Prologue
“F-fuck, NICHOLAS, I’m c-cumming!” I gasped, my back arching off the sheets, every nerve lit with fire. My body shook violently with each thrust, his rhythm unforgiving, deliberate—like he knew every contour of me, every weakness. The wet slap of skin echoed through the room, mingled with my ragged moans and the sharp crack of the headboard against the wall. It was all too much. And still, not enough.
I had sworn to myself this would never happen again. That the last time was a mistake—heat and anger blurred into lust. But here I was, legs hooked over his shoulders, heels digging into his back, hands tangled in his sweat-damp hair, pulling him closer like he was the only thing keeping me alive.
“You’re fucked up,” he growled, breath hot against my neck, teeth grazing my skin like a threat. “But I’m the only one who gets to break you.”
His hips snapped harder, deeper, the friction driving me to the edge again. The words sank into me like barbed hooks, cruel and possessive—and maddeningly true. I hated how they thrilled me.
“Who gets to taste this sweet cunt?” he snarled, yanking a small silver vibrator from the nightstand. Before I could answer, he pressed it against my swollen clit. I screamed, the jolt of sensation stealing my breath, my thoughts. My hips bucked helplessly, chasing it, hating myself for how much I needed it.
“You hear me?” His voice dropped, dangerously calm as he looked down at me. “I’m the only one who’ll make you a slut. Capiche?”
I broke apart, shattered around him with a strangled cry, my body jerking violently, the climax ripping through me like a storm. I felt him groan as I clenched around him, and he didn’t stop—his hands gripping my thighs tighter, using me, owning me.
Nicholas Romano. My husband. My enemy.
And the third time he’d fucked me tonight.
The sheets were a mess—twisted, damp, reeking of sweat and sex. My skin was bruised, bitten, and burning. I should’ve pushed him away, reminded him this was nothing, that we hated each other. That by morning, I’d go back to plotting his downfall. That he’d return to treating me like a pawn.
But in this moment, tangled together in a haze of lust and anger, it didn’t matter.
Because no one touched me like Nicholas. No one ever could.
And as he flipped me onto my stomach and dragged my hips up for more, I knew the truth I’d never say out loud: I wanted him to ruin me. Again and again.
Even if I had to forget it by sunrise.
