Page 53 of Claimed Through Deception

"Playing games. Hiding." I lean in, my nose brushing against the soft curve of her jaw. The faint scent of vanilla and fear wraps around my senses, a drug I cannot get enough of. "I gave you space. That ends right now."

She swallows hard. I watch the pulse hammering at the base of her throat.

"You belong to me," I state. It is a fact, undeniable and absolute. "And you know it. I saw the way you looked at me when Caterina touched my arm. I felt you trembling in the service corridor. You are burning alive for me, Livia."

"No," she whispers, turning her face away.

I catch her chin with my thumb and index finger, forcing her to look at me. Her dark eyes are swimming with a chaotic mix of denial and need.

"Stop lying," I command. "Say it. Admit that you want me. Admit that you want my hands on you."

She shakes her head, a soft, helpless sound escaping her lips.

"Say it," I demand again, stepping closer. My thigh presses against her legs, the hard ridge of my arousal digging into her stomach through the fabric of my trousers.

The contact breaks her.

The walls she spent days reinforcing crumble to ash. With a ragged, breathless sob, Livia reaches up. Her small hands grip the lapels of my dark suit jacket and pulls me down.

Her mouth crashes against mine.

It is a violent, reckless collision. I groan against her lips, my arms wrapping around her waist, crushing her against my chest. She opens for me, her tongue meeting mine with a fierce, hungry desperation that matches my own. She tastes like mint and defiance.

I walk her backward, keeping our mouths locked, until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the massive king-sized bed.

I push her down. She falls onto the dark silk sheets, pulling me with her.

I hover over her, bracing my weight on my forearms. I tear my mouth away just long enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen, her hair falling in a messy, dark halo against the pillows. She is breathtaking.

My hands move to the white strings of her apron. I rip the knot loose, tossing the fabric to the floor. I grip the collar of her black uniform. I don't bother with the buttons. I grip the seams and pull. The cheap cotton tears down the middle, exposing the pale, soft skin of her chest and the plain white bra underneath.

"Niccolò," she gasps, her back arching off the mattress.

"You are mine," I growl, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I bite down on her collarbone, marking her. "Every inch of you."

I shed my jacket, throwing it aside. I rip my tie off and unbutton my shirt with impatient, clumsy fingers. I need skin. I need to feel her against me without the barrier of clothes.

I push her skirt up, my hand sliding up her smooth thigh. I find the edge of her cotton panties. She is trembling, her hands gripping my shoulders as I drag my fingers down. She is incredibly wet, slick with heat that makes my vision blur.

I stroke her once, and she cries out, her hips jerking upward.

I reach for the waistband of my trousers, freeing myself. I am aching, hard to the point of pain. I want to bury myself inside her and never leave. I want to brand her so deeply she forgets every other moment of her life before me.

I settle between her thighs. I grip her hips, holding her in place, and I push forward into her heat.

I meet resistance, an unmistakable barrier.

Livia lets out a sharp gasp, her body going rigid beneath me. Her nails dig into my biceps, her eyes squeezing shut as a flash of pain crosses her features.

I freeze.

Every muscle in my body locks. The primal haze clears just enough for my brain to process the reality.

I look down at her face and pull back an inch.

"Livia," I rasp.

She opens her eyes. They are wide, shining with unshed tears and vulnerability.