Page 134 of Veil of Obsession
“You’re mine, Princess.”
I moan, grinding down onto him, feeling every inch, every pulse.
“Say it.”
I shake my head, teasing him, testing him. “Make me.”
His jaw tightens. His fingers dig into my skin as he thrusts up, slamming into me so deep I swear I see fucking stars.
“You are so goddamn stubborn,” he growls, fucking me harder, faster, until I can’t do anything but moan, shake, and take it.
I come so hard I forget my own name. And when Lucio follows, his breath ragged, his grip bruising, filling me with everything he has, I know.
I’m never leaving him. We’re never walking away from this.
We’re both too far gone.
Hours later,we cross into Vegas. The neon lights flicker against the windshield, the roads buzzing with life, the city swallowing us whole.
Lucio drives through the streets like he’s done it before, like he already knows where we’re going. Like this was always the plan. I shift in my seat, my body still aching, my heart still pounding, my mind spinning.
“What’s the plan now?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Lucio pulls into a parking lot, shifts the car into park, and turns to me. His eyes burn into mine, sharp, unwavering, certain.
“The plan, Princess, is to look forward to a lifetime stuck with me. And only me.”
47
Princess
Two Years later
The buzzing neon outside the window is the only thing that hasn’t given up on the night. It flickers red, blue, red again—like a bad pulse, steady and cheap.
I’ve paced the length of this shitty room seventeen times. I know because I counted.
We’ve been on the run for two years now. Francesca is sleeping in an old cot in the corner by the bed.
The carpet’s threadbare, the kind that burns if you kneel on it too long. The walls are jaundiced yellow, like they’ve soaked up years of cigarette smoke and secrets. A motel Bible sits on the bedside table—drawer half-open, like even God doesn’t want to be here.
Lucio’s not answering. I called twice. Texted once. That’s restraint for me.
I check the time again. 2:47. He was supposed to be back by midnight.
I chew the inside of my cheek and sit on the edge of the bed, but I only last a second before I’m back up, pacing again. The motel hums around me: a distant cough from the next room, a car pulling in, the mechanical wheeze of the A/C unit like it’s dying slowly.
Three goddamn hours.
I grip the windowsill and stare out into the parking lot. Nothing but shadows and a beat-up Impala that’s been there since we checked in. I squint at the shape moving across the lot. And then I see him.
Lucio.
He’s walking like he’s got nowhere to be. Calm. Unbothered. Like I haven’t been sitting in this dump stewing in my own fury and fear.
I unlock the door before he can knock and throw it open. “Where the hell have you been?”
He blinks, rain clinging to his lashes, hood pushed back. “Good evening to you too.”
