January 17, 1945

I’ve always enjoyed watching Genevieve squirm.

There’s something innately satisfying about making her nervous.

I haven’t visited since our fight. Mostly because I’ve been busy with work since I cleared the Saputo estate. But partly because I’m injured, and I know the moment she realizes, it’ll only prove her point about why we can’t be together.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathes, twiddling with her fingers. She stands before her rocking chair, shifting anxiously, waiting for me to make a move.

I am a little displeased that she didn’t run to me as she usually does, but I also can’t deny my enjoyment from watching her.

“I missed you, my love,” I say softly, slowly approaching her.

She swallows, attracting my attention to where her throat bobs. I’m certain her pulse is hammering beneath the delicate flesh there, and my teeth clench with the urge to bite it.

She’s always felt so much more alive between my teeth.

“Ronaldo, I don’t want to fight,” she says, nearly vibrating by the time I’m within a foot of her. The tension between us is thick, and it tastes as sweet as her pussy after she comes for me.

“Then let’s get the first one out of the way,” I say. I remove my trench coat, then my button-up, allowing her to see the large bandage over my shoulder.

While I undressed, she seemed enraptured, but now that her stare is locked on my injury, only concern shines through. She gasps and closes the gap between us, faintly brushing her fingertips over the bandage.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was in a terrible mood after our argument,” I confess quietly, the words rumbling out of my chest. “And the next day, we spotted a longtime enemy on our territory—someone I thought I had killed before. So I went there and iced them all, but they did manage to hit me.”

There’s a tremor in her bottom lip, and I know she’s picturing the scenario I laid out for her. Imagining the moment a bullet sliced through my shoulder. The danger I immersed myself in the very day after she said that my job could get her and Sera killed.

“Was it worth it?” she asks, her words cracking at the seams.

“Yes.”

“Would you do it again?”

“Yes.”

“Will you keep doing it?”

This time, I hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

Her blue eyes finally flick to me, unshed tears within.

“This isn’t a life I can walk away from, my love. But as Angelo told me, it is one that will allow me to retreat into the shadows. And for you, I would do that. I may not be able to guarantee that things will always be safe, but I can guarantee that as long as I breathe, I will always stand between you and a bullet. Sera, too.”

She’s not entirely satisfied with my answer, but she nods, deciding that it is good enough. At least for now.

“And I may not be able to divorce John right now . . .” She hesitates for a split second, licking her lips. “But maybe I can when Sera turns eighteen. She won’t be young forever, and there will come a time when she moves on with life and creates one of her own, and then I won’t be so beholden to John.”

Just as Genevieve was unsatisfied by my response, I’m not entirely pleased about having to wait four more years to make her my wife, but it’s enough. And regardless, my heart sings. It feels like for the first time in nearly a year, there just might be a future for Genevieve and me.

One that doesn’t end with either one of us suffering.

“Angelo knows a judge. When you are ready, I believe he will grant you a divorce.”

Shock flashes through her gaze, then happiness. And when a few tears finally spill from her eyes, they’re complemented by a bright smile.

“Yeah? D-do you think he’d let me keep Parsons Manor?” she asks, staring at me with the hope of a little girl asking for a brand-new pony.

I grin. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.”

A shaky laugh reaches my ears, and I can no longer withstand the distance between us, small as it is.

Ignoring the flare of burning pain in my shoulder, I dive my fingers through her curls and pull her into me, crashing my lips against hers.

She opens for me earnestly, a soft moan greeting my tongue. She tastes divine, and I’m unable to restrain myself from devouring her, licking her eager little mouth and biting her delicate lip.

Her hands flatten against my stomach before slowly gliding up to my chest, taking her time exploring the surface of my bare flesh. All the while, it sends tremors throughout my body, her touch dismantling my restraint inch by inch. My cock firmly presses against the zipper on my trousers, hard enough to crack ice in the South Pole.

Our kiss grows hungrier. We feast on each other, yet it only leaves us even more starving.

“Fuck, Genevieve, I love you so much,” I groan against her mouth. I bite her bottom lip and drag it through my teeth, savoring her taste before diving back in for more.

She whimpers against me, scarcely getting out her breathless response through impatient kisses. “I love you, too.”

Bullet wound be damned, I grab the back of her thighs and lift her in my arms, carrying her to the couch and dropping us both onto it.

Our hands tangle and fumble as she unfastens my belt and trousers, releasing me from the confines and wrapping her hand around my cock. Meanwhile, I shove her dress up past her waist, fumbling with her undergarments.

I growl, growing impatient with her girdle and straps and instead tear her underwear from her body. She gasps, and instead of dropping it on the floor, I rip myself away from her lips and stuff the shredded fabric in her mouth.

“If you want to know how good I make your pussy feel, then I expect you to fucking taste it, too,” I growl.

Panting, she stares up at me with rounded eyes, utterly shocked. Yet she makes no move to spit them out and instead watches me closely as I line up the tip of my cock with her opening and drive inside her.

Her eyes roll, and her scream is muffled, though the sound is no less erotic.

Pinning her knees to her ears, I fuck her quickly and roughly, enraptured by the sight of her tight pussy gripping my cock as I slide in and out of her.

“Look how desperate your cunt is for me,” I snarl. “But I don’t think you know what true desperation is like, do you?”

She nods, adamantly disagreeing. But my little rose has gone through life without ever being plucked from her place of comfort. Before her husband turned to the bottle, he treated her delicately, those thorns keeping her safe in gentle hands. How unfortunate for her that I’d gladly bleed if it means crushing her beneath my fist.

“Hold your legs right there, baby. If you let go, I stop.”

Confused, she replaces my hands on the back of her thighs, keeping her legs spread and knees up to her head.

With one hand, I rub her clit in tight circles until her eyes flutter and her back arches. Once she’s comfortable in her pleasure, I close my other hand around her throat, triggering another stunned expression.

A tinge of unease bleeds into her stare, though my cock and fingers keep her distracted enough. However, I quite like the way she wears fear, so I squeeze tight, a squeak slipping through before I sever her oxygen.

Instantly, her cheeks redden, and her body shudders beneath me. Yet another moment where I wish I could photograph her staring up at me just like that.

Bright-blue eyes filled with pleasure and panic, her brow furrowed, and those pretty red lips stuffed with her soaked underwear.

“Fuck, baby, you look so goddamn pretty when you’re desperate,” I groan, my balls tightening from the view alone. “My needy little slut.”

She’s unable to make a noise, but her body speaks plenty. Violent tremors overtake her, and her nails claw at her own skin, leaving behind red marks as I pound into her.

Red-faced, she squeezes her eyes shut and slides her hand over to my wrist, her arm barred across the back of one of her thighs. Crescent moons form in my skin, her thorns surfacing and drawing blood. As if it’s not enough, crimson trickles down the same arm from my shoulder injury, though the pain is indiscernible beneath the ecstasy holding my body hostage.

My own moans make up for her forced silence, pouring from my throat like water from a spigot. If anything, my pleasure makes her wilder.

“This is true desperation, mia rosa,” I bite out through clenched teeth. “This is what I feel when you are near. So completely taken by you that I can’t fucking breathe.”

Her cunt clamps down on me the moment the last word leaves my mouth, and I release her throat, allowing her to belt out a broken scream.

“Ronaldo!” Her outcry is muffled from the underwear in her mouth, and she seizes beneath me as the pleasure contorts her body. Even her fingers stiffen and splay wide, her hands sightlessly fluttering around, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

She clenches around my cock tightly, and instantly my vision blackens and I see stars. The orgasm rushes through me unexpectedly. I thought I had it under control, but her pussy is too goddamn tight, and it rockets me right over the edge.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” I shout, becoming lightheaded from the dizzying rush of pleasure coursing through me. “Fuck, yes, milk my fucking cock.”

Hips gyrating, she does exactly that. My release pours into her in rivulets, filling her until it leaks from the sides and spills onto the couch.

My body trembles violently, even as I come down. The aftershocks are persistent, and I twitch endlessly while waiting for my vision to return.

When it does, I’m resentful of my limited sight. More than anything, I’d love to have a full view of her heaving below me, still shaking as I do while little sounds ripple from her throat uncontrollably.

Her chest, throat, and face are still flushed tomato red, but her expression is slack with exhaustion.

Panting, I sit up straight and am briefly confused when I notice we are not in the same spot as before. It takes a few seconds to process that I fucked her so hard, I moved the couch a good foot from where it had been.

She notices, too, glancing around before turning her bright gaze back to me, her astonishment evident. “If you wanted to rearrange my furniture, you could’ve just asked me.”

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