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His fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face upward. “And I’m fucking glad it brought you here.”

My heart stutters. “Here?”

“To me.”

The words are so quietly confident that they leave me speechless. “Dario...”

He doesn’t wait for me to say more. He kisses me, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending my body into overdrive. I moan softly into his mouth as he tangles his tongue against mine, taking and giving. His hands settle around my waist, pulling me against him as I grip his shirt.

And the kiss quickly becomes deeper, warmer, more desperate. This is different than what has happened between us in the past days. This time, we’ve both let our guard down. And I know I should stop this.

I know getting emotionally involved with a man like Dario is probably the worst decision I could make.

But when his forehead rests against mine and he whispers, “Bella,” in that deep voice, I forget every rule I’ve ever made.

This time I kiss him, letting him know that I surrender. Dario takes over, devouring my lips as he guides me out of the stall into another section of the stable. Without thinking, I grip the rough wooden beam above my head, my fingers digging into the splintered grain as Dario’s mouth trails down my throat.

The position forces my back to arch, pushes my breasts out, and I feel utterly exposed in the best possible way. He notices, and he slides his hands from my waist upward, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my thin cotton shirt.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips, his voice rough with approval. “Look at you. Offering yourself up like this.”

I want to protest that I’m not offering anything, that I’m just holding on for balance. But the lie dies in my throat when he palms both breasts, squeezing with just enough pressure to make me gasp. He thumbs my nipples through the fabric, circling, teasing, until they’re hard and aching.

Then he shoves my shirt up, baring me to the cool morning air of the stable, and lowers his head.

His mouth is hot and wet and impossibly skilled. He draws one nipple deep, sucking hard, his tongue flicking in rapid strokes that send sparks shooting straight to my core. I whimper, my grip tightening on the beam, my hips bucking toward him without permission.

He switches to the other breast, lavishing the same attention, and I’m panting now, desperate, my body no longer my own.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

He lifts his head, his dark eyes burning into mine. “Please what, Bella?”

I can’t say it. I’ve never been able to say it. But Dario doesn’t need me to. He reads me like I’m his favorite book. His hands drop to the button of my breeches, flicking it open with practiced ease. The zipper rasps loud in the quiet stable.

He slides his hand inside, past the waistband of my underwear, and finds me. “Christ,” he groans, his fingers gliding through my slickness. “You’re drenched. Is this all for me?”

I nod frantically, my forehead pressed against his shoulder.

“Words, Katya. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” I choke out. “For you.”

He finds my clit, circling it with two fingers, and my knees nearly buckle. “Hold on tight. Don’t let go of that beam.”

I grip harder, my knuckles white, as he slides two fingers inside me. The stretch is perfect, the angle ruthless. He curls them upward, finding that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids, and sets a relentless pace.

His thumb stays on my clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles, and I’m climbing fast. Too fast, the pleasure building like a tidal wave I can’t outrun.

“Dario,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I-I’m going to…”

“Come for me,” he commands, his breath hot against my ear. “Right now. Let me feel it.”

I shatter. My body convulses around his fingers, my release flooding his hand, my cry muffled against his shoulder. He doesn’t stop. His movement slows, drawing out every pulse, every aftershock, until I’m limp and trembling and clinging to the beam for dear life.

He withdraws his hand slowly, his fingers glistening with my arousal. I watch, dazed, as he brings them to my lips.

“Taste yourself,” he orders softly. “Taste what I do to you.”