IZABELLA
His kiss consumed me, and for a moment, I forgot everything—his injuries, my nervousness, the careful distance I'd been trying to maintain.
But when he tried to shift, to roll us over, I felt him tense. Heard the sharp intake of breath.
"Stop," I whispered against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not." I pressed my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my hand. "Let me."
Something flickered in his dark eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or challenge.
I'd never done this before. Never taken control. With Ignazio, I'd always been reactive, letting him guide, overwhelm, consume. But watching him now—stubborn and wounded and still reaching for me—something shifted inside my chest.
I wanted to take care of him
