Page 64 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way she looks like this. Stretched out. Trusting. Wearing barely anything but wearing me all over her.

Her chest rises and falls, that little satin number doing nothing to hide the curve of her breasts, the way her nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric. Her thighs shift, one knee brushing my side.

“You’re unreal,” I mutter, brushing her hair off her face. “You know that?”

She smiles, just a little. Shy but smug. “You like me red.”

I sit back on my heels and drag my eyes over her again, slow and possessive.

“I like you in nothing,” I say, reaching for the hem of the nightie and pulling it up over her arms, off. “But this’ll do.”

She shivers as I toss it aside.

My eyes drop to her bare, all that’s left is a scrap of lace, and I just… stop.

Because no matter how many times I’ve seen her like this, no matter how many years it’s been burned into my memory, nothing compares to her now .

Now that she’s mine.

Now that she’s wearing my last name.

Now that I get to wake up with her on my pillow and my ring on her finger.

My hands slide down her arms, reverent. Slow. And then I reach for the drawer in the nightstand.

She watches me with parted lips, a slow breath catching in her throat when she sees what I pull out.

Silk.

Red ties.

Her lips twitch. “You’ve been planning this?”

I grin. “I’ve been dreaming about this.”

I take her wrists gently and bring them above her head, anchoring the ties to the headboard, knotting them with practiced ease.

Her breathing picks up, lips parting, eyes locked on mine.

I press a kiss to each wrist before I tie the final knot.

“There,” I murmur, voice like gravel. “Now I can take my time.”

She’s spread beneath me—bare, bound, beautiful. Trusting me with every inch of her body, every beat of her heart.

And I can’t fucking take it.

I drag my mouth down her neck, slow and devouring. She squirms, her body arching toward me, and I place a hand on her stomach, holding her still.

“Stay still for me, moglie .”

Her breath hitches.

Wife.

I’ll never get tired of calling her that.

“I think about you more than I think about this fucking war,” I whisper against her collarbone.

“I wake up thinking about your mouth. Your laugh. That fire in your eyes. I go to meetings wondering if you’re eating enough.

If you’re safe. I sit in rooms full of men who’d kill to get one step ahead of me and all I can think about is if you’re warm enough when I’m not here. ”

I look up, eyes locking with hers.

“You’re my entire world, Adriana.”

Her eyes glass over—just a little. Her lips tremble.

I kiss her again.

Harder now.

Deeper.

Not slow anymore.

Because I need her to feel the words I haven’t said.

I trail kisses down her breast, my hands roaming over every inch of bare skin, thumbs brushing the sides of her ribs, the soft dip of her waist.

She moans softly when I nip at the inside of her breast, sucking my mark on to her skin. Her back arches into me like her body knows where it belongs.

My lips trail Lower.

Down her stomach. Torturously slow.

Until all that’s left between us is a thin scrap of fabric soaked through with need.

I pause.

Just long enough for her to know what’s coming.

My hands slide beneath the delicate fabric, fingers curling around the sides.

“Angelo,” she breathes, voice catching. “No, don’t tear—”

Rip.

Too late.

Her panties give way in my fists like paper.

She groans, head falling back against the pillow.

“I liked those,” she mutters, breathless.

I chuckle, low and near her skin, as I kiss the inside of her thigh, just above the place she wants me most.

“At this rate,” she murmurs, “I’ll have no underwear left. ”

I grin against her skin. “Good.”

I press her thighs open and bury my face between them.

She gasps sharp, her hips jerking, hands pulling against the ties as if she’s already coming apart just from the promise of it.

I press a hand down hard on her waist, pinning her to the bed.

“Told you to stay still.”

She lets out a soft, broken whimper—and fuck , I haven’t even started yet.

I drag my tongue, slow before circling her clit in one long, devastating pass.

She cries out.

I do it again. And again. And again.

Until she’s panting, moaning, writhing, trying to grind against my mouth.

But I hold her firm.

Because she’s mine to enjoy.

And I’m going to take my fucking time.

I suck her clit between my lips, tongue flicking fast and unforgiving, and her whole body arches.

“Angelo,” her voice shatters around my name, high and desperate, “please—”

“Please what?” I murmur against her, the vibration making her sob. “Use your words, tesoro.”

“I-I don’t—” She’s gasping now, eyes wild, mouth open.

I slide two fingers into her deep, crooking them just right.

She chokes on a moan.

“Right there?” I growl. “That spot, baby? Where you melt for me?”

Her thighs clamp around my head, her hands straining against the ties, fingers curling tight as her whole body starts to shake.

I lap at her like a man possessed—tongue relentless, fingers curling in rhythm, building and building until she’s pleading, her voice gone hoarse with need .

“Come for me,” I command, voice dark and rough. “Let me feel it. Let me taste it.”

Her back bows.

And she breaks.

Her cry punches straight through my chest as she comes, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around my fingers, pleasure pouring out of her like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

I groan into her, sucking her through it, refusing to let up, giving her everything and taking everything in return.

She’s still shaking when I finally lift my head.

My chin is wet. My cock’s fucking throbbing. And my wife is laid out beneath me, bound and wrecked and glowing like a goddess.

And I’ve never loved her more than I do right now.

She’s undone. Breathing hard. Glowing. Eyes dazed and lips parted like she’s still trying to recover from the orgasm I just pulled from her with my mouth alone.

And I can’t fucking breathe.

I need to be inside her.

Now.

I climb off the bed, dragging my sweats down as I go, kicking them away without care. My cock is hard, every inch aching to be buried in her.

I take her in, tied up, spread open, ruined.

And still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Her chest rises in shallow gasps, skin flushed, legs still twitching.

Mine.

All fucking mine.

I move over her, cover her body with mine and thrust into her before she can even gasp.

She cries out, loud and raw, eyes flying open as I bottom out in one sharp, deep stroke.

“Angelo—! ”

“Shh,” I soothe, breath ragged. “I couldn’t wait.”

She moans, arms pulling at the ties, wrists twisting.

“I need to touch you,” she begs, voice breaking.

“Not yet.”

I drive into her again, harder this time. Her head falls back, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut.

“Please—”

Her voice is so soft, so fucking desperate, it breaks something in me.

I reach up and tear the silk free, her arms falling down instantly grabbing my face, my back, my hair, like she can’t decide which part of me she needs most.

She clings.

And all I want is to claim.

I thrust hard and slow. Every thrust fueled by the nights I spent aching for her, the years I spent without her.

Her nails rake down my back and I don’t stop.

I want her to leave marks. I want to feel them when she’s gone from this bed, if she ever dares to leave.

She said she’ll stay, but what if—what if I’m not enough?

Her mouth crashes into mine, messy, frantic—and then she breathes it against my lips, like a promise ripped from her soul:

“I’m yours.”

My thrusts falter.

Her forehead presses to mine.

“I’ll always be yours. You have me, Angelo,” she breathes again. “No one else… no one ever could.”

I snap.

My hand fists the sheets beside her head as I drive into her one last time and come hard, groaning her name, her praise, everything I never say but feel in every goddamn cell of my body.

She holds me like she’s never letting go.

And for one perfect moment, I believe her.