Chapter 20 #2
“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice vibrating through me.
I wrap my legs around his waist. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
When he slides inside of me, it’s slow. Careful. It steals the air from my lungs. It hurts, sharp and I cling to him. Not because I’m fragile. But because I trust him not to break me. He pauses, buried just halfway, panting against my neck.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “Let me in, stella mia. Voglio sentire tutto di te.”
I exhale. His declaration of wanting to feel all of me is disarming. He sinks deeper, inch by thick inch, until he’s fully inside me. And then he stills, shaking with the effort it takes not to move.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispers. “So fucking tight. You have no idea what it does to me,” he whispers, like a confession. “Knowing I’m the only one who will ever feel this.”
Then he starts to move.
It’s primal. Fluid. His rhythm isn’t slow—he fucks me, but with this barely-leashed gentleness, like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge. Like he’s still treating me like something to be handled, even while his body drives into mine like he’s trying to carve himself into my soul.
His hand slides down my spine, fingers gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. The next thrust knocks the breath from my lungs, rougher than before, deeper, possessive in a way that should scare me.
It doesn’t.
It makes heat bloom low and fierce inside me.
“Rafa—” His name is a warning and a plea tangled together.
“I’ll never let anyone else touch you.” His voice is darker now, strained, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. Each movement of his hips is deliberate, claiming. “Never. Say it, Kira. Tell me who you belong to.”
The world narrows to him. To the rhythm of his body against mine. To the way his hand slides up to wrap around my throat—not squeezing, just holding—forcing me to look at him.
Demanding truth.
“You,” I cry, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure spikes sharp and sudden. “I’m yours, Rafa. Only yours.”
Something feral flashes in his eyes.
He kisses me like he’s sealing a contract in blood.
After that, control shatters.
It’s no longer slow. No longer careful. The bed creaks against the wall, sheets twisting around our legs as he drives into me with a hunger that borders on desperate. My body meets his without hesitation, chasing the friction, the heat, the dizzying intensity of being wanted this fiercely.
This completely.
I’ve seen men take women like transactions—cold, mechanical, detached. I’ve watched power exchanged like currency.
This is nothing like that.
This is chaos.
This is hands gripping and mouths colliding and breath turning ragged. This is my name torn from his throat like it hurts to say it. This is his forehead pressed to mine as if he can’t stand even an inch of distance between us.
It’s not pretty. It’s not polished.
It’s raw.
Every thrust drags a sound from me I didn’t know I could make. Every rough kiss feels like a brand. His hands are everywhere—my hips, my thighs, tangled in my hair—anchoring me, claiming me, refusing to let me drift away from him.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, almost hoarse now.
And this time, when I answer, it isn’t just surrender.
It’s choice.
“Yes.”
The tension coils tighter, tighter until it snaps.
Pleasure crashes through me so hard my vision whites out. His name rips from my throat, loud and broken, and he follows with a groan that sounds like something breaking open inside him.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing.
Then he collapses over me, still holding on.
Still looking at me like I’m something he fought to win.
And I realize the truth isn’t in the dominance.
It’s in the way he refuses to look away.
“Kira,” he groans, his forehead pressed against mine, our breathing synchronized in the most intimate possible way.
“I know,” I whisper back, understanding without words.
We lie tangled together in the aftermath, hearts gradually slowing, reality slowly reasserting itself around the edges of our sanctuary. His arm is careful around me, mindful of his stitches, but his hold is sure, protective.
“Any regrets?” he asks quietly, his lips moving against my hair.
“About what just happened? No.” I trace patterns on his chest, marveling at his solid warmth. “About everything else... ask me tomorrow.”
He laughs softly. “Fair enough.”
Outside, rain begins to patter against the windows a sound that should be soothing but instead reminds me that the world is still out there, waiting. The consequences of our choices, and the lines we’ve crossed. Alliances still hang in the balance. Families still expect obedience.
But for now, in this stolen moment of peace, I allow myself to simply exist in the circle of his arms. To feel safe and wanted and cherished in ways I never thought possible.
To understand, why people make stupid decisions.
Because here with Rafa, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek, I realize this wasn’t a decision at all.
But in his arms, I know one thing with terrifying clarity—
I didn’t just give him my body.
I gave him something far more dangerous.
My loyalty.