CHAPTER 19 #3
She’s as desperate as I am. She needs this to drown out the sound of the guns.
I free myself and settle between her knees, my weight pressing her down into the dirt and splinters of the floor.
I don't wait for her to be ready; I know she is.
I position myself, my eyes locked onto hers, demanding her total attention before I make my move.
I hold both of her wrists above her head with one hand, pinning her down.
"Don't look away. Look at who’s taking you," I demand.
"I'm looking. I'm right here."
I thrust into her in one deep, unyielding motion that steals the air straight from her lungs.
Fiorella’s head snaps back, a jagged cry escaping her as she absorbs the sudden, overwhelming fullness of me.
It’s not soft; it’s a reclamation, a statement of ownership made in the middle of a war zone.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent like it’s oxygen.
"Dio... you're so tight," I groan.
"Stay. Don't move. Just stay right there."
She fits me perfectly. Like she was made for this exact moment of ruin.
The pace is immediately frantic, driven by the ticking clock in my head and the lingering adrenaline.
I move with a crude, desperate rhythm, my hips snapping forward with a force that makes the floorboards groan beneath us.
I’m not being careful; I’m being thorough, erasing the memory of her family’s men with every heavy stroke.
I release her wrists to cup her face, my thumbs bruising her cheeks.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You. Only you."
Fiorella wraps her legs tighter around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back as she pulls me deeper.
She meets every thrust with a desperate arch of her hips, her fingernails biting into the scars on my shoulders.
She bites my shoulder to keep from screaming too loudly, leaving a crescent of teeth marks in my skin.
"More. Angelo, please," she begs.
"I've got you. I've got you, little Silvestri."
I curse in Italian, a stream of dark, possessive words as I increase the speed.
"Brava girl. Such a good, lethal girl. Cazzo, I’m going to kill for you again.
" I grab a handful of her hair to tilt her head back, kissing the frantic pulse point in her throat. My voice is a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, vibrating through her entire body. I’d burn the whole fucking island down just to keep her like this.
The friction is a physical dialogue of our shared trauma.
Every thrust is a massive defiance of the death we just escaped.
Fiorella is weeping now, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of the emotion and the physical sensation.
She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in a world of smoke and fire.
I wipe a tear from her eye with my thumb, my gaze uncharacteristically soft for a split second.
"Don't cry. You're alive," I tell her.
"I know. I just... I need you."
She’s breaking, and I’m the only one who can catch the pieces.
I shift my weight, pinning her even harder against the floor as I near my limit.
The movements are no longer rhythmic; they are frantic, jagged, entirely unrefined.
I am a man possessed, driven by the knowledge that Renato is waiting and the enemy is coming.
I drive my fingers into the floorboards on either side of her head, my knuckles turning white.
"Nearly there. Hold on to me," I grit out.
"Angelo! Angelo!"
Fiorella hits her climax first. Her body bows violently upward, her inner muscles clenching around me in a series of rhythmic, intense pulses that drag me right to the edge.
She gasps my name, her eyes rolling back as the world dissolves into a haze of pure sensation.
Her fingers curl into my hair, pulling me down for one last, desperate kiss.
"Yes! Right there!" I yell.
"That's it. That's my girl."
Her release triggers my own. I drive into her a final, punishing time, my entire body going rigid as I find my own explosive end.
I groan, a deep, guttural sound of victory and relief tearing out of my throat.
I bury my face in her hair as I spend myself inside her, marking her in the only way that matters in this moment.
I collapse onto her, my full weight pressing her into the floorboards as I desperately try to catch my breath.
"Dio... Fiorella."
"Don't move. Just stay."
We lie there for a moment, tangled in ruined silk and discarded tactical gear, our chests heaving in the cold mountain air.
The adrenaline is fading fast, instantly replaced by a heavy, lethargic dependency.
Just as the silence starts to feel almost comfortable, the heavy thud of Renato’s boots sounds on the porch steps, a loud reminder that the world outside is still waiting to kill us.
I reach out and pull the torn edges of her slip back down over her hips.
"We have to go. Now," I say, getting my boots under me.
"I know," she mutters, pushing her hair out of her face. "Help me up."