promise. When he pulls something from his back pocket, my pulse skips like before performance jitters. "To make it better." The bottle of lubricant makes something twist in my chest - inadequacy warring with need. But the way he's looking at me, like he's barely keeping the Beast leashed, like he wants to devour me whole? It ignites something molten low in my belly. "Let me help you," he growls.
"Hmm-hmm." Oh good, still channeling my inner caveman. Really showing off my communications skills here.
"Watch yourself." He turns me toward the mirror, pressing against my back so I feel exactly how much he needs this. "See how I look at you. How fucking perfect you are, Bell'cenda."
And maybe that's what I needed to hear.
Not just want.
But worship.
Each piece of clothing hits the floor like falling curtains, revealing every mark cancer left behind. The scars. The extra weight on my stomach. Thighs fuller than when I danced. Breasts that show more scars, including one for a double port in the middle.
At least my eyebrows grew back. Small victories.
His breathing turns ragged, and in the mirror's harsh light, his own scars seem carved deeper - like we're both mapped by survival.
"Beautiful," he growls, and his lips on my shoulders feel like fire - soft at first, then hungry, open-mouthed, teeth grazing skin until I shiver. His stubble scratches deliciously as he moves lower, marking me with each kiss.
When he spins me around, he fills my whole world - all power and heat and need. But it's his mouth on my scars that undoes me. The way he traces each mark with his tongue, hot and wet and claiming. Gentle yet possessive, like he's trying to taste my survival. His lips brand every inch - sometimes butterfly- soft, sometimes demanding, sometimes just breathing against sensitive skin until I think I might combust. A sigh escapes me even as my pulse performs its own dangerous dance.
He leans closer, his breath scorching paths across my collar bone, and everything in me responds like muscle memory - like my body remembers his touch from before flames rewrote our story. His voice drops to smoke and sin, awakening needs I thought treatment had killed.
Want burns hotter than any fever.
Desire sharper than any needle.
And I'm ready to burn.
"Been dreaming of this," he growls against my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "How you'd feel under my hands." His palms slide hot down my sides, thumbs brushing the curve of my breasts. "Against my mouth." One hand spans my stomach, holding me tight against him while the other traces patterns that make me shiver. "How you'd sound when I taste you."
For one dangerous moment, sincerity bleeds through his armor - like maybe he wants more than revenge. His cock presses hard against my lower back, but it's the tenderness in his touch that undoes me. Heat floods every inch of me, not just desire but recognition. Like he sees past the scars, past the broken places, to something worth wanting.
I melt back against his chest, letting myself pretend this isn't part of his game. His skin burns against mine, all muscle and need. "I used to imagine..." The confession slips out with a gasp as his fingers find sensitive spots. "Your hands on me. Your mouth. Everything." My hips arch back instinctively when his teeth find that spot behind my ear. "Even before... god, Antonio..."
And isn't that just perfect?
Giving the Beast more ammunition.
But with his hands claiming every inch of me, his breath hot on my neck, his desire obvious against my skin - maybe some surrenders are worth the price.
I turn in his arms, and suddenly everything's skin on skin, heat on heat. His chest burns against my breasts, every point of contact sending sparks through me. His mouth claims my neck like he's mapping territory - soft at first, then hungry, open-mouthed kisses that make me arch into him. When he reaches that spot behind my ear, teeth grazing sensitive flesh, electricity dances down my spine straight to my core.
My hands explore his chest without hesitation, learning the landscape of him. Smooth skin and raised scars under my fingers, muscles tensing wherever I touch. His heart pounds against my palm - proof that the Beast feels this too. When my nails scrape lightly across his abdomen, his growl vibrates through both of us.
"Ti desidero più di qualsiasi altra cosa al mondo," he breathes against my throat, and even though I don't speak Italian, the raw hunger in his voice translates perfectly. Want you more than anything in this world. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer until I feel exactly how much he means it.
Here, trapped between his hard body and the promise of pleasure, every defense I've built crumbles. All the fears about scars and changes and inadequacy dissolve under his touch. There's just this - his skin hot under my exploring fingers, his breath ragged against my neck, the thick length of him pressed against my stomach making promises I desperately want him to keep.
Raw and real and dangerous as hope.