THE SUITE UPSTAIRS

I stared at the man in the doorway, heart slamming against my ribs. His face was shadowed, but the amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. He took one slow step forward, then another, closing the distance with the patience of someone who knew I had nowhere to go.

My back pressed harder against the balcony railing. Stone dug into my spine. The sea wind whipped my hair across my face, but it did nothing to cool the fever raging under my skin. Every inch of me felt raw, exposed, screaming for something I refused to name.

“I said I’m fine,” I managed. My voice cracked on the last word.

He tilted his head. “You don’t look fine, Signorina Rossi.”

Another step.

Panic clawed up my throat. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t let him see me like this—flushed, trembling, soaked through my own dress. If he touched me, even once, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from begging.

I moved before I thought.

I ducked past him, shoulder brushing his chest just enough to send a fresh shockwave through my core. He reached for me, fingers grazing my wrist, but I twisted free and bolted through the open door.

The corridor stretched long and dim. My heels clattered too loud on marble. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed distance, air, darkness…anything to hide what was happening to me.

I turned left, then right, past closed doors and hushed voices leaking from other rooms. My vision blurred at the edges. The drug pulsed harder now, relentless, turning every heartbeat into a throb between my legs. Slickness coated my inner thighs, making them slide against each other with every frantic step. I pressed a hand to my stomach as if I could hold the heat in place.

A door stood ajar at the end of the hall. No light spilled from underneath. I didn’t think. I pushed inside and shut it behind me, leaning against the wood while my chest heaved.

Darkness swallowed me.

The room smelled of sandalwood and clean linen, expensive and male. City lights filtered through floor-to-ceiling glass on the far wall, painting faint silver stripes across black silk sheets and low furniture. A massive bed dominated the center, unmade, pillows scattered like someone had left in a hurry.

I thought it was a bathroom at first. I needed cold water on my face, on my wrists, anywhere to dull the fire. But there was no sink, no mirror. Just this shadowed, luxurious space that felt too intimate, too private and too luxurious.

My knees buckled.

I stumbled forward, caught myself on the edge of the mattress, then collapsed face-down across the silk. The sheets were cool against my fevered cheek. I turned my head and moaned softly into the pillow. It sounded quiet, broken and I felt ashamed of how desperate it sounded.

The silk felt like sin against my skin. Every shift dragged the fabric over my nipples, my hips, the sensitive backs of my thighs. I pressed my legs together, seeking pressure, friction, anything to ease the ache that had become unbearable.

My hand moved without permission.

Fingers trailed down my side, over the curve of my hip, along the hem where silk met bare skin. I told myself to stop. I told myself this was wrong, that someone could walk in, that I was Valentina Rossi and Rossis did not fall apart in strangers’ beds.

But the drug didn’t care about dignity.

My fingertips brushed the inside of my thigh, slick and hot. I gasped at the contact. Just that small touch sent sparks racing up my spine. I pressed harder, sliding higher, chasing relief I knew would only make me hungrier.

Another soft moan escaped me.

The door opened.

I froze.

Two silhouettes filled the frame—tall, identical, backlit by the corridor’s faint glow. They moved in perfect sync, one stepping left while the other stepped right, closing the door behind them without a sound.

My heart stopped.

I blinked, vision swimming. The drug was playing tricks. It had to be. Because no two men could look so exactly alike. They had the same sharp jaw, same dark hair falling just so, same predatory stillness. Twins.

They didn’t speak.

They simply watched me.

I tried to push myself up, but my arms shook. The silk sheets tangled around my legs. My dress had ridden high, exposing the tops of my thighs, the damp evidence of my unraveling. I yanked at the hem, mortified, but the movement only made me arch, breasts straining against the bodice, nipples visible through the thin fabric.

One of them tilted his head. The other mirrored the gesture a heartbeat later.

I swallowed. “This… this isn’t what it looks like.”

My voice sounded small and wrecked.

The one on the left took a single step forward. His twin followed, maintaining the same distance between them, like they were tethered.

I scrambled backward on the bed until my shoulders hit the headboard. My thighs pressed tight together, but the pressure only sharpened the throb, made me bite my lip to keep from whimpering again.

They stopped at the foot of the bed.

Up close the resemblance was uncanny. Same storm-gray eyes, same faint scar above the left eyebrow, same slow, knowing smile that made my stomach flip.

I shook my head. “I thought this was… I needed air. I didn’t mean to…”

The one on the right spoke first. Voice low, smooth, accented just enough to place him somewhere farther north than Naples. “You’re burning up, cara.”

His twin finished the sentence without missing a beat. “We can smell it from the hallway.”

Heat flooded my face. Shame and want twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“I’m leaving,” I whispered.

But I didn’t move. They didn’t move either.

They simply stood there, watching me tremble on their black sheets, city lights carving sharp angles across their faces.

My fingers curled into the silk. My breath came in shallow pants. Between my legs the ache had become a living thing, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, demanding release I was terrified to give.

One of them reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch was feather-light. It still felt like fire.

His twin mirrored the gesture on the other side.

Two hands. Two identical touches.

My eyes fluttered closed for a second before I forced them open again.

This couldn’t be real. I was hallucinating. I had to be.

Because if they were real…if these two beautiful, dangerous men were truly standing at the foot of this bed while my body betrayed me in the most humiliating way possible, then I was already lost.