Page 35 of The Scars We Keep
“Fuck, Bella,” he rasps, his voice wrecked.“You feel so fucking good.So tight around my cock.”
I can’t form words anymore.I can only moan and whimper as pleasure intensifies again, this time faster and hotter.The tension coils tight in my stomach, spreading through my thighs, causing my whole body to shake.
“Lorenzo,” I gasp, my voice catching as his name escapes before I can hold it back.
His eyes flare, a fierce and possessive glow flashing within them.
“Again,” he demands, his pace quickening.“Say my fucking name again.”
“Lorenzo,” I moan, louder this time, and I sense my orgasm building.
He drives into me harder, faster, chasing it with me.“That’s it, Bella, come on my cock.Let me feel you.”
The orgasm rips through me, white hot and all-consuming.I cry out his name again in a broken and desperate moan.Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, and every muscle trembles as the release crashes over me in devastating waves.
He fucks me through it with a rhythmthat never falters, as if he is prolonging every pulse and tremor.His eyes stay locked on my face, watching me fall apart for him.
His control eventually breaks.His hips stutter and his grip on me tightens as he buries himself deep one last time.
“Fuck, Bella,” he groans, his whole body going rigid.
His cock pulses inside me, throbbing as he comes, filling me with every squirt of cum.His forehead drops to mine again, his breath ragged against my lips as he empties himself inside me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
We simply breathe as one, foreheads touching, our bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison.And I realize with terrifying clarity that something has shifted between us.Something I don’t know how to name.Something that is dangerously close to real.
Then he steps backward and the absence hits instantly.
Cold rushes into the spot where his body was, where his hands held me.
He swiftly tucks his cock back into his pants, zipping up and adjusting his belt.The man who whispered my name while coming inside me is gone, replaced by the cold, calculating bastard who rules this house with an iron fist.
Lorenzo’s expression shutters.The vulnerability I glimpsed moments ago vanishes behind that impenetrable mask he wears so well.His jaw sets, his eyes become hard and distant again.He smooths down his shirt, checking his cuffs with detached focus, as if he didn’t fuck me with enough heat to burn the whole kitchen down.
I stay perched on the edge of the marble counter, pussy still throbbing with aftershocks as his cum slowly leaks out of me.My tights are torn beyond repair and my chest is rising too quickly.My lips are still tingling with the ghost of something that shouldn’t have meant anything but fucking did.
His eyes sweep over me one last time.
“Next time you want something,” he mutters, straightening his collar with cold efficiency, “you come to me.”
I don’t answer.My throat’s tight again, but not from rage this time.It’s because of how he’s looking at me—detached and distant, as if that moment of tenderness never existed.
He turns and walks back toward the hallway.His shoulders are squared again, posture perfect, embodying the man who commands armies and loyalty without uttering a word.The untouchable Lorenzo, back in control, behind his walls.
At the door, he pauses.
He doesn’t look back, but his voice carries, low and dry, edged with that familiar authority.“And stay the fuck out of my office.”
Then he’s gone.
Chapter Eight
Isabella
Fourmonthspassbyin fuck yous and silent dinners.
I’ve never seen that softness from Lorenzo again.Not once.That crack in his armor sealed itself shut the moment he walked out of the kitchen, and he’s made damn sure it stays buried.
