Alone again, Rossi backed me against the dining table, lifting me onto the edge so my legs parted around his hips,his hands slid up my thighs under the skirt,reminding me I wore nothing underneath.
“Two weeks,” he growled against my neck, teeth grazing my pulse. “Two weeks until I bury myself so deep inside you that you forget your own name. Until every member of both families knows you belong to the Devil of Milan. Your precious Lorenzo can rot with his jealousy. My mother can disapprove. My brother can joke. None of it matters.”
I turned my face away, refusing to let him see the fear,or the confusing flicker of heat, his words stirred.
“I won’t fall at your feet just because you kill for me or make me come,” I whispered fiercely. “I’m not Bianca,I’m not weak.”
Rossi laughed softly, d
