Page 48 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

The food’s done—garlic butter steak tips, rosemary potatoes roasted till their edges crisp, and cherry tomatoes that burst with heat and sweetness the second they’re touched. I plated it all perfectly for her.

But I don’t carry it to the table.

I walk to her.

Slide between her legs and settle there, like I never want to leave.

She looks up at me with that tilted smirk and a lifted brow. “We’re eating here?”

“Of course,” I say, lifting a steak tip from the plate with my fingers, the juices still glistening. “Where else would we eat when you’re sitting right where you belong?”

She snorts, biting back a grin. “So I’m the dining table now?”

“No,” I murmur, voice dropping low as I hold the bite just shy of her mouth. “You’re the whole fucking feast. ”

She rolls her eyes, but they sparkle, and when she leans forward, lips brushing over my fingers as she takes the bite, air leaves my lungs.

Her tongue flicks out to catch a drop of juice on her lip, and I nearly lose it.

Fuck.

She chews slowly, thoughtfully, a low sound humming in her throat as her eyes flutter closed. She swallows, and it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You trying to seduce me with food now?” she asks, voice warm, teasing.

I grin.

“Trying? I thought I already had.”

I reach for a potato wedge, still steaming, blow gently once, then offer it up. She leans in again, more languid this time, taking it between her teeth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

Another hum, even softer.

That sound could bring me to my knees.

“You keep doing that,” I mutter, voice strained with restraint, “and I’m going to forget we’re supposed to be discussing war.”

She smirks, eyes dark with amusement. “I thought we were supposed to be discussing dinner plans.”

“We are,” I say, leaning in until her breath mingles with mine, the scent of rosemary and wine-laced air curling between us. I brush my nose along her jaw, slow, reverent.

“This is what I wanted, Scarlet.”

Her body stills just slightly, the shift so subtle it’s almost imperceptible, but I feel it. That ripple beneath her skin. That ache she doesn’t name.

“Five years,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.

“I dreamt of this. Of feeding you. Of hearing you laugh with your mouth full and your legs brushing mine. Of you being… mine, again. In every way. ”

Her lashes lower. That smile of hers falters, softens, and for a second, she looks at me like I’ve handed her something fragile and beautiful.

Then she picks up a tomato from the plate. Holds it up to my mouth with steady fingers.

“Then eat,” she murmurs. “Before I make you cook another round.”

I bite it from her fingertips, the juice bursting warm and sweet, dripping onto her fingers. I catch it with my tongue

And the sound she makes—

Sin incarnate.

She hums, low and breathy. “I should call Vasilisa before I forget everything and tell you to take me to bed.”

“Bed?” I smirk, grabbing another piece of steak, holding it near but not quite touching her lips. “Tesoro, I’ll fuck you right here.”

Her eyes go wide. Heat rushes to her cheeks, and she nearly chokes mid-bite, hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Angelo Amato,” she hisses between chews, scandal coloring her voice even more than her face.

I grin, pleased with myself, watching her try to compose her flustered expression, and fail miserably. While she chews and glares at me like I’ve lost my mind, I reach casually for my phone on the counter, scroll for a second, and hold it out to her.

“Here,” I say, smug. “Before you forget again.”

She squints. “Did you already pull up her number?”

“Obviously. I multitask.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

She sighs. But the flush remains, spreading warm and slow. She takes the phone from me, still perched on my counter like a fucking goddess pretending to be casual. One leg brushes my hip as she leans back against the cupboards, screen glowing against her cheek.

Two rings. That’s all it takes before Santo picks up .

His voice snaps through the speaker, sharp as ever. “What do you want? Don’t call my wife.”

I freeze, my jaw ticking.

He thinks it’s me.

I reach to grab the phone because clearly he doesn’t deserve her voice in his ear, but she twists just out of reach, fingers tightening around the phone like it belongs to her now. And when she speaks, her tone is quiet, calm, and soft enough to disarm even the harshest bastard.

“It’s Adriana. Is that how you greet every family member, or do we have a problem?”

The silence on the other end is beautiful.

Dead, stuttering, shell shocked silence.

I smirk.

Santo, flustered, is rare. But watching her do it with just a change in the tone of her voice?

Holy fucking hell. I don’t know whether I want to laugh or fall at her feet.

His voice comes out in a rushed breath.

“I—”

“You’re sorry?” she finishes smoothly, eyebrows raised like she already knows she’s right.

God, I love her mouth. Not just for what it does to me, but for how it destroys men like him.

There’s a beat, then a muffled shift. “Dea, it’s for you.”

In the background, I hear her, Vasilisa.

Her voice is light and amused, like spring breaking through winter. “See? That’s what happens when you’re rude.”

Another scuffle, definitely the phone being snatched and then Vasilisa comes on, sweet and genuine.

“Adriana! It’s so nice to hear your voice. I didn’t expect… I mean, it’s been forever! ”

I glance back at Scarlet—no, Adriana . The woman who just verbally drop-kicked my brother without breaking a sweat.

Her spine straightens just a little, her expression smoothing with that grace she’s always had. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission to command a room, it just does.

“I was hoping you’d come to dinner tomorrow,” she says, tone steady, polite but warm. “At the penthouse. You can bring Santo if that’s easier.”

“Yes! I’d love to. I’ll be there. I was hoping we could spend time together.”

I can hear the smile in Vasilisa’s voice.

They speak a moment longer, sweet pleasantries I don’t interrupt, but I’m not listening to the words anymore.

I’m watching her.

The way her fingers tap the edge of the counter as she holds the phone. The little tilt of her chin when she listens, the effortless way she navigates everything— even my family —like she was made for it.

Made for this.

Made for me.

And I don’t know how the hell I ever lived without her.

How I managed to breathe, walk, rule anything without this brilliant, sharp, terrifyingly beautiful woman by my side.

I fed her a steak tip a few minutes ago, and now she’s commanding the respect of the most impossible man I know with nothing but her voice and a raised eyebrow.

She ends the call after another round of goodbyes and casual warmth and hands me the phone like nothing just happened.

But everything did.

“You,” I murmur, stepping close enough to breathe her in, brushing her hair back from her face, “are going to get whatever the fuck you want for the rest of your life.”

She arches a brow. “That so?”

I nod, once, reverent. “You made Santo stutter. ”

She laughs, quiet, breathless, and it’s not just the sound that gets me.

It’s the lightness behind it. Like something inside her loosened. Like, just maybe, she’s not holding her breath anymore.

And I swear, if I wasn’t already on my knees for her in every way that matters—this would’ve done it.

Temptation incarnate. Shirt slipping, eyes soft, lips parted in amusement, and completely unaware that every second she’s near me, I’m unraveling.

“You really have no idea, do you?” I murmur, stepping between her legs again. My hands slide up her thighs, slow, primal. “What you do to me.”

Her smile falters—not in fear, but in anticipation. She tilts her head, like she’s daring me. Like she wants me to earn her.

And fuck, I will.

“Show me then,” she murmurs, her eyes darkening with the challenge.

I lean in, lips grazing the curve of her throat.

She’s warm, deliciously soft beneath my touch, and the contrast between us is gorgeous.

Her curves melt into the hard lines of my body like she was shaped to fit against me.

My hands roam freely now, tracing the indent of her waist, skimming the flare of her hips.

Fingers linger on the bare skin where her shirt has ridden up.

Every touch pulls a breath from her, a subtle arch that stokes the fire already roaring in my chest.

I guide her shirt up and over her head, slow, greedy for the sight of every inch. It hits the floor with a whisper.

Her breath hitches as my fingers toy at the waistband of her leggings. Her eyes find mine, wide and glassy, teeth tugging at her lower lip to trap the moan already threatening to slip. Her hands clutch at my shirt—weakly, needy.

“Always so impatient, Tesoro,” I murmur against her lips before kissing her, deep and claiming.

She answers with fervor, burying her fingers in my hair, pulling, holding, until I pull back and she lets go, smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I tug on her leggings, and she lifts her hips in silent offering.

She spreads her legs with fluid grace, red silk between them, glistening.

My grin grows as I grab the nearest chair.

Her eyebrows lift. “What are you doing?” she whines.

“Preparing for my meal.”

Her breath falters. She fidgets under my gaze, thighs twitching slightly as I position the chair and sit, eyes locked on the feast in front of me.

“Look at you.”

Spread on my counter, thighs parted, soaked silk barely covering what’s mine.

I lean in and press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. She gasps, hands tightening in my hair.

“Angelo,” she moans, hips shifting, desperate for more.

I ignore the plea, for now, letting my mouth explore. Open-mouthed kisses trail along her thigh until I press my mouth against the damp silk.

I inhale her, and the groan that rips out of me is feral.

“Fuck, Scarlet.”

She tugs harder at my hair, her legs trembling. She’s soaked through.

I hook a finger beneath the silk and drag it down slow, savoring the way she shivers. Her thighs shake, breath coming in short little gasps. The second she’s bare, I take a moment to look, really look —and fuck, she’s perfect. Her pussy glistens with arousal, flushed and aching.

“S-stop teasing,” she whimpers, voice thick with need.

I chuckle low.

“You need fucking patience,” I growl, then press an open-mouthed kiss to her clit, slow, wet, reverent.

She cries out, hips jerking, a strangled whimper that pulses straight to my cock.

“Then teach me,” she gasps, her fingers tugging at my hair again.

I smirk against her skin, then pull back, standing slowly. Her hands slip from my hair, eyes open, wild with anticipation .

I unbuckle my belt.

She watches, rapt, licking her lips as it slides through the loops.

She said teach her.

I will.

I take her wrists gently but firmly, guiding them together.

Her brows furrow. “What—”

“You want me to teach you patience?” I rasp, looping the belt around her wrists, pulling it tight, tying her to the cupboard handles above. “Lesson one, Tesoro.”

Her mouth opens, then closes. She swallows hard.

Good girl.

“Keep your hands to yourself and let me finish,” I command.

Her eyes turn molten.

Good.

I drop back into the chair, my hands bracing her thighs and pulling her closer to the edge until the belt tugs. She squirms, breathing shallow now, arms stretched above her, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with my hunger.

She’s soaked.

Dripping.

And all mine.

“Perfect,” I murmur, dragging my tongue slowly across my bottom lip.

“Tied up, spread wide, and fucking trembling for me.”

She tries to twist her wrists, testing the belt, testing me, but it holds. So does she.

Barely.

“Angelo,” she breathes, a whisper and a prayer.

I lean in and press my mouth to her pussy like it’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.

Because it is .

One long, unhurried lick from entrance to clit and she jolts; gasping, shoulders pressing back against the cupboard, thighs clenching around my head.

But I don’t stop.

I devour her.

Tongue moving with purpose, nose buried deep, lips wrapping around her clit as I suck, then slow, then circle again. I alternate between soft flicks and deep, greedy strokes, like I’m tasting her soul.

She moans, loud, unrestrained. Her head tips back and she forgets to be graceful. Forgetting everything but me.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Dios, your mouth—”

I groan into her, the vibration making her legs twitch.

Her thighs tremble against my jaw, and I want them to close.

I want her to try and smother me, to lose control, to shake until she’s raw.

Because I’m not stopping.

I grip her hips tighter, holding her in place as I eat her like she’s my last meal. Like I’ve only now remembered how to breathe.

And maybe I have.

Because this?

Her taste, her scent, her cries, the way she falls apart for me like she wants to, this is better than anything I’ve ever touched.

Adriana Scarlet Castillo, spread, an offering for me.

She whimpers again, tugging helplessly at her restraints, her voice breaking. “I-I’m close, please, don’t stop—”

I groan against her. “Never.”

I flatten my tongue and press hard against her clit, stroking in perfect rhythm until her hips start to stutter.

“That’s it, Tesoro,” I rasp between licks. “Come for me. On my tongue. Give me everything.”

Her body goes taut—legs locked, wrists straining, mouth open in a silent scream, and then she breaks .

She comes hard, soaking my mouth, my chin, grinding down, shameless. And I keep going. Keep licking through her aftershocks until she’s gasping my name like it’s the only word she knows.

“Angelo! Ay Dios, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” I murmur hoarsely. “You will. Again .”

And I dive back in.

She cries out, overstimulated but helpless, writhing, but I don’t stop. Not until she’s shaking, sobbing, until I’ve wrung every ounce of pleasure from her.

Until she’s wrecked.

When I finally pull back, my face is soaked, my lips swollen, and I’m painfully hard. But I don’t give a fuck.

I lick her one last time, slow and torturous.

Then I stand, undo the belt binding her wrists, and catch her as she collapses into me—arms weak, legs trembling.

She buries her face in my chest, breath ragged.

“You’re insane,” she whispers with a quiet chuckle.

“No,” I murmur against her temple. “I’m in love.”