Page 60 of The Bonventi Rise
He's quiet for a moment. "You're my partner, Alina. In every sense of the word. I trust you with my life, my future, my heart."
The admission sends a jolt through me.
"I feel the same," I say. "I'm all in, Marco. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
He pulls me close, and I breathe in his scent, feeling safer and more alive than I ever have before. As we sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, I know that everything has changed. The old Alina, the one who was always seeking approval, always trying to prove herself, is gone.
In her place is someone new. Someone stronger, more loyal. Someone dangerous. Someone ready to take on the world alongside the man she cares so deeply for.
And God help anyone who tries to stand in our way.
31
ALINA
After a few moments, we pull apart, and Marco looks at me.
"Now, I'd love to hear you play."
I roll my eyes. "Are you sure you want to hear me play?" I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Marco nods. "More than anything."
I slowly make my way over to the harp, acting reluctant, but deep down I'm quite excited—and a little nervous—to play for him.
I sit on the stool, my fingers hovering over the strings. Marco's intense gaze makes my skin tingle.
"Okay," I say, taking a breath. "This is one of my favorites, and you have to love it because I wrote it."
My fingers find their place, and I begin to play. The first few notes are tentative, like droplets of water falling into a still pool. But as I lose myself in the music, the melody wraps itself around me, and there's nothing but the harp and me.
I'm so lost in the music that I barely register Marco's approach. His presence warms my back, and then I feel his lips on my neck. The touch sends electricity through me, but I don't stop playing. Instead, the music takes on a new intensity, mirroring the heat building inside me.
Marco's kisses trail along my neck, up to my ear. "You're breathtaking," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. "It's as if I'm watching an angel play."
The music swells, reaching its crescendo just as Marco's hand slides down my back, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
As the final notes fade away, I turn to face him. His eyes are dark with desire, mirroring my own need.
"Marco, I—" I breathe, and it's all the invitation he needs.
His lips crash into mine, demanding all of me. I match his intensity, my hands tangling in his hair as I pull him close. I stand, the harp forgotten, as we stumble backward, our bodies pressed together.
He lifts me onto the nearby table, scattering papers to the floor. I don't care. All I can focus on is the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin.
There's no tenderness in his touch, no whispered endearments. This isn't lovemaking—it's raw, primal, a silent declaration that I'm his and I'm never allowed to leave him again.
Marco's hands roam my body, rough and possessive. He grips my thighs, spreading them wide, making room for himself. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, promising pleasure and pain. I grind against him, eager, impatient.
He breaks the kiss, only to trail his lips down my neck, biting, sucking. Each touch leaves a mark, a claim. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, tearing it over my head. My bra follows, discarded somewhere on the floor. Marco's mouth finds my nipple, sucking hard, drawing a gasp from deep within me. I arch into him, pressing my breasts closer, begging for more.
He gives me what I want, lavishing attention on one breast, then the other, his hands squeezing, caressing. I can feel the wetness between my legs, my body preparing for him, craving him.
It all feels so chaotic and messy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He moves my hands away, taking over—there's no time to waste. His desire to be inside me matches my yearning for that delicious fullness only he can give me.
