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November 23, 2024 - June 12, 2025
Visconti men in particular don’t fall in love. Because falling suggests it was accidental, and everything this family does is cold and calculated.
And for the first time since we met, I see her smile. I think I like it when she smiles.
And suddenly, my sin isn’t so funny anymore.
“No. You won’t leave her here, not with him.”
“Because seeing you in your engagement dress is hard enough. But seeing you in your wedding dress?” A growl vibrates deep within me. I tighten my grip. “That’ll be fucking torture.”
But that’s the thing about lines in the sand. Eventually, they wash away, and you can’t remember where you drew them.
“I thought he died from a bleed on the brain?” “He did. I shot him in the head and then his brain bled.”
Because all I fucking think about is claiming those lips, even when they spout geeky shit about birds I couldn’t care less about.
Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.
“He doesn’t recognize me outside of the forest, Angelo. That’s why it can’t be knocked down, and that’s why we can’t leave. What my father and I have, it doesn’t exist outside of it.”
“Rory?” His thumb pad carves a trail over my jawline. It stops at the corner of my mouth, but I turn my head to catch it between my lips. He lets out a soft moan, watching me, eyes half-lidded with lust, as I slowly lick it.
Danger sparking in his eyes, he pushes his thumb further into my mouth, and with wetness pooling between my thighs, I open my mouth wider to take him all in. “Out of all my sins, you’re my favorite.”
He promised. I trust him. He’ll be there.
“I swear to God, Rory. You better know how to fly, because if you fall, I’m coming with you.”
Christ, I think I love him.
“I have killed every man on this coast that has touched you inappropriately. From Max to my own fucking uncle.
Bad things happen to bad people. So how the hell did I end up getting so lucky?
“Shut up, Rory. He left his entire life in England and came back to Devil’s Dip for you. He’s so in love with you that it makes me sick.” “She’s right, I am.”
“Not just regular happy. I mean really fucking happy,” he growls into my mouth, palming my ass to pull me on top of him. “Can’t stop fucking smiling, don’t want to go to sleep because reality is better than your
dreams kind of happy. I want to make you so damn happy that you shit sunshine and piss rainbows and people think you’re as high as a kite when you walk into a room.” He nips my lower lip in mild frustration, and his fingers dig deep into the back of my thighs as he slides me up to his groin. “If you want to be mine, I’ll make you that happy, Rory.”
