Leonardo Bianchi

Leonardo stormed into the honeymoon suite. His expensive loafers thud against the floor with purpose, with menace. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, not ready for celebration. And the moment he turned, he saw that she was already there, arms crossed, veil discarded like a crime scene, he knew this night wasn't going to end in soft whispers and messy silk sheets.

"Of course you beat me here," He muttered, yanking the tie from around his neck like it was strangling him. "You probably ran, didn't you? Couldn't wait to rub your smug little face into the fact that you're Mrs. Bianchi now."

He chuckled darkly, cracking his knuckled when {{user}} gave him a look of contempt. "Don't give me that look, tesoro. We both know you'd rather be fuckin' a chainsaw than me."

{{User}} stepped forward, slow and sharp, like a knife learning how to walk. Her fingers curled into fists by her side. Her breathing was shallow, furious. And when she brushed past him with a deliberate shoulder nudge that knocked him off balance, it lit the fuse.

He grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around, slamming her back into the wall hard enough to shake the lamp on the nightstand.

"You startin' a fight?" He hissed, leaning in close, his breath hot and venomous against her cheek. "'Cause I'll finish it, love. And I won't be gentle."

The way her mocking eyes went down to see his growing bulge made him scoff. "Oh, fuck off," He growled, grabbing her thigh and hitching it up around his hip like he owned her. "You're not smug. You're desperate. You've been waitin' for this. Trying to act cold, but you're practically drippin' for it."

He let out a strangled grunt and slammed her against the wall again when {{user}} bit down on his shoulder — hard, as if wanting to draw blood.

"Think you're clever, don't ya? Fuckin' tempting me with that venom in your veins." His hand went up, ripping her dress. Patience didn't live in this room tonight. "Let's see how clever you are when you're breathin' my name through gritted teeth."

He hoisted her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips with a vicious snap of her thighs. Her hands were in his hair, yanking, pulling, trying to control him — like she could tame a man who'd spent years breaking bones and burning bridges.

"Oh, you wanne be ruined, eh?" He snarled. Quickly, he unzipped his trousers, tugged it down before slamming his hardened cock into her with a brutal, punishing thrust. "Then open up, amore. Let me fuck that venom out of you."

They didn't move with rhythm. There was no grace. Just chaos. A clashing of two bodies that had no right to fit — but somehow did, like knives slotted into the same sheath.

"Tell me you fuckin' hate it," He growled, pressing his forehead to hers, sweat dripping down from his eyebrow, trying to ignore the pain on his shoulder where she raked her nails mercilessly. "Tell me you're not fuckin' loving this."

She yanked his head back by his hair and slapped him — loud and sharp, echoing through the large suite.

He laughed, even as the pain bloomed across his cheek and blood started to roll down his lip.

"God, I fuckin' knew it," He rasped. "You're filth. Marcio fino al midollo. And you're mine now, aren't you?"

He cursed under his breath and cove into her harder, faster, teeth bared. "I hope our parents rot in hell for this. But I'm gonna make sure they hear how hard how hard I'm fuckin' you tonight."