<b>Chapter </b><b>156 </b>


    Ugh….


    The first thing I became aware of was the ache.


    A slow, deep throb in my muscles, a faint sting where his hands and mouth had been relentless, and the soreness between my thighs that made even the stretch of my legs a reminder of him.


    I blinked awake to soft light pouring through the balcony curtains, the world outside golden with dawn. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood and smoke -his scent.


    Francesco was sitting at the edge of the bed, his bare back to me, shoulders rigid as if he had been awake for hours. His head was bowed, hands pressed over his face.


    “Francesco?” My voice was hoarse, raw.


    He turned, and the look in his eyes was something I hadn’t expected. Guilt. Deep, unyielding guilt.


    His gaze dropped to the faint marks on my corbone, the bruises blooming along my hips where his fingers had clutched me too tight, and I saw his jaw tighten.


    “I hurt you,” he said quietly, the words rough as gravel.


    I sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down my bare body, and reached out to touch his arm. His skin was warm, trembling faintly under my fingers. “You didn’t hurt me,” I whispered. “You imed me. There’s a difference.”


    His breath caught, his chest heaving as if he wanted to believe me but couldn’t. He shook his head, muttering something in Italian under his breath<b>, </b>his voiceced with torment.


    I leaned closer, pressing my lips to his shoulder, tasting salt and warmth. “Francesco. I wanted you. All of you. Even this part of you. I enjoyed it.”


    The words broke something in him. He turned suddenly, pulling me into his arms, kissing the crown of my head with trembling lips. “Dio, Eine… I was too rough. I let my wolf-”


    “-be what he is,” I cut him off gently, cupping his jaw. “And I loved it,”


    His eyes searched mine, torn between belief and torment, until finally, something eased in him. His forehead pressed to mine, and he exhaled shakily, his grip on me softer this time, tender.


    Not long after, he rose and carried me—still naked, still sore–to the adjoining chamber where a marble bath waited, already steaming. I blinked in surprise, realizing he must have ordered it before dawn. The scent of roses and herbs rose with the mist.


    He lowered me into the water with a reverence that undid me, hisrge hands cradling me as if I were ss. The warmth seeped into my sore muscles, drawing a sigh from my lips.


    “Better?” he asked, kneeling by the bath, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that was no longer wild, but worshipful.


    “Yes,” I breathed, sinking deeper into the scented water.


    And then–luxury. I hadn’t noticed before, but the servants must have entered while I slept, leaving trays of fresh fruit, warm pastries, crystal sses filled with sparkling juice, and delicate flowers scattered along the edges of the bath. Only the Luna. Only the Alpha’s chosen mate could be treated like


    this<b>. </b>


    For a fleeting moment, it struck me: this was not ordinary. This was not something anyone else would ever have. This was the King <b>of </b><b>Alphas</b><b>, </b><b>the </b><b>Lycaon </b>himself, and all of this–the warmth, the devotion, the indulgence–was for me.


    He bathed me himself, his strong hands moving slowly, almost apologetically, washing away the marks <b>of </b><b>the </b><b>night </b><b>before</b><b>. </b><b>Each </b><b>touch was </b><b>careful</b>,


    tender, his guilt still lingering in the gentleness of his fingers.


    I caught his wrist, pulling him closer, making him meet my eyes. “Don’t punish yourself for foving me the way you did,” I whispered. I want all of your Francesco. The wolf, the man, the king. Only you.”


    His expression softened, as if the chains around his heart loosened just a little.


    He bent to kiss me, this time not hungry or rough, but slow–like a man savoring the one thing he never thought he’d deserve


    And as I leaned back into the bath, surrounded by steam, fruit, flowers, and the careful hands of the Lycan King himself, I realized something with a sudden, startling rity.


    I was his.


    And that meant I would always have the very best he could give.


    I tilted my head, letting my wet hair cling to my skin, and crooked a finger at him.


    “Come here, Alpha,” I teased, letting my voice slip low and sultry. “Or do you n to just stand there and suffer?”


    His growl echoed off the marble, low and dangerous, and in the next moment he stripped out of his clothes with no hesitation.


    Oh God, the sight of him–powerful, scarred, utterly male–made heat coil inside me all over again.


    Damn, he’s mine, right?


    He joined me in the bath, the waterpping high on his chest. His hands came to cradle my waist, but there was a restraint in his touch now, as if he feared to grip me too tightly.


    I leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “Francesco…” I let my breath tickle his skin, my hand sliding boldly down his chest. “Do you know what I want?”


    He groaned, forehead pressing to mine. “You should be resting, p. Afterst night-”


    I silenced him by straddling hisp, water rippling around us, heat surging through me at the feel of him beneath me.


    My nails scraped lightly along his shoulders<b>, </b>coaxing his wolf to the surface.


    “But, I don’t want <i>rest</i>,” I whispered, kissing the line of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin. “I want you… Again… Always.”


    His control broke with a shudder.


    “Damn it!” The next instant his mouth was on mine–hungry<b>, </b>iming, desperate–and the bathroom filled with the sound of water sshing, of our breaths tangling, of his low growls and my soft gasps.


    had meant to seduce him slowly, to take back some <i>of </i>the control, but Francesco was still my Alpha, my king, my Francesco.


    Even when softened by guilt, <i>he </i>was <b>a </b>storm, and he swept me into it again.


    This time, though, it was different. Still intense, still overwhelming–but threaded with <b>a </b>tenderness that unraveled me even more than the roughness ofst night.


    His hands caressed the bruises with revérence, his lips kissed apologies into every mark he had left, until I was trembling not from pain but <b>from </b><b>the </b>sheer power of being so thoroughly adored.


    Once again, I let myself drift from the shadows of the city, knowing I should tell him the truth about theke… yet in this moment<b>, </b><b>all </b>I want–<b>all </b><b>I </b>need-


    is him.


    1115 1nu, 9 Aug