ALESSANDRO

I wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

Not while I stripped her clothes, Not while I wrung the washcloth and brushed it over her arms, her legs, her back. Not while she sat there, limp from exhaustion, staring at me like she couldn’t understand the man in front of her.

Hell, I didn’t recognize myself too.

I rinsed the cloth again, jaw clenched tight, focusing on the slow rhythm of cleaning her skin. Her breathing had steadied, but her eyes stayed on me, wide and confused.

Good. She should be confused.

I was too.

This wasn’t love. It was possession. Rage. My head was filled with images of her...