Chapter 40 Renato
She's in my bed, and I'm terrified of doing this wrong.
Every instinct I’ve honed over years of blood and power screams contradictory orders.
Take.
Don’t take.
Devour.
Protect.
I’ve killed men with these hands. Now, I need to use them to make her feel safe.
"Come here," I say softly.
She moves into the bed beside me. Her body is tense with fear and determination, and my own breath shudders at the collision of those two things. I can see her hands shaking slightly, can feel the rapid beat of her heart when I pull her close.
"We can stop anytime," I remind her, needing her to understand that consent isn't a single moment but an ongoing choice. "You're in control here, Camilla. Always."
"I know." Her voice is steady despite the tremor in her hands. "But I need you to start. I need you to show me what it should feel like."
My throat tightens. What it should feel like. Not Kozlov’s filth. Not the cold, transactional hands of men who saw her as merchandise. Something chosen.
I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head up to meet my eyes. "Look at me."
She does, eyes wide and dark, drinking in my face like she’s looking for proof I won’t hurt her.
"You're not merchandise. You're not property.” My thumb brushes across her lower lip. "You're a woman making a choice. My only job is to honor that choice."
"Then honor it," she whispers. "Please."
The please cuts through me. Not because she’s begging—because she’s asking. Because she’s reclaiming. And because every monster part of me wants to take, but tonight I will only give.
“I’ve done terrible things, Camilla. I’ve made people kneel for me. I’ve made you kneel in front of me. But tonight? I’ll be the one kneeling. I want you to know what it feels like to be worshipped, not owned.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of heat at the edge of fear. “Show me.”
I kiss her slowly, carefully, giving her time to change her mind. Her lips are soft under mine, tentative at first but warming as she relaxes into it.
No urgency, no demand.
Just the gentle exploration of someone learning what it feels like to be kissed by choice instead of calculation.
When I pull back, she's breathing harder.
"Okay?" I ask.
"More than okay." She touches my face, her fingers tracing along my jaw. "Keep going."
I ease her to the pillows, covering her without caging her, careful where I plant my hands.
I want her to feel space around every touch—a thousand exits if she needs them.
She needs to feel safe, needs to know she can stop this at any moment.
My hands map her body over her clothes—sides, hips, the gentle curve of her waist—learning her through touch.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur against her throat, my voice grazing her skin.
“I need you to erase him. His hands. His eyes. The way he touched me like I was his.” Her fists knot in my shirt. “I need your hands to be what I remember instead.”
I breathe out. “Then that’s what you’ll have. By the time I’m done, the only hands you’ll remember are mine—because you chose them.”
I take my time when I peel away her tank top. The fabric slides up, whispering over skin, and I hold her gaze the whole way so she can see what’s in my eyes. When she’s bare from the waist up, I gaze down at her, letting her see hunger restrained, violence turned into reverence.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I say roughly.
Her breath catches. “Renato—”
“Shh.” I nuzzle her shoulder and the curve of her neck. “Let me show you what it’s like to be worshipped by a man who’s done unholy things.”
I cup her soft breast, my thumb circling her nipple until she gasps.
“I love your breasts,” I murmur. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to touch you like this.
How long I’ve dreamed of this.” Leaning down, I take the nipple into my mouth, sucking and tugging.
She threads her fingers through my hair, moaning my name, and my grip on control tightens like a fist.
“Like that?” I rasp.
“Yes. God, yes.”
I alternate between breasts, sucking and nipping, until the nipples are hard and wet. She gasps and slides her hands down over my shoulders and back.
I take my time, learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her arch, what makes her dig her fingers into my shoulders.
Slowly I slide down her stomach, leaving a trail of soft kisses. When I hook my fingers in her shorts, I pause. "Can I?"
She silently nods at me.
I strip her slowly, first the shorts then her panties. When she’s completely nude, she tenses. I go still, eyes on hers.
“You’re in control,” I remind her. “Always.”
I see the moment she chooses; it travels through her body like a long exhale.
I gently guide her knees apart and settle between her legs. For a moment, I stop and stare. My mind can’t decide whether to look or touch or do both. She’s scared, yet she’s willingly opening up herself to me.
After everything I’ve done to her, she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of me.
I lean in close to breathe in her sweet scent and caress the calf of her leg. I start at the edges of her—kisses at the inside of her knee, the soft hollow where thigh meets hip—circling closer as her body acclimates to wanting without fear attached.
Draping her leg over my shoulder, I kiss from her ankle slowly up her leg, taking my time, teasing and tormenting, then move to the other side.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” I tell her, moving my mouth from her thigh to her pussy.
She jolts when I finally put my mouth on her there. I close my eyes and drink her in, knowing this might be the first and last time she’ll let me touch her. I need to memorize everything, every smell, every taste.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, suddenly shy.
I look up at her from between her legs. “Worshipping you,” I tell her. “The only way I know how.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
The most powerful word I’ve ever heard.
I lower my head again, drinking her in. Her pussy tastes even better than I could’ve imagined. I lick and lick, knowing I can never get enough of her to satisfy me. She’s writhing under my tongue now, and I bury my tongue into her slit as deep as I can.
I want to drive her wild, to have her grinding her pussy uncontrollably into my face. To make her forget all the bad things, and only remember me.
“Open more for me,” I whisper hoarsely. “You’re so wet and sweet. I can’t get enough of your taste.”
She relaxes and spreads even wider for me, moaning my name and driving me to complete madness. Her taste is intoxicating and I’m fighting hard to keep control.
I move my mouth to suck on her clit, while holding on to her trembling legs. Glancing up at her, I see her biting hard on her bottom lip, so close to coming for me.
“Just feel,” I murmur against her. “Let yourself have this.”
She closes her eyes and grinds herself into my face, suddenly coming in waves of contractions with a cry that sounds like freedom.
“Renato…” Her hands fist in my hair, not pushing me away but clinging to me.
I crawl back up her body, pressing my forehead to hers, letting her feel the tremor in my arms. “You okay?”
“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she says, voice thick. “I thought... after what he did... I thought I’d never want to be touched again.”
“He didn’t take that from you. You still have it. You just needed to take it back.” I kiss her hair. “And you did. You chose this.”
She drags me into a fierce kiss, her hips moving restlessly under mine. “I want more,” she breathes. “I want all of it. I want you to replace every bad memory.”
“We’re going to go slow,” I tell her, rough thumb tracing her cheek. “I’m not rushing this. I’m not rushing you.”
“I trust you.”
Three words, and I’m destroyed.
Everything terrible I’ve done, every line I’ve crossed—none of it has crushed me the way her trust humbles me.
I lower my forehead to hers. “You have no idea how badly I want to destroy everything that ever touched you. But tonight, I’m going to build, not destroy. I’m going to worship you until there’s nothing left of them inside you.”
I kiss her again, while my hand traces down her body. When I reach between her legs, I pause. "I need to prepare you first. Make sure you're ready for me."
"Okay." She nods, her breath already quickening with anticipation.
I start with one finger, sliding it inside her slowly, carefully. She's incredibly tight, her body tensing at the intrusion despite the pleasure I just gave her.
I can feel her fighting the memory of Kozlov's violation, trying to separate what's happening now from what happened then.
"Breathe," I murmur against her ear. "This is me."
She exhales slowly, consciously relaxing. "Keep going."
I move my finger gently, letting her adjust to the sensation while my thumb finds her clit again. The combination makes her gasp, her hips shifting against my hand.
"Better?" I ask.
"Yes. God, yes."
I work her slowly, building the pleasure back up while her body adjusts. When I add a second finger, she tenses again, but the discomfort is brief. I take my time, stretching her carefully, making sure she's ready for what comes next.
"How does this feel?" I need to know she's still with me, still choosing this.
She rocks against my hand. "Don't stop."
I continue the slow preparation, watching her face, reading every micro-expression. She's here with me, present and engaged, not lost in traumatic memory. When I add a third finger, she's wet enough that the slide is easy, though I can feel how tight she still is.
"You're doing good, baby," I whisper. “You’re so fucking tight.”
"I want more now. I want you."
"Are you sure? We can wait, we can—"
"I'm sure." Her eyes lock on mine. "I want to feel you. All of you. I want that to be what I remember."
I remove my fingers slowly and strip off my clothes, letting her see all of me. When I settle back over her, I can feel her trembling—but it's anticipation now, not fear.
“Are you scared of me?” I ask, waiting for her to tell me to stop.