Page 104 of Ruined By Capture

Her pulse speeds beneath my fingers as I trace the column of her neck. The sun catches in her hair, turning the chestnut strands to fire. No view is more captivating—not Manhattan spread out before us but rather Melania's reflection in the glass, eyes heavy with desire.

"You're mine," I growl, yanking her underwear down. "Say it."

"Yours," she gasps as my fingers find her slick heat. "Only yours, Alessio."

I work my belt open with my free hand, never taking my eyes off her ravenous features. The flush spreading across her chest, and lower, beneath my rough fingertips, the parting of her soaking wet lips—I memorize every detail like a man starving for the sight of her.

When I enter her Melania's moan echoes through every room of our Classic 6 apartment. My hand slides up to encircle her neck, not squeezing but holding her in place as I drive into her. The gentle pressure makes her eyes flutter closed, her body arching back against mine.

"Eyes open," I demand. "Watch yourself come apart for me."

She obeys, her gaze locking with mine in the reflection as I set a merciless pace. The city blurs behind us, insignificant compared to the woman in my arms.

"Alessio," she moans, her voice vibrating against my palm. "Please..."

I tighten my grip on her throat just slightly, feeling her pulse rushing beneath my fingertips. The trust in her eyes undoes me—this brilliant, beautiful woman who could have anyone, surrendering completely to me.

"So fucking perfect," I murmur against her skin, watching her reflected pleasure overtake her features. "Made just for me."

Her body tightens around me as she approaches the edge. I can't look away from the sight of her—head thrown back against my shoulder, throat vulnerable beneath my hand, the Manhattan skyline serving as nothing more than a backdrop to her beauty.

I drive into her with controlled ferocity, claiming every inch of her body. My fingers tighten on her hip, leaving marks that will remind her who she belongs to tomorrow. Her reflection inthe glass—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes locked with mine—pushes me toward the edge.

"Come for me," I command, my voice animalistic with need. "Now, Melania."

She shatters around me, her body clenching tight as she cries out my name. The sound of it—raw and desperate—triggers my own release. I bury myself deep inside her, growling into the side of her neck as ecstasy rips through me.

For several long moments we remain frozen against the window, our ragged breathing fogging the glass. Then her legs give out and I catch her, lowering us both to the floor. I cradle her against my chest, our bodies slick with sweat as we stare out at the city bathed in afternoon light.

"I never thought I'd have this," she whispers.

I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her temple. The words I've been holding back for weeks rise to the surface, impossible to contain any longer.

"Ti amo, Melania," I murmur against her skin. "I love you."

She goes still in my arms, then twists to face me. Her amber eyes search mine, wide with surprise.

"Say it again," she breathes.

"I've killed without remorse, Melania, but the thought of you getting hurt brings me to my knees. My love for you is violent in its intensity - I'd burn down the world to keep you safe and I'd do it with a smile because your happiness is worth more than my soul."

My thumb caresses her bottom lip with more feeling than I’ve ever done it until now. "I love you. Have since that night at the warehouse when you cried for those victims. Maybe before."

Tears well in her eyes and for a moment I think I've miscalculated. Then she melts into me, arms winding around my neck as she presses her forehead to mine.

"I love you too," she whispers. "So much it terrifies me."

I capture her lips with mine, gentler now, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss. This woman who saved my life in more ways than one. Who sees the darkness in me and stays anyway.

She pulls back, her fingers strumming my jaw. "I never thought I'd find this—someone who wants all of me, not just the parts that are convenient or beautiful."

"Everything," I growl, tightening my arms around her. "I want everything you are."

CHAPTER 36

Isip my lavender latte, watching Lucrezia sketch on her napkin with expert strokes. The tiny café we discovered last week has become our regular Thursday hangout—tucked between a bookstore and vintage record shop, with mismatched chairs and a barista who remembers our orders.

"You're staring again," Lucrezia says without looking up from her drawing.

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