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“Diego.”
He hears the plea easily enough.
Using his knee, he kicks my legs apart.
Dirt and leaves stick to his cum drying over my neck and face.
“Let’s see how wet your cunt is.” He slides his fingers into my pussy, and I cry out in pleasure. “Fucking dripping,tesoruccio.Dripping.”
He drags his fingers out, and seconds later, his cock slams inside.
“Diego!”
“Look at that greedy cunt taking me in one swift swallow.”
He’s relentless in the way he fucks me. Body pressed against mine, he thrusts his hips forward with a power that shifts my whole body. I slide through the harsh earth with every drive until my tied hands push against the base of a tree. I push against it.
“Knees,” he groans. “Get up on your knees.”
He pulls me up, and I shift into place, palms pressed against the jagged bark of the tree, elbows buried into the dirt, my knees tattooed with twigs and stones that dig into my skin. His thrusts were hard, but they hit deeper this way, and wetness spills over my cheeks. The sheer overwhelm of how alive my body feels at his mercy is something I can’t fathom.
Diego Greco can strip away my control and bare my vulnerabilities in a way Ineverimagined could feel powerful. But it’sallthat consumes me. Wrapped up in this man, this hunter, I’m a goddess, bared and beautiful andenoughto bring him to his knees.
A sob breaks from my lips, and he knows without looking at my face that it’s not a sound of grief or pain.
“That’s it, Sia. Take it all from me, baby.”
I push back when he drives forward.
Reaching around, his hand seeks out my clit, his fingers rubbing back and forth in the same rough and desperate way our bodies clash.
I begin trembling.
Diego feels it because he moves faster.
“Tesorrucio.” His hips still, and he pinches my clit.
I buckle beneath him, falling to the ground, and he follows me down. We come together on incoherent shouts, our names echoing into the night and screaming back at us in an intimacy I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go of.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
DIEGO
We’ve been married for a few months, and I’m still oblivious as to why Sia forced my hand. She’s comfortable in her independence. She has no problem spending time away from me when our work obligations dictate it. She likes to be fucked a little harder on the days we’re reunited, but that works for me because without vocalizing the words, it lets us both know that we’ve missed whatever fucked-up version of a marriage each of us is pretending we fell into the right way.
I stepped into this marriage pretending I hated her for pulling my strings. She made me a puppet, and I don’t care if the world believes that, but I know there’s more to the story. I don’t know if what we have will ever be real to her, but it’s starting to feel real to me, and I don’t know how to swallow that if I’m the only one who believes that. I wasn’t lying when I told Caterina all those months ago that I had no intention of ever getting married. Marriage is complicated. I already think about Sia more than anything else. When I’m not with her, I obsess about where she is and what she’s doing. I find myself fixating on whether she’s thinking about me. I’m broaching the reality of a lovesick fool, and I couldn’t tell you if my wife orchestrated a wedding to infiltrate New York and kill me in my sleep. Not that I think Sia would wait until I was asleep to kill me. She’d look me in the eye without a doubt.
She’s hiding something, and I keep waiting for her to be honest with me and tell mewhyshe needed this for whatever secret she seems so intent on keeping.
“Why did you tell Salvatore you were in love with me?”
She chokes on her coffee.
I wait for her to gather her composure.
“What?”
“Sia, don’t do that. You heard me.”
