Matteo didn't break the kiss as he shoved Isabella toward the edge of the bed.
He needed to feel the weight of his own power again. He wasn't the man who trembled, he was the head of a dangerous mafia empire.
He spun her around with a rough jerk, pressing her head down against the duvet.
"Stay down," he commanded.
He moved behind her, his jaw tight as he tore apart her clothes.
He told himself he was a king, that he could have a thousand women just like this. He wasn't some boy playing house. He was the most dangerous man in Europe, and he didn't belong to anyone.
But as he entered her, the rhythm felt hollow.
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, but his mind kept flashing back to the moments he spent with her in the penthouse in Phoenix.
He saw the way she strutted towards him from behind as he watched her reflection on the glass walls. How her eyes met his when he turned to look at her.
