Page 117 of The Savage

‘Renzo – please⁠—’

‘Please what?’

His voice is a sin on my skin.

‘Touch me more.’

He obliges, sliding two fingers inside me and curling just right, rubbing his thumb over my clit in firm little strokes that make my hips jerk helplessly.

‘Oh God, I’m so close⁠—’

He removes his fingers, flips us over until I’m beneath him. Then he notches his broad crown at my wet entrance. Silver-grey eyes drill into mine, infusing ownership and near-manic dominance on me. ‘Say my name when you come.’

I barely have time to gasp a response before he slams inside. My muscles stretch to accommodate him as my head thrashes on the pillow, my hips chasing the rhythm, thighs trembling on either side of his lean thighs.

‘Renzo – Renzo⁠—’

‘Yes, just like that, ragazza. More.’

One hand slides up my belly and torso to wrap around my neck, to keep me still as he pistons in and out of me. That same hand bears the remnants of his fight with his brother on his bruised and cracked knuckles. The fight he rushed into… over me.

I should be horrified by the violence, by the raw expression of feelings and pursuit, by the way two lethal men tried to tear each other apart downstairs like wolves defending territory. But the truth slides through me like molten sin… I wasn’t horrified. I wasn’t even frightened. I remember standing there, heart hammering, not because they were bleeding… but because he was bleeding for me.

Renzo.

And instead of shrinking from it, instead of clutching for my rosary, I wanted – God help me, I wanted to wear that violent devotion like a second skin. Like a favourite coat I never want to take off.

I wanted to heap kisses and praise on him for defending me so ferociously.

My man.

My man.

The words echo through me, louder each time.

Dangerous.

Addictive.

Undeniably mine.

Do I really mean it? Is it real? Or is it residue, the imprint of watching Maddie and Sofiya with their Salvatores, seeing how wholly their men are theirs? How they move in unison, look obsessively at each other, how they love in ways that defy sense and gravity?

A whisper curls through me: Are you jealous?

The thought is sharp and stunning.

I was a noviciate a heartbeat ago. I was supposed to belong only to God. That path hasn’t vanished. It could still be mine.

But then another voice – lower, darker – threads into me.

Do you even want that path any more?

Another thrust, another helpless cry from my throat.

And somewhere inside, something crumbles, something remakes itself. And it most definitely isn’t something I want to examine right now. So I fling myself deeper into carnal emotion.

My climax hits like a break in the clouds, like light shattering through stained glass, drowning me in near-holy, mindless pleasure.