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I tried to buck him off, but all it did was rub my swollen nipples against that muscular chest and make the empty ache at my core worse.

‘Stop fighting me when I can smell how much you want me…’ he growled, but beneath the demand, beneath the fury which still gripped us both, I could hear the same confusion I had heard the night before—when he had devastated me… And he didn’t appear to know why.

And suddenly I knew… He’d used my desire, my addiction to the pleasure he could give me, to control me, to subdue me, to divert me, far too easily ever since we’d first made love. But I also knew that denying this need wasn’t the answer. What I had to do was own it and claim it… The way he did.

‘Let go of my wrists,’ I demanded.

To my surprise, he did as I asked—the wary expression also new. But then I saw astonishment flicker in his eyes when I gripped his cheeks, let the morning stubble abrade my palms and dragged his mouth to mine. I lifted up, rubbing my aching clit against the muscular thigh between my legs and clung to him as I feasted on his lips.

He kissed me back, with the same fierce hunger as on our wedding day.

We devoured each other, the fury still there, feeding that aching need now inside us both, the battle for control ruthless and elemental as we writhed on the bed.

His hands caressed, stoking my need as I sobbed, reaching down into his sweats to wrap my fingers around his hard length and make him grunt.

Letting him go, I gave him a hard shove, forcing him onto his back to straddle him. He rose, to drag my T-shirt over my head and push down my bra cups until he could feast on my swollen breasts.

I lifted up enough to free that glorious erection, tug my panties to one side and sink down on his stiff cock at last.

He cupped my face, his eyes wild now, our shattered breaths mingling as I struggled to adjust to the overwhelming penetration, feeling every inch of him inside me. But this time I was in control of our passion, too.

‘Ride me, Eva…’ he groaned, a plea as much as a demand.

He grasped my hips to drag me up, drop me down. I held onto his shoulders and rode him for all I was worth.

We barrelled towards that shattering oblivion at breakneck speed, the pleasure like a titanic wave, as that huge cock caressed a spot deep inside me that only he had ever found.

The orgasm slammed into me—and I screamed out my release as he grunted and hot seed exploded inside me.

I fell forward as we collapsed into a tangled heap—the vivid afterglow almost as raw and fierce as the fast, furious orgasm.

He clasped my neck, my aching body cradled against that hard chest, his thick cock still firm inside me, and whispered against my ear, ‘Sei mio, Eva.’

I managed to lift my head enough to see his face. ‘Sì, Dante, but you’re mine now too.’

Those cobalt eyes flickered with surprise, but beneath it was the need he was no longer able to hide… And the bubble of hope expanded.

I sank back onto his chest, exhausted, not just by the fight and the cataclysmic sex that had followed, but also the fierce feeling of belonging when he rested his rough palm on my spine and slid it down to cup my bum.

But when I felt him twitch inside me, clearly already contemplating another round, I eased off him and flopped onto my back. But when I attempted to leave the bed, he grasped my wrist in a manacle-like grip.

‘You will not leave the house again, Eva, without my permission,’ he said, the commanding tone back. And it occurred to me that my battle to find the man behind that dictatorial facade had only just begun. But I refused to let his autocratic tone anger me again. Because I could also hear the whisper of panic beneath.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

His brow furrowed and I could see his mind working. He didn’t want to have to give me an explanation. He wanted to simply demand I did as he said again. So it felt like progress when he murmured, ‘Because it is not safe.’

I nodded, realising he probably believed that, but wondering if he also realised a bond had formed between us, one that went beyond the sex we’d just shared. That his panic for my safety came from a place he refused to acknowledge.

It hurt to know it was so hard for him to admit he cared for me. But I forced myself not to overreact. Not to kill the bubble of hope I’d worked so hard to create since my crying jag last night.

‘I don’t mind telling you where I’m going,’ I offered, determined to turn his command into a request. But when relief crossed his features and he let go of my wrist, I remained on the bed. ‘But I also want you to know why I was so upset last night. When I realised you had never intended to make me your wife in every sense of the word.’

He seemed puzzled. ‘I know why,’ he said with typical arrogance. ‘You believed love could be a part of this marriage. I know it cannot be. I am sorry you did not understand this.’

It was a grudging apology at best, but I knew any apology was a major concession for him.

I wanted to know why he was so sure that love could never be a part of our relationship. What he’d really meant when he’d told me my love was wasted on him… And why anyone would believe they didn’t need love, they didn’t want it. Did he really intend to go through his whole life without it? But I knew it was too soon for that. I’d jumped into this relationship with both feet and he hadn’t, and trying to push too hard now would just make him more uncommunicative. And make me feel more alone and vulnerable.