Isabella #3
I watch him for a moment. “Your brother wants to kill my child. Is that it?”
There would be no other reason for Elio to remain this guarded about it. If Alessio were focused on anything other than my child, there would be no reason to hide it from me. It isn’t as if I’m all that surprised about being threatened.
When it comes to my child, though… that is an entirely different story.
He lifts a hand then, though not to grab me. It hovers in the air near me for half a second as if some instinct in him is compelling him to reach out and touch me, drag the backs of his fingers down my face gently like he used to. I wait, bracing myself for it to come.
He drops them just as quickly. “No one is killing him.”
I frown. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Because why?” I demand, my voice rising. “You gave them an order not to? Silly me, I forgot you Conti men are known to always obey the wishes of others instead of following through with your own agendas.”
His eyes flash again. “It isn’t going to happen because I will stop anyone who tries.”
I stare at him, my eyes widening slightly. My throat tightens until it hurts, the next question leaving me before I can stop it.
“Why?” I whisper.
He swallows, his throat bobbling visibly. “You know why.”
Then he moves.
In two strides, he bridges the distance between us and grabs my waist with a bruising possession.
He turns me until I’m backed up against the cold concrete wall.
His mouth crashes down on mine without warning.
There is nothing at all gentle about this kiss.
In the eight years of suppressed hunger and want, all of it explodes all at once.
I taste the metallic tang of blood as our teeth clash and our tongues tangle together.
I should push him away and tell him to never touch me again. Scream and kick and fight him until he backs away and slips out that door the same way he’d come. Instead, my hands fist in his shirt, yanking him closer and moaning the second his body molds against mine.
A low growl rumbles from his chest as he lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.
The hard length of him presses against my core through our clothes, thick and insistent as it grinds exactly where I need it to.
A broken little moan escapes me before I can stop it, and he swallows the sound, devouring me like a man who has been dying of thirst and finally finding water.
Every clash from the past week and harsh words thrown across a never ending battle field fuels the gasoline lit fire until it burns and consumes everything.
He lifts me away from the wall and carries me to the cot, practically tumbling onto it with me.
His hands tug at my sweater and shove it up and over my head. The cool air hits my skin when its pulled off of me but his mouth follows immediately after, closing over one lace-covered breast.
He sucks hard through the fabric, teeth grazing my nipple until I arch with a sharp gasp.
My back arches. “Elio!”
“Mine,” he growls against my chest, the word dark and possessive. “You have always been mine. Even when I was too fucking stupid to keep you.”
His hands work my jeans apart, yanking them down my legs along with my panties in one rough motion.
The sound of them hitting the floor is the only warning I get before he moves off the cot and drops down to his knees on the stone floor. I push myself up onto my elbows to look at him, finding his broad shoulders spreading my thighs wide.
I gasp when he buries his face between my legs. “Oh!”
The first stroke of his tongue up the length of my folds rips a choked cry from my throat.
He licks me until my hips arch off the cot, moving his tongue in deep strokes through my folds, circling my clit with ruthless precision, then thrusting inside me like he wants to devour every drop of my arousal.
My hands fist in his thick black hair, hips rocking desperately against his mouth as pleasure coils tight and vicious. Eight years of forced denial have made every sensation that much more devastating.
He groans against me. “Still so fucking sweet. Still so wet for me. No one else has ever had this, have they?”
I can’t answer. I can only moan as he sucks my clit between his lips and slides two thick fingers deep inside me, curling them against that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
I come hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming his name as my body shudders violently with waves of pleasure that crash through me.
Elio rises, dragging that tongue along his lips to lap up my arousal. His eyes are black with lust and something far more dangerous that sends a chill rushing up my spine, possession bordering on obsession.
He frees himself from his pants, his thick cock bouncing slightly. The head is already glistening. He is bigger than I remember.
After planting one knee down onto the cot, he grabs my hips and angles himself against me. The head of his cock brushes against my aching hole, lining it up before thrusting into me in one deep, punishing move.
The stretch burns in the most exquisite way. I gasp and dig my nails into the sheet under me. He fills me until our hips are pressed flush against mine. For a moment he stills and lets me breathe. His dark eyes watch me, taking in the slightly twitches in my expression.
Then he starts to move.
There is nothing slow or tender about this. It is raw and desperate, filled with years of grief, betrayal and starvation that is then poured into every brutal thrust he punishes me with. The cot creaks beneath us, our skin slapping against each other.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave marks and I meet him thrust for thrust, my legs locking around his waist to take everything he gives and demanding more on top of it.
“Fuck, Isabella,” he groans. “You feel exactly the same. So fucking tight and perfect.”
I hate how good this feels. I hate how my body still recognizes him as what I have always wanted and can never have. Even while rage and grief tear through me, pleasure builds again, even more exquisite than the last time.
He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside me with every stroke, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit. “Come for me again. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock like you used to.”
The orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, my inner walls clenching around him so tightly he curses.
He follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, burying himself deep as he spills inside me, hot pulses that mark me from the inside as his all over again.
I collapse back onto the cot and pant at the ceiling. He hovers over me for a few seconds before slowly leaning forward.
His forehead rests against mine, his dark eyes searching my face with something I can’t even begin to name. For one fragile moment, the walls around my heart begin to crack.
Should I…?
Reality crashes back the moment my eyes dart away from his and I recognize the stone walls surrounding me.
I am in a prison created by the man currently buried inside me.
My son is being kept from me and the only one capable of bringing him back is the same one who abandoned me when I needed him most.
I shove at his chest. “Get off me.”
“Isabella—”
“Off.”
His expression flickers but he obeys and pulls out slowly. His hands frame my face for a second longer, thumbs brushing my cheeks with a gentleness that feels like a lie. I shove at him again until he finally stands.
His cock twitches at his hips, still glistening from my slick coating him. I sit up and wince slightly as the burn between my legs pinches.
“This changes nothing,” I whisper, tears I refuse to shed burning behind my eyes. “I want my son. Bring him to me or I will never open my mouth and talk again. You can kiss trying to figure out whatever the hell you think I know goodbye.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs my face in a tight enough hold that I can’t jerk away from and presses one last bruising kiss to my swollen lips.
“We will see,” he murmurs against my mouth.
He steps back, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes. He picks mine up off the floor and tosses them onto the cot next to me. He leaves without another word, the door locking behind him with brutal finality.
I slide off the cot on shaky legs and pull my clothes back on.
God, what the hell is wrong with me? The fragile balance we have been fighting to maintain has shattered completely. Our love is a wound that has never healed.
What hope do we have for separation when every attempt at distance only drags us closer together?
When every time we try to walk away, something inside us breaks enough that we end up running straight back?
It is a cycle neither of us can endure anymore, yet both of us are helpless to escape it.