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"Yes. Yours."
I feel owned by him—body and soul—as he claims me over and over.
"Every inch of you," he whispers against my skin, "is a treasure I intend to cherish."
His grip on my hips is both an anchor and a catalyst, rooting me to reality and sending me reeling into oblivion.
And when he finally drives me over the edge, it's with a growl that rips through me—a sound so viscerally male and satisfied that it tears another climax from deep within me. He comes with me, spilling into me again and again as he groans my name.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sheets. His chest rises and falls rapidly against mine.
"Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa," he whispers against my ear, holding me tightly to him. "I love you more than anything else, little mouse."
I melt into him, praying that this isn't some beautiful lie or dream I've convinced myself is real. That I'm not an impostor in his arms, but that, for once, I truly have found where I belong. Right here with him.
"I have something to do today, cara mia," he says over breakfast early the next morning. "And I can't take you with me."
"Oh." I glance up at him, my fork hovering near my mouth. "Um, is someone coming to babysit me?"
A tiny smirk dances at his lips. "Would you behave if they did?"
I roll my eyes at the question, refusing to dignify it with a response, which only makes his smile grow. Despite his opinion, I'm not difficult. He's simply a special case. I may not have been able to tell him the truth the last few days, but he's always had every other part of me—even the ugly, broken parts I hide from the rest of the world. But I think he knows that.
"No, topolina," he says after a moment. "No one is coming to babysit. I thought you might like a moment to yourself."
"I…" I blink at him. "You're leaving me here alone?"
"Yes." He eyes me levelly, those steely eyes boring into me. "I trust you."
"Maybe you shouldn't," I mutter, uneasy at the thought of being alone. It's been a long time—too long perhaps.
"You need time to yourself, little mouse," he says gently, almost as if reading my mind. "You haven't had that in a long time."
"What if—?"
"He won't." Those steely eyes flash deadly fire. "There will be someone watching the house to make sure you're safe."
"So I will have a babysitter."
"No. You'll have the same security every other principessa has, Aurelia. Ricci won't come inside. You won't see him at all unless you open the door and scream his name," Mattia says, laying his fork on his plate. "But we don't leave our women unprotected."
My nose scrunches. "Our women?"
He leans back in his chair, smirking again. "Jealous, topolina?"
"Nope." I bat my lashes at him as the lie rolls from my tongue. "You have women. Maybe I'll start a harem of men. We'll be one big, happy family."
He narrows his eyes on me, possessive jealousy rolling through them. He doesn't say a word as he hauls himself to his feet and stalks around the island toward me.
"What are you doing?" I ask, suddenly wary.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he hooks his foot around the bottom of my stool and drags it out. It screeches across the porcelain tile. Once I'm precisely where he wants me, he steps up in front of me, looming like a wall.
"Mattia, what are you—?"
His hand around my throat silences me.
His lips come down on mine, his kiss hard and unrelenting. Fire burns through his touch, branding me as he deepens the kiss, his dominance unmistakable. He's staking his claim on me, body and soul, his embrace fiery and possessive.
