Page 42 of Forbidden Vengeance

Her lips curve into that maddening smirk again, her hands sliding up my chest to grip the lapels of my jacket. “Not so fast, Mario,” she murmurs. “If you’re going to strip me down, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

Her fingers make quick work of the buttons on my shirt, pulling it open with a sharp tug that sends one flying to the floor. She bites her lip, her eyes gleaming with amusement and heat, and I can’t help but laugh, low and rough.

“Elena,” I growl, grabbing her wrists to slow her down, but she shakes her head, her grin defiant.

“No interruptions,” she says, her tone as commanding as it is playful.

She tugs the shirt off my shoulders, her fingers skimming over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My breath hitches as her touch dips lower, finding the buckle of my belt. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she unfastens it and slides it free, the soft whisper of leather making the tension between us even thicker.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, my voice rough with restraint.

She looks up at me through her lashes, her hands moving to the button of my pants. “Immensely.”

Her voice is a husky purr that sends a jolt of heat straight through me. She pushes my pants down, her knuckles brushing against me in a way that has my control unraveling. When I’m left in nothing but my boxer briefs, she leans back slightly, her gaze raking over me with unhidden appreciation.

“Not bad,” she says, her tone light but her eyes betraying her hunger.

“Not bad?” I echo, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against me. “You’re playing with fire, Elena.”

“Good thing I like getting burned,” she whispers, her hands finding their way into my hair as she pulls me down into a searing kiss.

My lips find hers again, my hands tracing the curves of her body as I press her into the sheets. Her touch is everywhere, her fingers skimming over my shoulders and down my back, her nails digging in just enough to leave marks.

Her soft gasp, the way her body arches into mine—it’s everything. And as I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, I see it: the trust, the desire, the connection that binds us.

Elena’s hands skim over my back, her nails grazing my skin as I trail kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, and across the swell of her bra-covered breasts.

Well, that won’t do. I unhook her bra and throw it across the room.

Her breath hitches when my mouth finds her nipple, and I take it between my lips, rolling it gently with my tongue. She arches beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, urging me closer, and I respond by lavishing the same attention on her other breast, wanting to give her everything she desires.

Elena’s skin is warm and soft, and the feel of her beneath me, the way her body responds to every touch, every kiss, drives me to the edge of control. But I hold back, wanting to savor this moment, to make it last as long as possible. I slide my hand down her side, feeling the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, until I reach the softness between her thighs.

She gasps when I touch her, her body trembling beneath my hand as I stroke her gently, feeling the wet heat of her arousal. Her hips move in time with my hand, her breath coming in short, quick bursts as I explore her, learning what makes her shudder, what makes her moan my name in that breathless, desperate way that makes my blood pound in my ears.

“Mario,” she whispers, her voice a plea, and I know she’s ready. I’m barely holding on myself, the need to be inside her, to claim her, so strong it’s nearly overwhelming.

Our underwear is quickly shed and I position myself between her legs. As I push into her, a groan escapes my lips at the feel of her surrounding me, warm and tight and perfect.

Elena’s back arches, her nails digging into my shoulders as I fill her, slowly, completely. I hold still for a moment, letting us both adjust to the feeling of being so connected. Her breath mingles with mine, our foreheads pressed together as we savor the moment, the intensity of it making my heart race.

I start to move, slowly at first, the rhythm of our bodies perfectly in sync, a dance as old as time itself. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, a blend of passion and tenderness that leaves us both breathless. Elena’s moans grow louder, her body moving in time with mine, meeting me with each thrust, her legs wrapping around my waist to draw me closer.

The mattress beneath us is soft, but nothing compares to the softness of Elena’s skin, the way she feels beneath me, around me. I watch her face, the way her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting with each gasp of pleasure.

I lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of my feelings into it. Elena responds with equal fervor, her hands clutching at me as if I’m the only thing keeping her grounded. I can feel her tightening around me, the telltale signs that she’s close, and I increase the pace, driven by the need to bring her to the edge.

When she finally cries out, her body convulsing in the throes of her orgasm, I follow her, the sensation of her release pulling me over the edge. I spill into her, a shuddering groan escaping my lips as I bury myself deep, my body trembling with the intensity of it all.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together on the bed, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high. I hold her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow beneath my palm.

As sweat cools on our skin, I allow myself to admit what I’ve been denying for weeks: I’m falling for her. Not just the refinement or brilliant mind that first caught my attention, but everything—her sharp wit, her quiet strength, the way she matches me move for move in this dangerous game we’re playing.

“I’m starting to think you’re more dangerous than any of them,” I murmur against her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. “The Irish, the Calabrese family, even my brother—none of them see what I see.”

“And what’s that?” She turns in my arms, those eyes that miss nothing searching my face.

“A queen,” I admit, the words feeling like surrender. “Not just another piece on the board.”

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