Page 26 of Twisted Vows

"I don’t need you to forget. I need you to understand," Matteo said, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t just speaking to her but convincing himself.

She laughed bitterly, shoving at his chest, but he caught her wrists before she could push him away. "Understand what, Matteo? That I’m just a pawn in whatever deal you made withmy father? That I was never meant to be more than a bargaining chip?"

His grip tightened, pulling her closer, their bodies a breath apart. "You think I see you as just a pawn?" he murmured, his voice low, rough. "You think this is just about business?"

"Isn’t it?" she shot back, her heart pounding. "Isn’t that all I am to you?"

Matteo exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers for the briefest moment. "No, Isla. You have become so much more. That’s the problem."

His admission sent a jolt through her, but before she could process it, his lips crashed against hers.

It was desperate, raw, filled with anger and need. Isla hated how easily she melted into it, how her body betrayed the war raging inside her. Her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him like he was both her salvation and her ruin.

Matteo lifted her with ease, pressing her against the door, his hands gripping her thighs as if grounding himself in the fire they had both ignited. Every kiss was a battle, every touch a demand.

Tell me to stop," he murmured against her lips, his breath ragged.

She should. She should tell him to let her go, to put distance between them before this spiral consumed them whole. But instead, her nails dug into his back, her lips parting in invitation.

She didn’t say stop.

She couldn’t.

And Matteo knew it.

The moment their mouths met, the world outside the room ceased to exist. The war, the betrayals, the whispered threats—none of it mattered. All that remained was the way his hands gripped her waist, firm yet reverent, the way his lips moved over hers, demanding and desperate. The heat between them ignited like gasoline, consuming, insatiable.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a mixture of danger and need that sent fire licking through her veins. Every brush of his fingers against her skin sent her pulse into chaos, every stolen breath fueling the storm between them. His body pressed against hers, heat radiating from every inch of him, as though he was trying to fuse them together, trying to claim her in a way that went beyond words.

Matteo pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “You make me reckless.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close. “Then don’t stop.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and then his lips were on hers again, fiercer, more desperate. This wasn’t a kiss meant for hesitation. This was surrender and battle all at once. Their bodies moved together, drawn by an invisible force neither could fight any longer. Every touch was a promise, every breath stolen a declaration of something unspoken but undeniable.

His hands roamed her body, memorizing the curves and dips, branding her in ways that went beyond touch. She wasn’t just a woman he wanted—she was a woman he needed, a necessity etched into his very existence. His grip tightened on her hips, his fingertips pressing into her skin as if he could mark her without leaving bruises.

Her head tilted back, her breath hitching as his mouth traveled lower, tracing fire along her throat. He lingered at her pulse, his teeth grazing her skin, his control fraying at the edges. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough, filled with something more than just possession. Something deeper. Something irrevocable.

She shivered at his words, not from fear, but from the way her body responded to him—instinctive, helpless. She had fought this, had told herself she wouldn’t fall, but Matteo was inevitable. He had always been inevitable.

At some point, the frenzy broke into something slower, deeper. Their fingers traced familiar paths, lingering as if to commit each other to memory. Matteo whispered her name against her skin like a confession he hadn’t meant to make, like an oath he had no choice but to keep. And in that moment, Isla didn’t fight him, didn’t question what this was.

She let herself fall, even though she knew the ground beneath them was unstable. Even though she knew that loving Matteo DeLuca meant walking the edge of a blade, balancing between ruin and redemption.

His lips moved back to hers, gentler this time, a contrast to the intensity that had driven them moments before. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as if she were something fragile, something worth cherishing. The thought sent an unexpected ache through her chest, a longing she had never allowed herself to feel.

“Say it,” he murmured against her lips. “Say you’re mine.”

She hesitated for only a second before breathing, “I’m yours.”

The night unraveled between them, reckless and consuming, leaving no room for doubt, no space for anything but the fire burning between them. The world beyond this room, beyond these sheets, was cruel, filled with betrayal and bloodshed. But in this moment, there was only them. Only the way he pulled her closer, the way she clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in her world.

And when morning came, when the world outside beckoned with its threats and consequences, she knew one thing with certainty.

There was no turning back.

She was his.

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