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HIS POV – The car
I didn't speak during the drive.
Couldn't.
If I opened my mouth, I'd either beg or ruin everything. My hand was wrapped around hers, fingers interlaced, her palm warm against mine. She sat close—thigh pressed to thigh—and every bump in the road made her shift against me.
I wanted to take her in the backseat like an animal.
I wanted to wait until we had a bed.
Control. Hold onto control.
"Lorenzo." Her voice was soft. "You're shaking."
"I'm not shaking."
"Your hand is trembling."
I looked down. She was right.
"You do that to me," I said.
She smiled—slow, dangerous, satisfied.
"Good."
The rest of the drive was torture.
---
The mansion
The gates opened. The car wound up the driveway. Guards nodded as we passed. Servants melted into shadows.
I didn't wait for the driver to open her door. I got out, walked around, pulled her out myself.
"Everyone inside," I said to Marco, who stood at the front door. "No one comes to my wing. No interruptions. Not for any reason."
Marco's eyes flicked to Vivienne, then back to me. "Understood, boss."
I took her hand and led her inside.
---
HER POV
The mansion was different at night.
Quieter. Darker. The halls seemed longer. The shadows seemed deeper.
He didn't speak. Just pulled me past the foyer, up the grand staircase, down a hallway I hadn't seen before. His bedroom. I knew it without being told.
The door opened.
His room was all dark wood and a massive bed. A fire burned in the hearth. The curtains were drawn.
He closed the door behind us. Locked it.
Then he turned to face me.
"Last chance," he said. His voice was rough. "Tell me to stop, and I'll sleep in another room. I'll wait. I'll do whatever you need."
I walked toward him. Stopped when my chest touched his.
"I don't want you to stop," I said. "I want you to fuck me, Lorenzo. I've wanted it for three years."
Something broke behind his eyes.
He grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me—hard, deep, claiming. His tongue slid against mine. His teeth grazed my lower lip. I moaned into his mouth and felt him shudder.
"Bed," he growled against my lips. "Now."
---
HIS POV
I walked her backward until her knees hit the mattress. She fell back onto the dark sheets, her black dress riding up her thighs. Her hair spread across the pillows like a halo.
Mine.
I crawled over her. Braced my hands on either side of her head. Looked down at her—flushed lips, dark eyes, chest heaving.
"You have no idea what you've done to me," I said.
"Then show me."
I kissed her neck. Sucked hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped and arched into me.
"Every night for three years," I said against her skin, "I thought about this. Your body. Your mouth. The sounds you'd make."
"What sounds?"
I bit down gently on her collarbone. She moaned—loud, unashamed.
That sound.
I pulled back just enough to look at her. "I'm going to take this dress off now. And then I'm going to put my mouth on every inch of you. And by the time I'm done, you're going to forget your own name."
"Promise?"
"I never break a promise, Vivienne."
---
HER POV
He pulled the dress over my head in one motion. I was bare underneath—no bra, just black lace panties. His eyes went dark.
"No bra," he said. "You planned this."
"I hoped."
He lowered his head and took my nipple into his mouth. I cried out—loud enough that the guards probably heard. His tongue circled, teased, sucked. His other hand found my other breast, thumb flicking over the peak.
"Lorenzo—"
"You're wet already," he said, sliding his hand down my stomach. "I can feel it."
He hooked his fingers into my panties and pulled them down. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes never left mine.
"Spread your legs."
I did.
He looked at me—open, wet, wanting—and made a sound low in his throat.
"Fuck, Vivienne."
Then his mouth was on me.
---
HIS POV
She tasted like heaven.
I licked her folds, slow at first, teasing. Her hips bucked. Her fingers tangled in my hair.
"Don't tease," she begged.
"I've waited three years. I'm going to savor this."
I pressed my tongue flat against her clit. She screamed—a broken, desperate sound that went straight to my cock. I circled her with my tongue, then sucked gently. Her thighs clamped around my head.
"Lorenzo—please—"
"Please what?"
"I need you inside me. Now."
I pulled back. Kissed my way up her body—her stomach, her ribs, the tattoo of my name. I paused there, pressing my lips to the ink.
"Mine," I said.
"Yours."
I positioned myself between her legs. My cock was hard, leaking, desperate. I ran the head through her wetness, coating myself.
"Look at me," I said.
She did.
I pushed inside.
---
---
HER POV (continued)
He filled me completely.
I gasped—half pain, half pleasure—and wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath hot and uneven.
"Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay."
He moved. Slow at first—agonizingly slow—dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing back in. Each thrust sent sparks up my spine. My nails dug into his shoulders.
"Faster," I whispered.
"Not yet."
"Lorenzo—"
"I said not yet." His voice was rough, commanding, but his eyes were soft. "I've waited three years. I'm not rushing this."
He kissed me—deep and slow, matching the rhythm of his hips. His tongue slid against mine. His hand cradled my jaw like I was something precious.
But his body told a different story. His muscles were taut. His breath was ragged. He was holding back.
Don't.
I reached down between us and touched myself—circling my clit while he was inside me. His eyes went wide.
"Vivienne—"
"I told you," I said, breathless. "I'm done waiting."
I pressed harder, faster, matching his rhythm. The pressure built low in my belly—hot, urgent, unstoppable.
He cursed in Italian—something I didn't understand but felt in my bones—and his control shattered.
---
HIS POV
She touched herself while I was inside her.
The sight of it—her fingers working her clit, her back arching, her mouth open—broke something in me. Three years of restraint. Three years of telling myself she was off-limits.
Gone.
I pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, and pulled her hips up. She gasped but didn't protest. If anything, she pushed back against me.
"Like this," I said, my voice barely human. "I want to see my name when I take you."
I entered her from behind—deeper this time, harder. Her fingers gripped the sheets. She cried out—loud, raw, mine.
One hand gripped her hip. The other pressed against the small of her back, holding her in place.
"You feel that?" I said, thrusting slow but deep. "You feel how hard I am for you?"
"Yes—"
"That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done."
I leaned over her, my chest against her back, my mouth at her ear.
"Say my name."
"Lorenzo."
"Again."
"Lorenzo—please—"
I sped up. Harder. Faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with her moans and my growls.
She came first—screaming, clenching around me, her whole body shaking. The feel of her orgasm ripped mine out of me. I buried myself deep and came with a groan that was almost a prayer.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then I pulled out slowly, turned her over, and gathered her into my arms.
---
HER POV
I was still trembling.
He held me against his chest, one hand stroking my hair, the other tracing lazy circles on my back. The fire crackled. The sheets were a mess.
"I can't feel my legs," I mumbled into his neck.
He laughed—a real laugh, warm and low. "Give it a minute."
"I don't have a minute. I have a plane to Moscow in two weeks."
His hand stopped moving.
"Don't," I said, looking up at him. "Don't go back to 'not yet.' Not after that."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed my forehead.
"No more 'not yet.'"
"Promise?"
He looked at me—really looked. The fear was still there, behind his eyes. But something else was there too. Something that looked like surrender.
"I promise."
I smiled. Pressed myself closer to him.
"Good. Now tell me something."
"What?"
"Was it worth the wait?"
He rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. His hands settled on my hips. His eyes were dark and warm and happy.
"Ask me again in the morning," he said. "After I've had you two more times."
I raised an eyebrow. "Only two?"
He grinned—a rare, unguarded grin that made him look ten years younger.
"You're going to be the death of me, Vivienne Moretti."
"Probably." I kissed him. "But what a way to go."
---
Later that night – 2:00 a.m.
HIS POV
She was asleep.
Curled against my side, her cheek on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. The sheets were tangled around us. The fire had burned down to embers.
I should have been sleeping.
Instead, I was staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.
Her father.
Aldo Moretti. My arms dealer. My business partner. The man who trusted me with his shipments, his routes, his secrets.
And I'd just spent the night with his daughter.
He'll kill me.
Maybe. But as I looked down at Vivienne—at the tattoo of my name on her hip, at the peaceful expression on her face—I realized I didn't care.
Let him try.
I'd burn the world down for her.
I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'd figure out the rest.
Tonight, she was mine.
---
HER POV – The next morning
Sunlight streamed through the curtains.
I woke up slowly, warm and sore and happy. The bed smelled like him. The sheets smelled like us.
He was still asleep beside me—on his back, one arm thrown over his head, his chest bare. In sleep, he looked younger. Less guarded.
Mine.
I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertip. He stirred but didn't wake.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I reached over him—carefully—and grabbed it.
Katya: So????
I smiled and typed back: Ask me later.
Katya: THAT GOOD???
Katya: NICO OWES ME 100 EUROS
I laughed quietly.
Lorenzo's arm tightened around my waist. "Who are you texting?"
"You're awake."
"Someone was laughing." He pulled me closer, his voice rough with sleep. "Who?"
"Katya. She wants details."
"She can wait." He rolled over, pinning me beneath him. His eyes were dark, hungry. "I'm not done with you yet."
"Lorenzo—"
He kissed me.
And I forgot what I was going to say.
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