Page 46 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Scarlet

I wake to the soft warmth of breath against my shoulder.

The room is still, but the quiet hum of early morning filters through the curtains. Light spills in soft and gold across the sheets, and I feel him before I even open my eyes.

Angelo.

His presence is heavy, solid, like gravity itself has curled up beside me. My body aches in the most tender, beautiful way, but it’s the weight of him, the awareness that he’s watching, that makes my skin prickle.

I blink my eyes open and there he is.

Propped on one elbow, bare chest half in shadow, tattoos stretching and shifting with every slow breath he takes. His eyes, those impossible gray eyes, are already on me, unblinking.

“Morning,” he says, voice low, husky with sleep.

There’s a steaming mug on the nightstand. Coffee. I can smell the richness of it before I even move.

“You made coffee?” I murmur.

He nods. “Didn’t want to wake you. But I figured you’d want it first thing.”

Damn he’s good.

I shift slightly, and suddenly I’m very aware that I’m still naked beneath the comforter. His shirt, I was wearing, is somewhere across the room or maybe on the floor. My cheeks burn as I tug the covers tighter around myself, up to my collarbone.

Angelo watches every move I make, and I know what he’s thinking. His gaze dips for half a second—just enough for my pulse to quicken before he looks back up.

“I should… get dressed,” I mutter, voice trailing off as I glance toward the abandoned shirt. Too far.

Too exposed.

He doesn’t give me time to calculate my escape route. His arm curls around my waist and pulls me into him in one smooth motion.

“Wait,” he murmurs, lips brushing my jaw.

My breath hitches.

No, no. Damn those lips.

He kisses down, slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world, my neck, the slope of my shoulder, and when his fingers start to tug at the edge of the comforter, I stiffen.

“No,” I whisper, holding it tight to my chest.

He stills.

Just for a second.

It’s small, but I see it.

The flicker of something raw in his eyes. Hurt. Wounded pride, maybe. Or confusion.

He pulls back a little, hand retreating.

“I’m not stupid, Scarlet,” he says quietly. “It’s been five years. I know bodies change. Yours is perfect. You’re perfect. You don’t have to hide from me.”

I keep my eyes on the ceiling, afraid if I look at him, he’ll see what I’m hiding.

“ And ,” he adds with a half smile, “I want to kiss you. Everywhere . So you’re going to have to let go of the blanket if I’m gonna get another taste of that—”

“It’s not that,” I blurt, cutting him off.

He pauses, brow furrowing. I suck in a breath, trying to get the words out.

“My body. It’s hot,” I say laced with irritation. “I’m sexy as hell, that’s not my problem.”

I sigh and drop my gaze, heart hammering. “It’s a tattoo.”

That surprises him.

I see it immediately.

His expression shifts from confused to curious—and then, when something else flashes behind his eyes, I know what he’s assuming.

His jaw ticks. His posture straightens, slightly pulling away.

“Of course,” he mutters. “We have a past. That’s on me. I let you go. If you’ve got a dedication to someone else, I get it.”

I turn my head to face him, something sharp and defensive climbing my throat.

Typical of Angelo to assume I’m branded with another man.

I pull the comforter down.

Slowly.

His breath catches when I expose my ribs. Left side. Just under the curve of my breast.

Our initials.

A.A.

Just like he has.

He freezes.

Like he’s been struck by lightning.

His eyes don’t go to my breasts, or my stomach, or any of the places most men would. No.

His eyes are glued to the tattoo.

To our initials etched on my skin.

He looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“When?” he asks, voice cracked open with awe.

I swallow thickly. The memory from five years ago flashes through my mind .

“Once I was able to get out of bed.”

His hand trembles slightly as it lifts. He touches it, just touches, tracing the letters like they might disappear.

The second his skin meets mine, I shiver. A rush of heat rolls through me, settling between my thighs before I can stop it.

He’s gentle. Silent. Like the act of touching this tiny inked part of me is holy.

And that pisses me off.

Because he looks happy . Like I just gave him a gift. Like the last five years didn’t gut me. Like this mark wasn’t the only thing I could do to remind myself that what we had was real.

Because I couldn’t find a part of me that he didn’t touch.

“You’re smiling,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes.

His gaze snaps to mine.

He doesn’t deny it.

“You’re angry that I’m happy?” he asks, something like amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I huff, trying to pull the comforter back up.

He stops me.

Fingers around my wrist. Gentle. Firm.

“I’m happy because it means we’re connected”

I go still.

His fingers leave my wrist to graze his copy of the initials on his skin.

“We did the same thing a thousand miles apart.” He leans in, lips brushing mine.

“I love that you get so angry,” he whispers. “Always running so hot, Scarlet. Did you get that inked knowing how desperate I still was for you, somewhere inside you knew didn’t you, that you were made to be mine?”

I don’t answer.

But my mind reels .

And that’s what makes me want to scream. Because no matter how hard I fought, I never stopped being his. Not for a single, goddamn second.

“Shut up,” I breathe out unable to stop my heart from fluttering.

He smirks as he pulls the rest of the comforter away and shifts over me. I part my legs for him without thought and his smirk deepens as he settles between my thighs, eyes hooded and full of heat.

I roll my eyes at his delight.

“If you want me to stop you’re going to have to use words Scarlet,” he murmurs, voice thick with promise.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Because I don’t want him to.

His mouth crashes against mine—hard, hungry, teeth clashing. I bite his lip, and he growls, low and vicious, shoving his tongue into my mouth like he owns it.

He does.

I arch up, grinding against him, the kiss turning messy, spit-slick, desperate, like we’re trying to swallow each other whole.

When he breaks away, I gasp for air, but he doesn’t give me a second. His mouth drags down my throat, biting, sucking, leaving marks I know he wants everyone to see.

Lower.

Lower.

His teeth graze the underside of my breast, and he pauses, breath hot, voice rough.

“You have no idea how many nights I wanted this.”

Heat slams through me. My thighs clench, slick and aching, and I want to snap back, but my mouth goes dry.

He smirks against my skin, kissing just above my tattoo, licking across it like he’s branding me .

My hips buck, trying to get his mouth where I need it, but he doesn’t rush. He nips at my nipple before sucking it hard, pulling a sharp cry from me as pleasure rips down my spine.

“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he mutters, his voice ruined, hungry, and it wrecks me.

He drags his tongue lower, biting along my ribs, nipping at the dip of my waist, and every second he’s not where I need him feels like torture.

“Angelo—” It’s a broken plea, but it’s all I can manage.

“Patience,” he drawls, dragging his teeth along my hip, his fingers digging into my thighs as he pushes them wider, spreading me open.

My face burns, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pulsing between my legs as he stares down at me, licking his lips like he’s about to feast.

And he does.

His tongue slides over my clit in one slow, devastating lick, and I choke on a scream, my hips lifting off the bed, seeking more.

He groans into me—actually groans, and the vibration shoots straight through my core.

“Taste so fucking sweet,” he mutters, dark eyes flicking up to mine, locking me in place as he goes back in.

His tongue flicking, circling, flattening over my clit until I’m shaking, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

“Fucking look at me,” he orders, and I do, eyes locked on his as he drags me closer to the edge with every relentless stroke of his tongue.

“Please Angelo.”

He groans, sliding two fingers into me without warning, stretching me as his tongue keeps working, filthy and precise, curling his fingers to hit that spot that has me seeing stars.

“Tell me you want more,” he rasps against me, lips wet, voice dark, and I can’t answer. I can only moan, broken and needy, as my body starts to unravel.

“Say it,” he demands, fucking me with his fingers, his tongue flicking over my clit in fast, devastating strokes .

“Yes, fuck yes, don’t stop—”

“Come on, Scarlet,” he snarls, “come on my tongue.”

I shatter around him, my vision going white as pleasure tears through me, my body convulsing, pussy clenching around his fingers, a scream ripping from my throat.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking, keeps fucking me with his fingers as I ride out the high, dragging more and more out of me until I’m sobbing his name, until I’m limp, ruined, boneless against the sheets.

Only then does he pull back, lips wet, eyes dark and satisfied as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at me.

He drags his tongue across his bottom lip and moans again, eyes locked on mine.

“I’ll never get enough.”

And as he crawls up my body, mouth finding mine again, I taste myself on his tongue and feel a whole new ache bloom deep inside me.

His lips trail along my jaw, down my throat, biting, sucking hard enough to leave bruises, to mark me as his. His hands roam my body with possessive reverence, gripping my hips, sliding up to palm my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples until I arch, breathless, craving more.

His cock is heavy against my thigh, hot, throbbing, ready to take—but as he shifts to slide inside me, I press a hand to his chest.

“Wait,” I whisper.

He stills, eyes dark, searching mine, waiting for the rejection that doesn’t come.

“It’s my turn.”

A slow, dangerous grin cuts across his face, something hungry sparking in his eyes as he rolls onto his back, arms spread wide, cock standing proud and ready for me.

“Then take me, Tesoro.”

The challenge in his voice makes heat bloom in my belly .

I crawl over him, letting my hair brush over his skin, letting him feel the heat of me without giving him the relief he wants. I lower, pressing soft, teasing kisses to his throat, down his chest, biting a mark just below his collarbone. He groans, head falling back, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Fuck,” he breathes when I swirl my tongue around his nipple, scraping it lightly with my teeth.

I continue lower, nails dragging down his abs, watching the muscles jump, feeling the tension vibrating off him.

Then I’m there—face to face with the thick, flushed length of him, precum glistening at the tip.

I glance up at him, meeting his eyes, seeing how wrecked he already looks, how hard he’s fighting not to grab me and take back control.

“Patience,” I smirk, licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“Christo,” he chokes out, hands flying to my hair, not pushing, just holding, grounding himself as I swirl my tongue around the head before taking him into my mouth, inch by inch, letting him feel the heat, the wet, the slide of my tongue.

“Look at me,” he grits, and my eyes lock on his as I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, hollowing my cheeks as I suck him down.

“Fuck, Scarlet,” he grits out, hips jerking, fighting the urge to thrust.

I set a pace, bobbing my head, sucking hard, stroking the base with my hand, loving the way his jaw tightens, the way his abs clench, the way he mutters curses in Italian like a prayer.

“Just like that,” he groans, fingers tightening in my hair, breath ragged, eyes glued to me. “You’re gonna make me coat your tongue, Tesoro.”

I pull off with a wet pop, licking my lips as he lets out a strangled groan, eyes wild.

“Not yet,” I breathe out.

I crawl over him, straddling his hips, and line him up with my soaked entrance. His hands fly to my thighs, squeezing hard, eyes locked on where we’re about to join.

“Now,” I whisper .

And I sink down on him, slow, taking every inch, feeling the stretch, the slide, the burn, until he’s seated deep inside me.

His head drops back, a raw, broken sound ripping from his throat. “Cazzo!”

I start to move, rolling my hips, grinding down, using him to hit that perfect spot inside me that has me gasping.

His hands slide up, grabbing my ass, pulling me down harder as he thrusts up to meet me, slamming into me with a force that moves the bed and makes the headboard slam against the wall.

“Harder,” I pant, nails raking down his chest.

“Fuck, you want it rough?” he snarls, eyes flashing.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Give it to me.”

His grip tightens bruising, and he slams up into me, hard, relentless, each thrust punching a moan out of me, my breasts bouncing with every stroke.

“Take it,” he growls. “Take every fucking inch.”

Dios.

I try to ride him, but he meets every grind with a brutal thrust that reminds me who’s really in control.”

“You love this don’t you?” he hisses, thumb flicking over my clit as he pounds up into me. “You missed my cock?”

“Yes!”

He flips us, keeping himself buried inside me as he takes full control, thrusting into me with brutal precision, hitting that spot again and again until I’m screaming, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

“Look at me,” he demands, pinning my hands above my head with one of his, the other gripping my jaw, forcing my eyes to his.

His eyes are molten, dark, feral. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I sob, the orgasm building, blinding, ready to rip me apart.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Angelo. I’m fucking yours! ”

He slams into me harder, faster, and his hand slides from my jaw to wrap around my throat, squeezing just enough to make the edges of my vision blur as he fucks me.

The pressure, the burn, the way his eyes lock on mine and I break, choking on his name as the orgasm crashes over me, body locking up, pulsing around him.

“That’s it, Tesoro,” he growls, losing his rhythm, thrusts turning desperate, erratic. “Take it. Take all of me.”

And then he lets go, coming deep inside me with a low, guttural groan, his face buried in my neck, his body shaking, spilling into me like he’s branding me from the inside out.

His hands loosen, but we don’t move.

Our breaths are ragged, mingling. Our bodies are trembling, locked together, sweat slick, filthy, perfect.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is homecoming.

This is everything we lost—finally found again.