Page 21 of Corrupted By the Capo

Aching.

Desperate.

And I wanted all of it.

He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other holding my hip steady as he drove into me, deeper with each stroke.

I broke apart under him, shattered around him.

He didn’t stop.

He chased his own climax like a man on fire, panting my name like a curse.

When he came, it was with a sound that wasn’t quite human.

He collapsed beside me, pulling me with him, our limbs a mess of tangled heat and wrecked nerves.

I didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Eventually, I stood, gathering my robe from the hook, and went to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

My gaze lingering on the marks on my throat.

The fingerprints on my hips.

Something in my eyes I didn’t want to name.

I washed my face slowly.

Brushed my teeth.

Dried my hands like I had all the time in the world, but my heart was still racing.

I wasn’t sure what scared me more: how much I’d wanted him—or how much I didn’t regret giving in.

When I came back, he was still in bed, one arm flung across his eyes.

I crawled under the blanket beside him. Close enough to feel his heat, far enough not to touch.

“That was a mistake,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, he said, “Yeah.”

The word landed between us like glass cracking under weight.

I turned to face the wall.

Knowing neither of us believed it.

The next morning was…interesting.

I woke up before Enzo, and after a quick shower, threw on a hoodie and leggings, making coffee like it was any other day. Like my body didn’t still ache in all the places he’d touched me. Claimed me.

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