Page 76 of Savage Union
Not because she had to. Not because she was claimed or caged.
Because shewantedto.
Something primal cracks open inside me—possessiveness sharpened to a blade, dark and sacred. My fingers brush her cheek, turning her back to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her lashes flutter, throat working. “Would it have changed anything?”
“Yes,” I growl. “I would’ve worshipped you slower. I would’ve made you fall apart on my tongue ten more times before I eventhoughtabout pushing inside you.”
A bitter laugh escapes her. “So… foreplay, but make it gentle?”
“No,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “So I could remember the exact moment you stopped being untouched—and becamemine.”
That stuns her. I see it in the way her lips part, in the way her breath stalls like I’ve knocked the wind from her lungs.
“You’re not a fucking gift,” I add, voice softer now, but no less intense. “You’re a goddamnreckoning.And I’m going to earn every fucking inch of you.”
CHAPTER 24
Vito
She shivers—whetherfrom fear or need, I don’t know.
But when her hips lift and her fingers tighten around my wrist, guiding me deeper, I know one thing for sure:
She’s not running.
And neither am I.
"Look at me," I say again, waiting until she complies before continuing. "Are you alright?"
The question seems to surprise her. She considers it for a moment, then nods slowly. "Yes. Just... give me a minute."
I stroke her hair, her face, murmuring reassurances in Italian—words I've never spoken to a lover before. Gradually, I feel her body relax, the tension easing as discomfort gives way to something else.
"Better?" I ask when her breathing steadies.
“Yes,” she whispers.
Her hands, which had been clenched in white-knuckled fists beside her, lift hesitantly—fingertips brushing my shoulders, then settling there with a quiet kind of trust thatshattersme.
“You can… you can move now.”
Christ.
I ease into her with slow, deliberate rolls of my hips, like I’m trying to memorize the feel of her from the inside out. Every inch is a stretch, every breath a battle not to lose control. She’s tight—tootight—and I fight the instinct to claim, totake.
Not yet.
This isn’t about that.
This is about her.
Her breath hitches with each careful thrust, but I watch her face the whole time—watch the way pain gives way to heat, to hunger, to something she never expected to feel so soon.
Her lips part in surprise as her body adjusts, begins to move with mine, the rhythm of us slow and aching, like we’re building something sacred from broken pieces.
“Vito…” she gasps, nails biting into my shoulders as she clings to me. “I can’t—I don’t?—”
