Page 112 of The Ache That Stayed

“That’s what scares you. Isn’t it?”

“Stop—we can’t—” My voice shook.

But even as the words left me, my body betrayed me, breast pressing into his touch seeking. Heat pooled low, blurring my vision at the edges.

“Marcello—” I rasped, but even as I said it, my body was already surrendering.

“I know who he is,” he said, voice rough.

“And he will kill us,” I managed.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t loosen his grip.

“I’d die a thousand times over, for one moment like this.”

I swallowed hard. The conviction in his voice was terrifying. Terrifying because I believed him.

“If he dragged me out of the grave and put me back in it again—” His voice didn’t waver. “I’d still choose this.”

“Stop,” I said again.

It came out like a weak plea. But my hips kept moving.

“Too late for that, Volpi.” His lips brushed my jaw. “You woke something I’d buried for years. And now you’re asking me to pretend it isn’t there. I can’t. Not anymore.”

His breath ghosted over my lips.

“And all I need is for you to stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”

Everything inside me tightened until it hurt. Every place we touched felt like it was burning. My hands moved without permission—over his chest, his abs—solid, warm, real. My palm landed over his heart. It was racing. Just like mine.

“We can’t,” I whispered.

But it didn’t sound convincing. Even to me.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

“When I kissed you,” he said softly, “you didn’t stop me. You held me instead.”

I shook my head weakly.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he murmured.

His grip on my neck tightened slightly.

“Don’t you see?” he said, voice rough. “How well you fit against me?”

His lips brushed the corner of my mouth.

“No more pretending, Volpi.”

My thoughts scattered. Somewhere between the frantic beat of his heart beneath my palm and the look in his eyes, the fight inside me simply grew quieter. I hated to admit that I wanted this even as I denied it.

“I…” My voice broke, lips brushing his.

And that was it. That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto mine. Hungry and possessive, like he’d spent years denying himself and had finally snapped.

Like this had been coming long before either of us were willing to admit it.