Page 123 of Hate Mates

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he cups my face, tilting it up, his lips brushing over mine—soft, hesitant. As if he’s afraid to push, afraid I’ll break. But I don’t. I lean in, letting his warmth seep into my bones.

He parts our lips and drops to his knees, washing me, hands mapping my body with slow, careful strokes—never pushing, never taking, just giving. When he reaches my thighs, his jaw clenches, fingers trembling as they trace over the bruised skin.

A soft whimper escapes me when he presses his lips to the marks. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make this right.” Another kiss. “I will love you like you’re the only thing in the world that keeps me breathing.”

My heart swells, love trickling in, moving, covering every bit of ugliness this night has caused. His words take me back to the day he stole my heart. Back to when I was a little girl who believed in happily ever after.

But I need him to lock it in. I need him to erase the pain before it takes everything beautiful from me.

“Vincenzo?”

He stills, placing a kiss on my hipbone. “Yeah?”

I suck my lower lip into my mouth before saying, “Make love to me.”

His body locks, and he gazes up at me. “Ottavia?—”

“Please.”

He exhales sharply. “No. You’re hurt. You’re?—”

“I need you to erase them. I need to feel you. Not them. You.”

He pulls me out of the shower, hands shaking as he cups my face, thumbs tracing the hollows beneath my eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to. I want my first time to be with you—not them. Erase them. Take back what they stole.”

“Jesus Christ, Ottavia.” He drags a hand through his wet hair. “I can’t do?—”

“I need you to heal my wing, Vincenzo…or I’ll never fly again.”

The war in his eyes rages. It hurts, the desperation. Hurts more than the pain inside my body. With everything in me, I know there is no other way.

Reluctance mars his features, but still, he reaches for me. Lifts me. Carries me to our bed.

He lays me down gently, his fingers trembling against my skin, torment burning behind his gaze.

He kisses me—not like he owns me, but like he’s offering himself to me. Like he’s giving me everything in this moment.

My mind is a battlefield, struggling between their touches and his. What if this doesn’t work? What if I still feel them after? The doubt creeps in, slithering like a shadow at the edge of my mind.

Then Vincenzo touches me—gently, reverently—and the shadow recedes.

It has to work. It will.

His hands explore me with care, with worship. His fingers slide between my thighs, easing me open, preparing me. I archinto him, clinging to the memory of a starling’s flight, of blue-green feathers catching the sun.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

He presses against my entrance, slow, carefully. “What if I hurt you further?”

“You won’t. It’s okay,” I assure him, and his eyes gleam.

“I love you, Ottavia.”

I gasp as he pushes inside, stretching me. The burn is sharp, then sweet, then consuming. A good pain. A real one. One I chose.

---