Page 128 of Beauty and the Daddy

His smirk is lethal as he crawls back over me, caging me in with all that heat and muscle, his cock heavy against my thigh, making me gasp all over again.

"You ready for me, Belle?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine, teasing.

"Ready?" I laugh breathlessly, tugging him closer. "I was born ready."

He bends to press his lips against my belly, reverent as a prayer.

"Our baby," he whispers, voice breaking around the words. "Our miracle growing right here."

His hands frame my waist like I'm made of spun glass, and when he trails kisses up my body—stomach to sternum to throat—each one feels like a promise.

A vow that this time, love won't end in tragedy.

Tears blur my vision because this man, this beautiful, broken man, is choosing hope over fear.

Choosing us over the ghosts that haunt him.

When he reaches my mouth, I taste salt on his lips and realize he's crying too.

"I love you," I whisper, the words feeling inadequate for the storm inside me. "God, Luca, I love you so much."

He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against me.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes inside, filling me inch by inch until I'm stretched around him, complete.

He starts to move, slow at first, like he's afraid to hurt me.

Each roll of his hips drags that thick length deep, stretching me, stroking me in ways that make my eyes flutter shut.

Holy hell. This man. This cock. It's like being wrecked and worshipped at the same time.

"You feel like heaven," he groans, forehead pressed to mine. "So tight, so wet for me."

"Yeah, well," I gasp, my nails biting into his shoulders. "You're a hard man to resist."

He laughs against my mouth, and the sound vibrates through me, warm and dark.

His thrusts stay slow, deliberate, each one sinking me deeper into the mattress.

He's not chasing release—he's chasing me.

My sounds.

My shivers.

My surrender.

Every time he slides in, it's a little deeper, a little harder, and the pressure builds sharp and low again, winding me up like a live wire.

My body knows him, craves him, and I can't stop the soft cries that spill out with every roll of his hips.

"You're mine," he whispers, kissing me between the words, his lips brushing my jaw, my throat, the shell of my ear. "Every part of you. Mine."

"Yes," I whimper, lifting my hips to meet him. "Yours. Always yours."

His hands tighten at my waist, guiding me, holding me steady as he grinds just right, hitting that spot that makes me bite my lip so hard I taste copper.

"Oh God—Luca." I'm panting, legs trembling, my body strung so tight I could snap. "I'm close—don't you dare stop."