Chapter 6
1538 Words
Chiara’s POV
A rustle sliced through the quiet of the forest.
I froze mid-stride, paws digging into the damp earth, every instinct snapping awake. The woods behind the hotel were never this loud unless something wanted to be heard.
Or someone.
The wind shifted.
And there it was.
Him.
The scent hit me like a fist to the chest, dark and familiar. Cedarwood. Sweat. Smoke. Lorenzo.
My wolf bristled under my skin. Without thinking, I shifted back, bones cracking into place, breath tearing from my lungs as I stumbled toward the old oak where I had hidden my clothes. I dragged the thin dress over my bare skin just as footsteps approached.
He stepped into the silver spill of moonlight like something carved out of myth.
Shirtless. Glorious. Dangerous.
Sweat gleamed over the hard planes of his chest. His body was forged by war and discipline, every muscle deliberate, every scar a memory. Broad shoulders. Powerful arms. A torso built to dominate battlefields and bedrooms alike.
God.
My body reacted before my pride could stop it.
Heat coiled low in my stomach. My pulse went feral. Six years, and he still owned parts of me I pretended were dead.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, and the world narrowed.
“Running away again, Chiara?” His voice was low, rough, intimate.
I swallowed. “I wasn’t running. I was blowing off steam.”
His gaze dragged down my body. One strap of my dress had slipped. I fixed it quickly, brushing my hair forward to hide the way the thin fabric betrayed me.
A growl vibrated from his chest.
He stepped closer.
Predator.
I stepped back and snapped a twig underfoot. The sound echoed too loud between us.
“Blowing off steam?” he repeated. “Since when do you run alone at night?”
We both knew what that meant. In places crawling with humans, wolves ran under darkness. We shifted where no one could see.
And I knew he was measuring me. Watching. Wondering.
I hadn’t known he was staying at the same hotel. Raffaele and I had checked in after the alliance gathering. Another meeting tomorrow with the packs.
“A lot changes in six years,” I said, aiming for indifference.
My voice trembled anyway.
Silence thickened between us. Heavy. Loaded. Full of memories I tried to bury.
Pain. Yes.
But also the rare nights he had touched me like I mattered.
The distance had not killed what I felt.
It had starved it.
“Why are you here, Lorenzo?” I asked. “You weren’t invited.”
His jaw tightened. He moved closer again.
“Maybe I needed to see for myself,” he muttered. His eyes flicked to my mouth. “See if you were really here.”
He towered over me now. Heat rolled off him. My body leaned in before my mind could command retreat.
“Lorenzo,” I whispered.
Warning. Plea. I didn’t even know.
His fingers brushed my jaw.
Fire.
“Still beautiful,” he murmured, voice turning soft and feral all at once. “Still the only woman who ever made me feel like this.”
I should have pushed him away.
Instead, I melted.
Years of longing surged up, violent and unstoppable. His hand slid into my hair, gripping possessively. The other traced my waist, my back, my hips.
When his mouth crashed into mine, it wasn’t gentle.
It was hunger.
Teeth. Breath. Heat.
I kissed him back with everything I had locked away. The anger. The need. The ache that never left. His hands roamed like he was reclaiming lost territory, memorizing skin he had been denied.
He had never been like this with me before.
Not this desperate.
Not this undone.
He pressed me against the rough bark of a tree, sliding his hand beneath my dress. Skin met skin and I gasped into his mouth.
Electric.
My body arched toward him on instinct.
“Lorenzo,” I moaned, his name breaking from me like confession and curse.
He groaned, pressing harder. I felt the solid heat of him through his shorts, hard and undeniable, mirroring the pulse throbbing deep inside me. His hands moved with urgency, tracing my curves, claiming every inch.
And I wasn’t wearing any underwear.
The cool night air against my bare skin only made the heat between us burn hotter.
Exposed.
Hungry.
Lost.
For one reckless, breathless moment, the past didn’t exist.
There was only the forest.
The moon.
And the fire we never truly extinguished.
The world around us blurred into nothing.
The whisper of the wind through the Tuscan pines, the rustle of dry leaves beneath ancient olive trees, even the distant howl from the Apennine hills — all of it drowned beneath the hunger roaring between us.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of this?” Lorenzo murmured against my throat, his voice rough like aged Barolo.
His lips found the curve of my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. A sharp shiver tore through me, electric and uncontrollable. My body betrayed me instantly. Six years apart, and one touch from him unraveled everything I had rebuilt.
His mouth trailed lower, slow, deliberate, leaving heat in its wake. I arched into him without thinking, exposing myself, surrendering in a way I swore I never would again.
The cool Italian night brushed against my skin as he tugged my dress down. The air should have chilled me. It didn’t. Nothing could cool the fire between us.
My hands were just as desperate, fumbling with his shirt, pushing it off his broad shoulders. Skin met skin. Heat met heat.
We fell together onto the forest floor near the old pack grounds outside Firenze. The dry leaves crunched beneath us, cushioning us from the earth.
His mouth crushed mine.
We kissed like we were starving — like the years had carved a hollow inside us that only this could fill. There was no gentleness in it. Teeth. Tongue. Possession. Memory.
His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him as he positioned himself between my thighs.
Six years.
Six years of pretending I didn’t miss him. Six years of telling myself the Alpha of the Romano Pack meant nothing to me.
Then he pushed inside me.
I gasped at the first inch, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He moved deeper, slower, stretching me, reminding me.
“After all these years…” he groaned against my mouth. “You’re still so tight, Chiara.”
There was something raw in his voice — pride, disbelief, something primal.
I clenched around him instinctively, and his grip tightened as if I belonged to him and always had.
Every thrust was controlled at first, deliberate. He was holding back. I could feel it.
“Please,” I breathed, my nails dragging down his back, marking him without even thinking.
Possessive. Even after everything.
His movements slowed suddenly.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, something storming behind them.
“Tell me,” he said, voice strained. “Has there been anyone else?”
The question hit harder than his body.
Why would it matter to him? Six years ago he cast me aside. Six years ago he chose his pack over me.
“Lorenzo!” I cried when he thrust deeper, hitting a place that made my vision blur.
“Answer me, Chiara,” he growled, but beneath the command was something fragile. Hope. Fear.
“No,” I gasped, the truth spilling out before I could shield it. “No one.”
He stilled for half a second.
“Only you,” I whispered.
That was all he needed.
Something dark and victorious flashed in his eyes. His hand tangled into my hair, tilting my head as he kissed me hard, consuming, claiming.
“You’re mine,” he groaned against my jaw. “Sempre.”
Mine. Always.
My body answered before my pride could.
The pleasure built fast, spiraling, tightening low in my stomach. The forest faded away. The past faded. There was only him — the Alpha who broke me and the man who still owned every piece of my body.
When it shattered, it shattered us both.
My cry echoed into the Italian night as I came undone beneath him, trembling. He followed with a deep groan, burying himself fully as he spilled inside me.
Warm.
Too warm.
Reality crashed back in like icy water from the Arno.
He came inside me.
No protection.
The last time we had done that — one reckless night in Rome — I conceived the twins.
The twins he still knew nothing about.
Panic coiled in my stomach as I pushed him back, scrambling for my dress.
I couldn’t let history repeat itself.
Then my phone rang.
The sound sliced through the quiet woods.
My heart dropped.
With shaking hands, I pulled it from my pocket and answered without thinking.
“Pronto?”
A small, sleepy voice came through.
“Mommy?”
Ice flooded my veins.
Luca.
I froze.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to Lorenzo.
His expression changed instantly.
Suspicion.
Sharp. Alert. Alpha instincts fully awake.
“Chiara…” he said slowly.
Did he hear?
- Writer
