Page 315 of Rosetti Family New York
"How perfectly you fit me. Like you were made for this." His hips pull back before thrusting forward again, and I brace myself to keep from falling. The cheap wood creaks under the pressure. "Like you were made for me."
Then he's moving with purpose, setting a fast pace that leaves me gasping. There's nothing gentle about it, just pure need and years of longing finally being fulfilled. The door shakes with each thrust.
"Is this what you wanted?" he demands between ragged breaths, one hand gripping my hip and the other holding my throat. "Me losing control? Me taking what I need instead of asking?"
I can't speak, only accept everything he's giving me. My submission is complete now. No pretending, no games, just surrender to the man who's owned me since we met. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make my vision blur.
"I asked you a question." His teeth find my shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks. I taste blood where I've bitten my own lip. "Is this what you wanted when you ran from me?"
"Yes," I sob, not caring how desperate I sound. "God, yes. I wanted you to stop being so controlled. Wanted you to need me as much as I needed you."
"Need you?" His tone is harsh, breathless. "I'm obsessed with you. I've built my entire life around finding you, keeping you, owning you. Is that enough need for you?"
The weight of his words crashes over me, making my knees buckle. His arm circles my waist, holding me up while he continues to move inside me, relentless and perfect.
"Look at what you've done to me," he growls, his rhythm never faltering. "I was a man with control, with discipline. Now I'm fucking you against a motel door where anyone could hear, where anyone could know what I'm doing to you."
The truth of it makes me clench around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. I'm close already, teetering on the edge of something that feels like falling.
"Turn around," he commands suddenly, withdrawing and spinning me to face him. "I want to see your eyes when you come."
In the harsh fluorescent light, I finally see him clearly—pupils blown wide with desire, hair disheveled where I must have grabbed it, a thin sheen of sweat making his skin glow. He looks dangerous and beautiful, a predator finally claiming his prey.
He lifts me with ease, my back hitting the door as my legs wrap around his waist. When he enters me again, we both gasp, the new angle impossibly deep. His forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us.
"Look at me," he demands, voice rough. "Look at what you've created."
I do. I see everything—the obsession, the rage, the desperate need. The man I knew transformed into something darker, hungrier. My creation. My monster.
"Perfect," I whisper, and something in his expression breaks.
He kisses me then, all teeth and tongue and desperation, while his hips drive into me with punishing force. The door rattles behind us, the cheap hinges protesting. I don't care if it breaks,if we end up exposed in the hallway. Let them all see what we've become.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasp as pleasure builds, threatening to consume me. "Always yours."
His rhythm changes, slows to something deeper, more deliberate. Each thrust now feels like he's trying to mark me from the inside, claim territory no one else will ever touch. The hand at my throat slides up to turn my face toward him, forcing me to meet his storm-gray eyes.
"Look at me," he commands. "I want to see your face when you come for me. Want to watch you break the way I did."
Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us. I see everything there—the rage, the hurt, the desperate love that fueled his hunt. My body tightens around him, already climbing toward release.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice softening just slightly. "Give it to me, Mara. Everything you've been holding back."
His rhythm falters, becoming erratic as he nears his own edge. One hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, and the first touch of his fingers sends me spiraling. The orgasm hits like violence, making me cry out his name as my body convulses around him. My nails dig into the peeling paint of the door, drawing splinters, but I barely notice the pain. Wave after wave crashes through me as he continues his relentless pace.
"Fuck," he groans, his rhythm faltering as my body pulses around him. "You're still so goddamn beautiful when you come."
He follows me over the edge moments later, burying himself deep with a guttural sound that's half growl, half my name. His body shudders against mine, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as we both struggle to breathe.
For a moment, we stay frozen, connected and trembling, as reality slowly filters back in.
The traffic outside. The argument next door. The sticky heat of our bodies pressed together.
When he finally lowers me to my feet, my legs are unsteady. His arms stay around me, supporting me as we both catch our breath. The anger has drained from him, leaving something softer but no less dangerous in its wake.
My cheek stings where the door scraped it, and I can feel bruises forming on my hips from his grip. These are marks I’ll carry for days, proof of his claim.
