REBECCA #2
My orgasm starts building fast and vicious. I'm shaking, clinging to him, rage and pleasure mixing until I'm dizzy with it. And in that moment—right on the razor's edge—something cracks open inside me. I've never been this emotional. Not since Rachel disappeared.
For four years, I've kept everything locked down tight.
Every fear. Every ounce of grief. Every crack in the walls holding me together.
I was terrified that if I let myself feel any of it, even for a second, I'd shatter.
But somehow, he's seeing it all. I'm allowing him to see it all.
Him. This perfect stranger. A mob boss. The realization crashes into me.
He isn't just seeing the sharp edges I show the world. The sarcasm. The anger. The woman who never asks for help because help always comes with a price. He's seeing the parts I keep buried. The lonely parts. The broken parts. And instead of turning away, he's pulling me closer.
Mine.
The word is possessive. Dangerous. It should send me running. Instead, something inside me shifts. I've spent years fighting every battle alone. Carrying every burden alone. Surviving alone. I'm tired. So unbelievably tired.
And when I look at him, I realize there are far worse things than belonging to someone who would burn down the world before letting anything happen to me.
His forehead presses against mine. His breathing is rough. Uneven.
"Mine," he growls again, like a vow.
For the longest second, I stare into those crystal blue eyes. Then I stop fighting. Not because I've lost. Because for the first time in years, I don't want to do this alone. A laugh breaks from me, shaky and wet with tears.
"Fine," I whisper.
His entire body goes still. My fingers slide into his hair. "Yours."
The word barely leaves my lips before his eyes close. As though I've given him something infinitely more valuable than surrender. Trust.
Alessio roars, slams into me one last time, burying himself deep as he comes hard, pulsing hot inside me.
"Mine!" he snarls against my neck.
"Yours," I cry out, clinging to him as we shatter together.
For a long moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing. He stays buried inside me, forehead pressed to mine, arms wrapped around me like he'll never let go. And for the first time since this began… I don't want him to.
"Did you really put all that food down the sink?" Alessio asks.
The second he says it, regret hits me. As if on cue, my stomach growls. Loudly. I wince. "Yep."
"Damn, woman."
His hand lands on my ass in a playful smack. A giggle escapes before I can stop it. The sound surprises both of us. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that.
Alessio closes his eyes and groans. "Don't."
"What?"
"That."
I grin. "Very specific."
"You're the most infuriating woman I've ever met."
He presses his forehead against mine. His voice is rough, but there's no real annoyance in it. Just affection. The realization makes my chest feel funny.
"Right back at ya."
He opens one eye. "That smart mouth of yours is going to be the death of me."
My grin widens. "But what a way to go, right?"
A laugh breaks free. A real one this time. Alessio shakes his head. "Mia piccola diavoletta."
My hand slides to his jaw. The rough stubble scratches pleasantly against my palm. "What does that mean?"
His eyes darken with amusement. "My little devil."
I smile. "I like that."
"Of course you do."
"It also means my little menace," he adds.
"Even better."
He huffs out a laugh. "Most women would prefer bellissima."
"What's that?"
"Beautiful."
I pretend to consider it. "Eh."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Eh?"
"Keep going."
His eyes narrow. "Bella."
"That sounds suspiciously like my name."
"It means beautiful too."
"Still not as good as little devil."
A disbelieving laugh escapes him. "Tesoro."
I like the sound of that one. "What's that?"
"My treasure."
Something warm settles low in my chest. Before it can get too comfortable, I point at him. "You're getting soft."
"Says the woman collecting Italian compliments."
"Continue."
His mouth twitches. "Amore."
My heart does an annoying little flutter. I immediately decide to ignore it. "What does that mean?"
"My love."
I place a finger over his lips. "Are you talking dirty to me in Italian?"
His shoulders shake with laughter. "I'm complimenting you."
"Mm-hmm."
"I am."
"Sure."
His hand covers mine. Those crystal blue eyes lock onto mine. Warm. Steady. Dangerously gentle. "You're impossible."
"Yet here you are."
"Unfortunately."
I snort. He smiles. The sight still catches me off guard every time.
Because when Alessio smiles, the hard edges disappear.
For a second, I can almost see the boy he used to be.
The one before life taught him to hide every soft thing inside him.
My head settles against his shoulder. The laughter fades.
The teasing fades. And for the first time in a very, very long time, there's nothing chasing me.
No fear. No guilt. No desperate need to stay one step ahead of disaster.
Just warmth. Just quiet. Just him. Maybe that's the most dangerous thing of all.
Because I could get used to this. And that's exactly what terrifies me.