Page 51 of The Seventh Circle
I held him tighter, committing to memory the feel of his heartbeat against mine, steady and true in this abandoned villa where, for a few stolen hours, we could pretend the outside world didn't exist.
But the fear was a cold knot in my stomach. The dread pooling there was a certainty that leaving wouldn't be as simple as we hoped.
Yet as Lorenzo's lips found mine in the darkness, I knew I would pay any price for these stolen moments of truth in a world built on lies.
His kiss was different this time. It wasn't the frantic, desperate clash of our first meeting in this place, nor the gentle exploration of the one that followed. This was a claiming. A slow, deep, deliberate sealing of the pact we had just made. His tongue swept into my mouth, not asking, but taking, and I yielded completely, a low groan vibrating in my throat.
I could taste the faint remnants of his expensive coffee, the unique flavor that was simplyhim, and something else—a wild, desperate hope that mirrored my own. My hands, which had been clutching at his jacket, slid underneath it, seeking the heat of his skin through the fine linen of his shirt. I felt him shudder against me.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against my cheek. "I need to feel you, Antonio. Not through layers of lies and expectations. Just you."
His fingers went to the buttons of my worn shirt, his movements surprisingly deft despite their elegant slenderness. I did the same for him, my calloused, scarred hands fumbling with the mother-of-pearl buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, a stark contrast to his refined world. We were a tangle of pushing fabric and seeking hands, until our chests were bare, pressed together in the cool, dusty air.
The sensation was electric. The smooth, hot plane of his skin against mine, the dust motes dancing in the slivers of moonlight like gold glitter around us. He was all lean muscle and sharp angles, a body built for command, not labor. I was broader, harder, scarred from a life he’d only ever observed from a distance. Yet we fit together as if made for it.
He pushed me back gently until my shoulders met the cold, faded silk of the wall. His mouth found my neck, his teeth scraping lightly over the pulse hammering there before his tongue soothed the spot. My head fell back with a thud against the wall, my eyes squeezing shut. "Lorenzo..."
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper against my skin.
I forced my eyes open. His gaze was dark, intense, filled with a fire I had only ever seen glimpses of before. This was the real Lorenzo, the man he kept caged behind the heir's composed mask. The man who wanted, and took, andfelt.
One of his hands slid down my chest, over the tense muscles of my abdomen, and into the waistband of my trousers. I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers wrapped around my length. His touch was confident, sure, and so devastatingly good that my knees threatened to buckle.
"Youare my freedom," he murmured, his thumb sweeping over the head of my cock, spreading the moisture beading there. "Not Milano, not a new name. This.You."
I could only gasp, my own hands gripping his hips, pulling him tighter against me. I could feel his own hardness straining against the fine wool of his trousers, and I reached for him, fumbling with the fastenings until I could wrap my hand around him. He was velvet over steel, and the choked moan that escaped his lips was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
We stood there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air, hands moving on each other in a rhythm that was both frantic and reverent. The world outside—the danger, the families, the bloodshed—all of it faded into a distant hum. There was only this. The slide of skin on skin, the hitch of his breath, the way his elegant fingers tightened on me every time I stroked him just right.
"Inside me," I begged, the words torn from me. I couldn't wait, couldn't bear another moment of separation. "Please."
He didn't hesitate. He guided me to the dusty chaise lounge we'd sat on before. He laid me down on the worn velvet with a tenderness that belied the raw need in his eyes. He retrievedthe small pot of salve from his pocket—a practical man, always prepared—and slicked his fingers.
His touch was careful, precise, as he prepared me, stretching me with a patience that made me ache. Every brush against that perfect, secret spot inside me sent jolts of pure lightning through my veins. I was panting, writhing beneath his hands, completely undone.
When he finally positioned himself at my entrance, he paused, his eyes locked on mine. "This is the only vow I will ever make that matters," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I am yours."
Then he pushed inside.
The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that erased every other thought from my mind. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he sheathed himself completely within me. For a moment, we were both still, connected in the most intimate way possible, breathing through the overwhelming sensation.
Then he began to move.
His thrusts were slow and deep at first, each one a deliberate claiming. I met every one, my hips rising to meet his, our bodies finding a rhythm as ancient as time itself. The chaise groaned beneath us, a counterpoint to our ragged breaths and the soft, wet sounds of our joining.
He bent his head, capturing my mouth in another searing kiss as his pace quickened. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any space between us. He was everywhere—his scent, his taste, the feel of him inside me, filling me, completing me.
"Mio," he gasped against my lips. "Solo mio." My own. Only mine.
"Yes," I choked out, my own climax coiling tight and desperate in my gut. "Always."
His hand found my cock again, stroking me in time with his thrusts, and it was too much. The world shattered behind my eyes. My release tore through me with a force that was almost painful, my body seizing as I spilled myself over his hand and my stomach with a wordless cry.
The feel of my body clenching around him was all it took for him. He buried his face in my neck with a guttural groan, his own body shuddering as he found his release deep inside me.
We collapsed together in a sweaty, trembling heap on the too-small chaise, limbs entangled, hearts hammering against each other's ribs. The air was thick with the scent of sex and dust and us.
For a long time, we just breathed. His fingers traced idle patterns on my damp skin.
