Isabella #3
He kisses me like he has spent the last eight years starving for the taste of me, pushing every apology, regret, and unsaid prayer into this one point of contact.
His lips are fierce against mine, but his hands remain careful at my face, trembling slightly with the effort not to take more than I offer.
That restraint is what makes me lose whatever battle I thought I was still fighting within my own body.
I pull him closer, my hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him against me, dragging a low sound from his chest that vibrates through me.
His arms band around my waist and then he lifts me off my feet and turns us.
My back meets the stone wall of the terrace, the impact stealing a breath from my lungs. His body follows, caging mine, shielding me from the wind and the guards below.
“Elio,” I breathe against his mouth.
He shudders at the sound of his name on my tongue. His forehead presses to mine, both of us breathing too hard, our bodies locked together. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb trembling along my cheekbone.
“Tell me to stop,” he says roughly, barely controlled.
My eyes sting with fresh tears. I stare at him—at the man who has been both a weapon held to my throat and the only salve I’ve ever known for the wound he left behind.
The father of my son. The enemy standing close enough to become shelter… if I’m foolish enough to lean.
My fingers tighten in his shirt. “Don’t stop.”
Something feral flashes in his dark eyes.
He kisses me again, slower this time, though no less devastating. His lips move over mine with aching focus, tenderness threaded through the haze in a way that feels almost unbearable.
His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips with possessive strength as he lifts me higher against the wall.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively and I feel the hard, thick length of him pressing against my core through our clothes.
A broken moan escapes me and Elio swallows it greedily, grinding slowly against me as if he can’t help himself.
The friction sends sparks racing through my body, heat pooling low in my belly.
“God, Isabella,” he rasps against my lips when he moves to trail kisses down my neck. “I need to be inside you so fucking bad.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re from pleasure, pain, or the terrifying hope blooming in my chest that this is what I’ve wanted for so long. All I know is that I can’t let go.
My hands shove at his shirt to push it up his body, desperate to feel the heat of him.
I keep my hands pressed to his chest, revealing the broad, scarred skin I once traced with reverent fingers.
His hand moves under my sweater, shoving the fabric up to my chest, the other tearing my leggings apart at the inner seams. Cool night air kisses my bare thighs before his palm slides between us, cupping me possessively over my lace panties.
“So wet already,” he groans.
Two thick fingers push the lace aside and slide through my folds, circling my clit before sinking deep inside me.
I cry out softly, head falling back against the stone as he curls them perfectly, stroking that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
His mouth latches onto my neck and sucks on the skin hard enough to leave a mark as he fucks me with his fingers.
I come hard and fast, clenching around his fingers with a broken cry that sounds like his name.
He doesn’t stop, drawing it out until I’m trembling and gasping against him. Then his fingers are gone. I pant as I hear the sound of his zipper, and my heart stutters with anticipation and raw need.
He frees himself, thick and heavy and leaking at the tip. In one brutal thrust, he buries himself all the way inside me.
“Fuck,” we both groan at the same time.
I feel every inch of him, filling me so completely there’s no room for anything else. For a moment we stay locked together, breathing each other in.
Then he starts to move.
Every powerful thrust rocks me against the stone wall, his hips snapping forward as he claims me with the pent-up hunger I know he’s been fighting since the night he took me just as brutally in that safehouse room.
His hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me upright for him while the other cups under my thigh. The wet sound of our bodies meeting fills the night air, mingling with my broken moans and his low, guttural growls.
“I love you,” he rasps against my ear. “I’ve always loved you, Isabella.”
I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. “Fuck, Elio… I… I love you too.”
He fucks me harder, grinding against my clit with every deep stroke until I shatter again, crying out as my walls pulse and flutter around his cock.
He follows me over the edge with a savage groan, burying himself as deep as possible and spilling inside me, pulse after pulse of heat that marks me from the inside out.
His arms wrap around me protectively, like he’s afraid I’ll push him away if he lets go. When he finally pulls back enough to look at me, his dark eyes are raw with emotion.
“Tell me again,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
I cup his face with both hands, heart pounding with both terror and relief. “I love you, Elio Conti.”