8. Isabella
8
Isabella
T he room is shrouded in darkness, a quiet stillness hanging in the air as Alessio kisses me. And it feels as though time itself has unraveled, pulling us into a world where nothing exists but this…his warmth, his strength, his taste.
My fingers tangle in his hair, feeling its softness against my skin, and every rational thought dissolves like sugar on my tongue.
I know I shouldn’t be doing this, that letting myself fall into him is a risk I have no business taking. But right now, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but him.
The kiss deepens, his lips firm and searching, and I feel my pulse racing, my breath hitching as he pulls me closer, his hands warm against my back.
I lean in closer, pressing myself against him so much it feels like we are about to fuse. I am almost surprised by myself, surprised by this side of me he has brought out. I can already feel myself moisten, my body reacting effortlessly to his touch.
But just as it seems like I’m about to get pulled into a sizzling moment with this man, I feel his grip loosening.
The kiss lingers a moment longer, the taste of his restraint heavy between us, like he’s holding himself back, like this is something he knows he shouldn’t want. Then he pulls away slowly, his gaze catching mine for a second before he looks aside, breaking the spell.
“We shouldn’t… we can’t do this,” he murmurs, his voice rough again, that soft edge from a moment ago gone.
My breath catches, and I blink rapidly, my eyes locked on him. I know he’s right. Deep down, I know. But this feels… right. How can something that feels so perfect, so inevitable, be wrong?
I can’t help myself…I reach for him, fingers clutching his shirt as if something else has taken over me, and the words slip out, unbidden.
“Please, Alessio… don’t stop. I need this.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes dropping to where my hand clutches his shirt, and when he looks back at me, there’s something almost stunned in his expression, like he can’t believe my boldness. But I don’t care. I don’t want to stop.
“I need you, Alessio,” I say, voice low, steady, as I stare right into him.
His eyes darken, a fierce, almost primal intensity crossing his face. The look is raw, masculine in a way that sends a thrill through me. I want him. Now.
And in one swift, breathless moment, he pulls me against him, his mouth crashing into mine, wild, unrestrained. It’s more than a kiss; it’s like we’re giving in, letting go of every forbidden feeling, and it’s electric, animalistic.
He lifts me into his arms, carrying me upstairs to my room, immediately placing me on my bed, his hands tracing paths over my skin as he peels away my clothes with a gentleness that’s almost reverent.
Every touch, every kiss, feels like a promise, a silent vow that he’ll protect me, even if it’s just for tonight. His mouth trails down my neck, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake, and I arch beneath him, feeling my body come alive under his touch, feeling all the fright that built inside me dissolve away.
He pauses, hovering over me for a moment. Despite the terrifying intensity in his eyes, his calm, measured breaths were a stark contrast to my ragged breathing.
And then, without breaking the lock his eyes have on mine, his hand goes between my thighs, caressing my skin ever so delicately as he inches closer and closer to the parts of me that are screaming for all his attention.
When he reaches me, I freeze. A shudder ripples through my body. He rubs against my pussy through my lace panties, the only fabric still on my skin. He smiles as he sees me shudder. It’s brief, but I catch it, and I bite my lower lip almost on impulse.
It’s like it encourages him, because he gently pulls the pantie aside and slips a finger into me. “Oh, fuck.” I yelp. The sensation is both pleasurable and agonizingly teasing. I crave for more.
I wiggle my hips, pushing myself forward until his teasing finger is fully inside me. My body moves up and down, grinding on the finger. The room fills with the squishy noises of my unabashed desire for him.
And he gives me a bit more of what I want. His eyes are still on me when he adds an extra finger to the mix, and then he thrusts them both deep into me, repeatedly, with a fury that sends me over the edge.
I can’t fucking help it. I cum like a dam in his hand. My toes curl as I dissolve under the sheer force of the orgasm his fingers send through me. I’m breathing so hard, gasping.
When the daze settles, I feel that rush again, that need for more of him, and I claw at his trousers. I can see the bulge, the excitement bubbling at my seams at the sight. I want him to fuck me. I want to make him cum just as hard.
But he grabs my clutching hand. He raises it over my head, doing the same with my other arm with his hand, trapping me in place. I know he’s strong, but now I can see just how strong he is, and it only makes me want him more, need him more…. Need him to take my insides apart right now.
He moves under me, my back arching upwards, when I feel his lips engulf my pussy. His tongue sinks into me. “Oh, my fucking God Alessio…” I babble.
He doesn’t give me a moment, lapping at me like a thirsty dog. His tongue crashing over my clit so hard it’s like some kind of machine.
I’m ripping and clawing at the sheets at this point. The words tumbling out of my mouth are inaudible, incoherent… Meaningless.
I’m a fucking mess, spluttering all over the place, and it only seems to fuel him. He brings those fingers back into the mix. Everything happening so fast, so hard. Tongue, fingers, so rapidly and then I’m there again.
“Fuck…..” The word stretches out of my mouth, piercing and loud. I’m a fucking siren. A trembling, almost convulsing, orgasmic eruption of a siren.
When I collapse in his arms, my breath coming in ragged gasps, he holds me close, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. I feel myself clinging to him, unwilling to let go, as though he’s an anchor in the storm that’s swept through my life. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Totally and utterly secure.
As sleep takes me, I hope that this moment won’t end, that maybe, just maybe, I can hold on to him a little longer, that he won’t disappear when the morning comes.
But when I wake, I find his side of the bed cold, the warmth of his presence already fading like a dream I can barely remember.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and there he is…standing by the window, his figure silhouetted against the pale morning light, his gaze distant, lost in thoughts I can’t touch.
He’s dressed again in his black attire, every inch the Luciana enforcer, the Alessio who came into my life like a storm, dragging me into a world I never wanted to be part of.
“Good morning,” I say, hoping to draw him back to me, to the warmth we shared last night. But he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge me, and a coldness settles in my chest, a whisper of dread.
On the table beside the bed, I notice a tray with breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, all set out, and a warmth spread through me.
But as I peer closer at the table, it’s as if he’d planned for me to eat alone. I glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe… we could have breakfast together?”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at me, and when he speaks, his voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.
“Eat, Isabella,” he says, and his tone clipped, distant, as though last night was nothing more than a fever dream, something to be forgotten. “We have a job to do. We’re meeting Massimo at the Bellini Lodge.”
The words slice through me, leaving a hollow ache in their wake. I sit back, wrapping the surrounding sheets, struggling to keep my composure.
“Alessio…” I begin, my voice a whisper. “Are you… are you okay? I thought…” I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “I thought maybe last night… you seemed… open with me.”
He turns then, facing me, his eyes hard, impenetrable. “Last night was a mistake,” he says, each word falling like pins on my skin. “We should never have done it. There’s no room for that… for this.”
His eyes are distant, and the warmth that had softened his gaze the night before is gone, replaced by a harshness that feels like a slap.
The pain hits me hard, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow them back, refusing to let him see how much he’s hurt me.
“I understand,” I mumble, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. I want to ask him why, to understand what changed since last night, but I know he won’t answer, that he’ll keep his walls up, keep me out.
He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he turns back to the window, his posture tense, as though he’s already somewhere else, his mind back in the dark world he inhabits.
“Eat,” he says again, his voice softer this time, but no less distant. “We need to get going.”
I nod, forcing myself to move, to dress, to pull myself together even as my heart feels like it’s breaking. I pick at the breakfast he’s arranged, but my appetite is gone, replaced by a hollowness that no amount of food could fill.
As I slip into my clothes, I feel the weight of his gaze on me, but when I glance up, he’s turned away, already walking toward the door. There’s no warmth, just a cold, clinical distance that leaves me reeling, wondering if I ever knew him at all.
We step out into the morning; the world feeling colder, sharper, as though someone stripped it of color. The drive to Bellini Lodge is silent, the tension thick between us, but I refuse to break it, refuse to let him see how deeply he’s hurt me.
I keep my eyes fixed on the road, my hands clenched in my lap, holding myself together even as every mile feels like it’s pulling us further apart.