Page 50 of His Ruthless Claim

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and rough, almost a snarl. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I whisper, my voice breaking as he fills me completely. His hands grip me tighter, his movements becoming more urgent, more possessive, like he’s trying to brand himself into me.

When I come, it’s shattering, my body convulsing around him, my nails digging into his shoulders. He follows me with a groan, his hands pulling me impossibly close as he spills into me. But I can see in his eyes it's not enough, and I'm grateful. I need more of him.

His arms lock around me as he stands, lifting me like I weigh nothing. His chest is still heaving, his skin damp with sweat, but he doesn’t falter. I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing my forehead against his as he carries me down the hall to his bedroom. His steps are deliberate, each one echoing in the quiet house, and I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

The door creaks open, and he sets me down gently on the edge of the bed. His hands slide down my arms, his touch impossibly soft, like he’s afraid he’ll break me. I reach for him, pulling him close, and he kneels between my legs, his hands resting on my thighs. His eyes are dark, still clouded with whatever he’s feeling, but there’s something else there too - something vulnerable, almost tender.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough as he leans in, his lips brushing against mine. “Every inch of you. I can’t get enough.”

I shiver at his words, at the way his hands skim up my sides, his touch reverent but possessive. I run my hands over his bare chest, tracing the scars and the hard lines of muscle. He’sperfect, in every way, and I can’t help but lean in, pressing my lips to his skin.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the way he’s already hard again. He kisses me slowly, deeply, like he’s savoring every second. His hands slide down my body, lifting me slightly as he positions himself between my legs. I gasp when he enters me, the stretch from this angle even more intense, but he holds still, his forehead pressed against mine.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice strained like it’s taking everything in him not to lose control. “So fucking tight for me.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he finally starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. My hands grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as he fills me completely, each stroke deeper than the last. His lips find my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I moan, my body arching into his.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my skin, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he speeds up. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I whisper, my voice cracking as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in my stomach. His thrusts become more urgent, more possessive, and I can feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, like he’s trying to claim every part of me.

When I come, it’s like a wave crashing over me, my body convulsing around him, and he follows me again with a groan, his hands gripping me so tight it almost hurts. He collapses on top of me, his breathing ragged, and we stay like that for a while, tangled together, his heartbeat thundering against my chest.

Eventually, he rolls us over, pulling me against his side, his arm draped over my waist. The silence between us is heavy, filled with everything we’re not saying. I know things with theCappallettis are about to get more intense, and the weight of it hangs in the air, unspoken but felt.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, his hand sliding up to cup my face. “I’m not losing you,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

I nod, my throat tight, and he pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me like he’s trying to shield me from the world. We don’t say anything else - we don’t need to. The way he holds me, the way his body curls around mine, says it all. Tonight, we’re safe. Tonight, we’re each other’s.

But outside these walls, the storm is brewing.

24

SKYE

The morning sun spills across my bedroom floor as I adjust the silver Rolex on my wrist. Skye is still asleep, and a part of me hopes she stays that way. I spent my entire night buried in her, and now that I know how she feels, it's hard to stay away.

I didn't tell her last night, but I've never liked anyone touching me. Not before her. But I have given her everything… All my emotions, all my firsts, all my heart.

Skye stirs in my bed, the charcoal sheets twisted around her curves. Her amber eyes find mine as I shrug on my shoulder holster.

"You're going to get her back." Not a question. A statement of fact.

I slide my Glock into place. "It shouldn't take long - not with Enzo's help."

Skye rises from the bed, still gloriously naked. The day light hits her and I suddenly forget about anything but the feel of her squeezing my cock. It takes every bit of my restraint to stay where I'm standing as she comes up behind me. Her steps are silent as she approaches, fingers trailing up my chest to straighten my tie.

"I'm sure Maria's strong. Like you."

My jaw clenches at the mention of my cousin. The image of her subdued expression, the flash of fear on the surveillance photos I've seen, flashes through my mind. I push it away, focusing on Skye's touch as she smooths my lapels.

"I'll have Bas pick you up for work."

"I know the drill." She rises on her toes, pressing her lips to mine. Something in my chest loosens. "Go be the scary mob boss everyone thinks you are."

The corner of my mouth twitches. I cup the back of her head, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away. "Stay safe."

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