Page 45 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

My hand moves beneath the shirt, my shirt, and I feel every inch of her skin like it’s sacred ground I thought I’d never touch again. She trembles slightly, her breath catching, and it kills me—because it’s not from fear.

It’s from remembering.

“Tell me to stop,” I whisper against her lips, even though we both know I won’t survive it if she does.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she breathes. “I want to stay.”

I groan, burying my face in her neck, my hand glides down her side as I shift above her.

I slip the shirt from her body and when I pull back to look at her, I swear I forget how to breathe .

She pulls me in the second the shirt’s off—urgent, like she doesn’t want me to look. Like I’ll see something she hates. Like she’s hiding from the moonlight.

But I don’t see flaws.

I see salvation.

Softness I want to worship. Skin I want to memorize. Curves that remind me how long I’ve gone without the only thing that ever made me feel whole.

She’s perfect.

Every goddamn inch of her is perfect.

My hand slides up her body, slower this time, like the act alone might undo me. My palm coasts over the curve of her waist, the softness of her stomach; and when she arches into me with a soft gasp, I feel it all.

The memory.

The ache.

The permission.

My mouth claims hers, desperate, tasting like missed chances and the forgiveness I never earned. Her tongue strokes mine and I groan, a guttural sound that rips through me because fuck, I’ve missed this.

Her.

The way she gives in without fear. The way she kisses like she’s trying to steal back every second we lost.

Her hips shift, legs parting further inviting me closer, and when my hand slips beneath the lace of her underwear— Christo.

She’s soaked.

Her breath catches. Her hand clutches my bicep.

I press my forehead to hers, breath heavy. “You’re dripping for me, Scarlet.”

“ Been dripping for you,” she breathes.

And that wrecks me. That damn mouth of hers, still giving me more than I deserve .

I kiss her again, harder this time, and slide two fingers along her soaked pussy, slow and deliberate, gathering slick. Her moan breaks against my lips as I circle her clit slowly, deliberately, teasing her until her hips lift for more.

“You missed this?” I whisper. “Missed me touching you like this?”

She nods, eyes fluttering closed, and I feel her thighs start to tremble.

“Words,” I murmur. “Say it.”

“I missed this,” she gasps. “I missed you.”

That’s all I need.

I tear her panties at the seams—no patience, no pretense. I want her bare. I want her mine.

My mouth trails down her neck, biting gently at the curve of her shoulder. She whimpers when my fingers slip inside her, knuckles-deep, and I groan at the heat of her, the way her pussy clenches around me like she’s never stopped craving me.

“So fucking perfect,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her sternum. “You feel even better than I remember.”

She moans, one hand in my hair, the other sliding down my back, nails grazing the skin.

“Angelo, more.”

I pull back, just enough to push my sweats down. My cock is hard, thick, the head flushed and leaking. Her eyes drop to it and widen, just like the first time.

But this time, there’s no hesitation.

Just hunger.

I reach for the nightstand.

“No,” she says, breathless.

I still. “Scarlet…”

“I’m on the shot,” she whispers. “And I don’t want anything between us.”

My jaw tightens.

Fuck .

I nod once, but inside, I’m burning.

She wants me.

Not as the man who broke her, but as the man she knows now.

I line myself up, press the head of my cock to her entrance. She’s so warm, so wet—I could come before I even get inside.

But I don’t.

Because I need to feel every second of this. I need to remember it. Remember her.

And when I slide into her… Dio.

Slow. Inch by inch.

Every second aches.

This isn’t just pleasure.

It’s penance.

Redemption.

My eyes squeeze shut as her body stretches to take me, and I grit my teeth against the overwhelming need to lose control. She’s tight, clenching around me like she never forgot, like she never stopped being mine.

“Fuck, Scarlet—” I rasp. “You feel like home.”

She moans, her legs locking around my waist. “ More . I want more.”

And I give it to her.

Not just my body. Not just thrusts and rhythm.

I give her everything.

Everything I’ve kept locked behind regret and silence.

Every dream.

Every ache.

Every promise I never got to say.

I thrust deeper, slow, grinding against the sweet spot I remember too well, and her gasp tells me she remembers it too. Her eyes snap open, locking on mine, and I kiss her like I’m claiming her soul.

“I dreamt of this,” I murmur, voice cracking.

“Me too,” she breathes. “Every night. ”

I thrust harder.

Relentlessly.

Chasing the claim she’s always been mine.

Always been mine.

The bed rocks beneath us. Her breath comes in ragged little gasps as her pussy tightens around me, dragging me closer to the edge with every stroke.

My hand moves to her throat—light, asking. Her eyes lock on mine, and she nods.

“Words.”

“Yes,” she gasps out.

My fingers tighten slightly, just enough to feel her pulse against my palm and fuck if that feeling doesn’t steal every bit of air from my lungs.

That pulse.

Fluttering.

Forgiveness.

“You’re mine,” I whisper, thrusting harder now.

“Yours,” she cries, her voice wrecked and needy.

“Say it again,” I demand each thrust punctuating the words.

“I’m yours, Angelo.”

Her body convulses beneath me, her orgasm ripping through her like a wave. Her back arches, her head pressing back into the pillow, a cry tearing from her throat. Her pussy clenches, spasms around my cock, drawing me to the edge.

“Fuck,” I growl, slamming into her one last time before I break, coming deep, raw, shaking, my body giving out like it’s never known peace until this moment.

I empty everything into her. Five years of guilt, of silence, of aching.

It floods out of me in waves—

Not just release.

The absolution of my sins.

We stay like that, locked, trembling, skin to skin—until the aftershocks fade and our breathing begins to steady.

My forehead rests against hers. My chest rises and falls against her breasts, slick with sweat, with need, with everything I was too afraid to say out loud.

I ease my hand from her throat, kiss the spot I left pink and perfect.

And then I just look at her.

My Scarlet.

And for the first time in five years, I feel clean.

Not because I’ve been forgiven with words, but because she let me back in.

Because she gave me her body, her trust, her heartbeat beneath my palm.

“I don’t deserve this,” I whisper, voice frayed. “But I swear, I’ll earn it. Every fucking day I breathe.”

Her eyes flutter open. Glassy, cheeks flushed. She looks like a dream.

I kiss her again. Softer this time.

And then I whisper against her mouth, like a vow.

“I’m never letting you go again. Not now. Not ever. You’re mine, and they’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.”