Page 41 of Silent Vows

“And what does your instinct tell you now?” Can she hear how loud my heart is pounding?

Instead of answering, she kisses me. It’s different from our previous kisses—less desperate, more questioning. My good arm slides around her waist, pulling her closer until she’s straddling my lap. She tastes like lake water and gunpowder and something uniquely Bella, and for a moment I let myself forget everything else. Forget about Bianca being drugged. Forget about the Families gathering to vote on my leadership. Forget about all the sins Father Romano knows, all the secrets that could destroy everything.

Her hands find the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes me as her body presses tighter against mine.

I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath my hands. I let my fingers slide up her back, brushing over the wet fabric of her shirt before peeling it away from her, tracing the curve of her spine. Bella arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through me.

I want to give her everything, to show her how much she means to me, how much I need her.

I pull back slightly, my lips brushing against hers as I speak. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no hesitation in her answer. “Yes, Matteo. I’m sure.”

That’s all I need to hear. I kiss her again, deep and tender, before shifting her gently onto her back, her body stretching out beneath me on the couch. She looks up at me, her lips swollen from our kisses, her cheeks flushed with desire, and she’s never looked more beautiful.

My hands move slowly, reverently, as I undress her. I take my time, savoring each new inch of exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to her collarbone, her shoulders, her stomach. Bella shivers beneath my touch, her fingers threading through my hair, guiding me as I kiss my way down her body.

When she’s finally bare beneath me, I pause for a moment, just taking her in. The way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the soft curve of her hips, the way her eyes darken with desire.

She’s perfect—more perfect than I ever could have imagined.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

Bella’s eyes flutter shut, a soft smile playing at her lips. “So are you,” she murmurs, and it sends another wave of warmth crashing through me.

I lean down, pressing a kiss to her lips, her neck, her breasts, until I’m completely lost in the feel of her. My hands explore every part of her, my lips following the same path, and Bella’s soft moans fill the room, encouraging me, pushing me further.

When I finally slide inside her, it’s slow, deliberate, every movement filled with tenderness. Bella gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me deeper into her. I can feel her heartbeat against mine, the warmth of her body surrounding me, and it’s overwhelming in the best way.

We move together, slowly at first, savoring every touch, every kiss. There’s no rush, no need for anything other than this moment, just the two of us, wrapped up in each other. Her nails dig into my back as I thrust deeper, her breathy moans spurring me on.

I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, the softness of her skin beneath my lips. “Bella,” I groan, my voice thick with need. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” she whispers back, her voice breathless, full of desire. She tightens her legs around me, pulling me impossibly closer, and I can feel the way her body clenches around me, the way she’s teetering on the edge.

I move faster, my hand sliding down to where we’re joined, my thumb brushing over her clit, and Bella cries out, her body arching off the couch as she comes, her muscles tightening around me, pulling me over the edge with her.

I come with her, burying myself deep inside her, my body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. I collapse against her, my chest pressed to hers, our bodies still joined as we catch our breath.

For a moment, we just lie there, tangled together. I can feel her fingers tracing lazy circles on my back, her breath warm against my neck before she gently presses a kiss to my cheek. “We should get dressed,” she whispers, “before someone comes in.”

I hate that she’s right.

We dress in silence and Bella slips my shirt over her head. Something possessive roars in my chest at the sight. Her skin still glows from sex, and despite everything falling apart around us, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she says softly, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Montreal skyline creates a dramatic backdrop behind us, lights twinkling like stars against the darkening sky.

“Force of habit.” I move behind her, drawn like gravity. In the glass, we look like something from one of her paintings—light and shadow, softness and steel, artist and killer bound together. My hands find her waist as I breathe her in, memorizing this moment before reality crashes back.

She turns in my arms, reaching up to trace the scar above my eyebrow. “We’re going to find her, Matteo. Bianca. We’re going to bring her home.”

The simple faith in her voice nearly undoes me. After everything she’s learned about me, everything she’s lost because of me, she still believes in me. Still trusts me.

A throat clearing from the doorway breaks the moment. Antonio stands there, tablet in hand, professional enough not to react to our obviously intimate situation. The massive great room suddenly feels smaller, more confining, despite its twenty-foot ceilings and walls of glass. My body tenses instantly at his expression—he wouldn’t interrupt unless it was critical.

“We have a lead on Miss Bianca,” he says as Bella steps away from me, smoothing her hair. “Security cameras caught Father Romano’s car heading toward Mont-Tremblant.”

Ice slides down my spine at the confirmation. “The monastery.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth. How many times did I watch my father disappear behind those heavy wooden doors, only to emerge hours later with that look in his eyes? The same look he’d get before the darkness took over, before the lessons about what it meant to be a DeLuca man.

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