-Book 3-
When the Love Received is a Reflection of the Love Given, it is on those fighting for it to ensure the mirror details an oasis of heavenly eden instead of the most burning hell.
Sienna Leone and Leonardo Sovrano were supposed to hate each...
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Leonardo Marcé Sovrano
The ground was unforgiving as I landed firmly against it in a loud smack. My jaw clinched at the impact paired with the kick sent to my stomach that knocked me down in the first place. I rolled off to the side quickly as the hard boot came down by my head before springing up and sending a kick to the bastard trying to kill me during a spar. One of them landed sending Alex stumbling back slightly although not much seeing his large stature.
"Let's go princess," His deep voice boomed out thunderously, and I scoffed as I spit out on the ground.
"Not all of us can be built Ford tough, you jacked up son of a bitch. Come at me," I snapped back with a hard glare and he bareled over to me. I used the time I took to spring up and knock two blows to him before he came back and went to grapple me but I countered. We were both locking over, and my feet were planted strongly making me use up all of the strength I could muster to keep my balance on the ground. Despite knowing the effort that I was putting into working him, I couldn't feel it as my adrenaline pumped through.
That was all that I was working on right now. Adrenaline and excessive amounts of caffeine because sleep refused to peacefully find me all dead hours of the night and into the morning. I tossed and turned into the wee-morning hours after I'd walked aimlessly around the villa trying to find a solace that only rested in the warmth of another body and not the cool breeze of the home. I couldn't find peace of space, my room felt tight because something felt missing, and there wasn't such a thing to exist called a peace of mind. My head was spinning and rambunctious, and my body was pulling me into a direction that I absolutely refused to follow.
I should not have touched Sienna Kaitlyn Leone. And when I say I shouldn't have touched her, I mean that on the most elementary level possible. Touching her skin made my blood tingle. I shouldn't have done as much as hold her hand, let along coil my fingers around that taunt pretty neck of hers enough to hear her breath catch and see those smoldering eyes widen. I shouldn't have dared to kiss her. To let her lips surrender to my own, and taste the coolness of her tongue as I wrapped it around mine in an unbreakable knot. So it was game over, and I was past the point of redemption, when I let myself lift her onto the top of the car to taste her sweet, overflowing nectar on my tongue. I fucking blanked when I did that.
She was my own personal ruin, and over and over again I let her destroy me. It wasn't an escape that I could find. Feeling her and watching her come undone on my mouth made me falter, but her deep voice, smooth as a velvet line, crying for me made me surrender it all every time. It made me surrender to her the first time we ever kissed. It made me fall apart when she let me be her first. And every time thereafter every kiss, touch, and burning ounce of passion made my resolve to her wither away.
A damning part of me was wondering if it was even worth it to keep trying to stay away at this point. I had been attempting to do so for almost a decade at this point to no avail. How much longer would it be before she smoldered me to the deepest ash at my own willful bidding? How much longer would it be until I said fuck it to every rule, every false premise of hatred, every stronghold reason I had to stay away?
