Chapter 12
POV: Amanda
His mouth was fire on my throat, and I arched beneath him, breath catching. His hands gripped my hips like he was afraid I might vanish, and then he pulled back just enough to look at me—his pupils blown wide, his chest rising hard and fast.
“I’ve been patient long enough,” Adrian growled, voice roughened with desire. His fingers slid to the zipper of my dress, tugging slow, deliberate. The sound of it undoing felt louder than my heartbeat.
I shivered as the fabric slipped down my shoulders, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His gaze devoured every inch of exposed skin, lingering like he was memorizing me.
“Bellissima…” he whispered, almost reverent—then ruined it with a wicked smirk. “But I’m not letting you hide behind silk tonight.”
With one smooth motion, he stripped the dress off me, tossing it aside. His mouth crushed mine again, and his hands were everywhere—thighs, waist, breasts—possessive, hungry, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted most.
I fumbled for his jacket, desperate, shoving it off his shoulders. His tie came next, then the buttons of his shirt, each one harder to undo with my trembling fingers. He chuckled darkly against my ear.
“Slow down, volpe. I’ll let you have me… but I’m tasting you first.”
Before I could reply, he pushed me gently back against the bed and slid down my body. His mouth trailed fire along my ribs, my stomach, until he hooked his hands under my thighs and spread me wide.
Heat rushed to my face. “Adrian—”
“Shh.” His eyes lifted to mine, molten and commanding. “Let me enjoy my feast.”
And then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, the sound muffled against the sheets as his tongue flicked and circled with devastating precision.
He groaned against me, like my taste was his favorite wine, the vibration sending shocks through my core.
His grip tightened on my thighs, keeping me open, keeping me right where he wanted.
“God—Adrian…” My hips bucked, but he held me down, relentless.
“Stay still,” he growled against me, his voice vibrating into my skin. “Or I’ll tie you down.”
That only made the heat coil tighter inside me. My breath broke into gasps, my fingers clawing the silk sheets until release tore through me, shaking and hot.
Adrian didn’t stop until I was trembling, only then lifting his head, lips glistening, eyes dark and satisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.
“You’re sweeter than any dessert they could’ve served us tonight.”
Before I could recover, he was over me again, kissing me hard, making me taste myself on his lips. His cock pressed hot and heavy against my thigh, straining through his slacks.
“Now,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, “I’m going to fuck you like I’ve dreamed of since the first time you pointed a gun at me.”
My breath caught, pulse racing. “Then do it.”
His eyes burned with approval. “Good girl.”
He tore his pants open, and my eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Heat flooded my cheeks, my body clenching in anticipation. He stroked himself once, slow, teasing, then pressed against my entrance.
The stretch burned and thrilled all at once as he pushed inside, inch by inch, until I was full, gasping his name.
“Christ, volpe…” His head dropped to my shoulder, his control fraying. “You feel like heaven.”
And then he moved.
Deep, hard thrusts that stole my breath, that had the bed creaking under his strength. His hand pinned mine above my head, his mouth devouring my cries, his pace ruthless. Every snap of his hips sent sparks of pleasure spiraling through me, building higher, faster.
“You’re mine,” he growled against my lips, thrusting deeper, harder. “Say it.”
I whimpered, nails digging into his back. “I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Adrian.”
He groaned, slamming into me harder, like the words fueled him. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, mixed with his rough breaths and my broken cries.
Pleasure coiled tight, unbearable, until it ripped free in a cry, my body clenching hard around him. He cursed, driving into me with a final, shuddering thrust before spilling inside, claiming me in every way.
For a moment, the world stopped. Just us, tangled in silk and heat and breathless silence.
Then Adrian’s lips brushed mine, softer now, a whisper breaking the quiet.
“You’re never escaping me now, volpe.”
And God help me, I didn’t want to.
I woke to warmth. Heavy, solid, unyielding warmth.
It took me a moment to realize why my muscles ached, why my lips felt swollen, why my body hummed like every nerve had been rewired.
Because he hadn’t let me go. Not once.
The sun filtered through sheer curtains, spilling across the bed where I lay tangled in Adrian’s arms. His chest rose against my back, steady and strong, his arm draped over my waist like a steel band, keeping me pinned. Our legs were a mess of tangled limbs, skin to skin beneath the sheets.
I shifted slightly, and something hard pressed against my lower back.
A sleepy, gravel-rough chuckle rumbled in my ear.
“Careful, volpe. You’ll wake the beast.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “I think the beast didn’t sleep at all.”
His lips brushed my shoulder, lazy kisses that made my stomach flip. “Can you blame me? You kept begging me for more.”
I twisted in his hold just enough to meet his eyes. They were still dark from sleep, messy hair falling into his face, but that smirk… cocky, satisfied, dangerously male.
“I did not beg,” I argued, though the memory of moans and pleas burning my throat betrayed me.
His hand slid lower, cupping my ass beneath the sheet. “Oh, you begged, sweetheart. Sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”
My laugh turned into a gasp as he squeezed. “Adrian—”
He kissed me, swallowing my protest, his tongue sweeping in like he owned me even here, in the quiet morning.
By the time he pulled back, I was breathless. “We should… shower,” I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.
His smirk deepened. “Best idea you’ve had.”
The bathroom was ridiculous. All marble and glass, big enough to fit a damn ballroom, steam rising from the rainfall showerhead. He herded me inside like a man with a mission, stripping the sheet from my body before I could even blush.
I yelped, trying to cover myself, but he caught my wrists, pressing them to the cool glass.
“No hiding,” he murmured against my ear. “Not from me.”
The hot spray hit my skin, and then his hands were everywhere—soaping, caressing, claiming. He lathered slowly, deliberately, dragging slick fingers over my breasts, down my stomach, between my thighs.
“Adrian…” I gasped, knees threatening to buckle.
“Shh. I’m washing my girl.” His tone was dark silk, teasing. “But if you keep making those sounds, I won’t last.”
He turned me, pressing my front against the glass, water cascading down my body. His chest pinned me from behind, hard length pressing against me.
“You feel what you do to me?” he growled, grinding once, slow, torturous.
I moaned, my palms sliding uselessly against the wet glass. “Yes.”
“Good.” His hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back so his mouth could claim my throat. “Because I’m taking you right here.”
And then he did.
He thrust into me from behind, deep, relentless, the sound of skin meeting skin muffled by the hiss of water. Steam fogged the glass, my cries echoing in the tiled space. His grip was firm—one hand on my hip, the other tangled in my hair—each snap of his hips raw and primal.
“Mine,” he rasped into my ear. “Every inch of you. Mine.”
“Yes,” I gasped, bracing against the glass as pleasure spiraled sharp and fast. “Yours.”
The angle, the heat, the water rushing around us—it was too much. I shattered against him, trembling, and he followed with a groan, his release hot and claiming.
We sagged together against the glass, breathless, water pouring over our bodies, washing away nothing—because the marks he left on me were carved deeper than skin.
Adrian kissed the back of my neck, softer now, a reverent press of lips. “Buongiorno, volpe,” he whispered, smug and satisfied.
And God help me, I almost wished every morning could start exactly like this.
When I finally walked into the dining room, I made sure I looked like myself again. Jeans, black top, hair tied back—normal. The kind of Amanda who didn’t spend the night tangled in Adrian De Luca’s sheets. The kind of Amanda who didn’t fall asleep with his mouth still on her skin.
Except Bella’s eyes narrowed the second I stepped in. She tilted her head, fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“Amanda,” she drawled. “Funny… I don’t remember hearing you come into your room last night.”
My stomach sank. Damn it.