Page 73 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Adriana Amato

T he air is thick. Too hot. Too close.

My back slams into the wall, the cool bite of it clashing with the heat pouring off him. The scent of him—cologne, smoke, power, fills the cramped closet, leaving no room to breathe, no room to think.

And I don’t want to think.

His hand fists in the layers of ivory satin, shoving them up, sliding my panties to the side, baring me to the cool air. His dark eyes flick up, locking on mine as he sinks to his knees.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he rasps.

His mouth seals over me, tongue hot, relentless, devouring. My head knocks back with a soft thud, but his hands clamp around my thighs, bruising, pinning me in place as he drags his tongue over my clit in slow, devastating circles before flattening it and sucking hard.

“Fuck, Angelo—” My moan echoes, too loud.

His growl vibrates against me, a dark warning, and he doubles down, licking me like it’s the only thing that matters, like he’ll die if he stops.

The rough scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs makes my knees threaten to give, but he holds me there, mouth working me until I’m shaking, until the world goes white.

I come hard, my body bowing, a cry ripping from my throat as the orgasm tearing through me like a live wire .

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking, slow now, savoring every shudder, every gasp, until I whimper, pushing at his shoulders.

Only then does he pull back, lips slick, pupils blown. His chest heaves as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dark satisfaction dripping from every word. “Fucking perfect.”

His fingers lingering, pressing, teasing until I gasp, and then he rises, towering over me.

I try to catch my breath, but he’s already unbuckling his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp hiss that sends another rush of heat through me.

“We don’t have long—” I whisper, but he cuts me off with a look that shuts me up.

“Quiet, Scarlet, ” he orders, voice low, lethal. “You’re already being too loud.”

He slides the delicate garter down my thigh, slow, deliberate, his knuckles brushing my skin in a tease that makes me squirm.

“Angelo, we can’t—”

But he spins me, pressing me into the wall, his body a hard line against my back. He gathers my wrists, binding them with the lace garter, the bite of it a soft promise as he secures the knot

“Fuck,” I breathe, testing the restraint, but there’s no give.

“Stay still.”

His hands lift my dress again, rougher now, baring me, and his fingers hook around the waistband of my panties.

“Don’t rip them—”

The fabric tears in his fists.

I gasp, turning my head, but his hand clamps over my mouth, shoving the ruined lace between my lips, forcing my jaw open as the taste of lace and my own arousal floods my tongue.

“Told you,” he breathes against my ear, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet, “you need to be quiet. ”

My eyes slam shut, my body trembling, but then I feel him—thick, hard, pressing against me. The blunt head of his cock drags through the slick heat of my pussy, teasing for a breath before he slams inside in one brutal, claiming thrust.

The scream tears out of me but dies against the gag, muffled and desperate as he fills me, stretching me, owning me.

His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in, bruising, as he drags out and thrusts back in, each stroke harder, deeper, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the small space

My knees buckle, but he holds me up, one hand slipping around to press against my lower belly, the other gripping my bound wrists, pulling them higher, forcing my back to arch as he fucks me.

“You feel that?” he growls against my ear, breath hot, ragged. “You feel who you belong to?”

I can only moan, eyes rolling back, the pressure building, the heat coiling so tight I can barely stand it.

“Mine,” he snarls, slamming into me, the world fracturing with every punishing thrust. “Say it.”

The gag muffles my voice, but I scream it anyway, sobbing around the fabric, the world narrowing to him, to this, to the brutal pleasure tearing me apart.

My orgasm crashes into me, violent and sharp, my body convulsing, clenching around him as he keeps going, chasing his own release.

“Fuck, yes Scarlet —” His voice breaks, and with one final thrust, he buries himself deep, groaning against my neck as he spills inside me, pulsing, claiming, his breath hot on my skin.

We stay like that, trembling, pressed together, the air thick with sex and sweat and the scent of us.

He presses a kiss to the back of my neck before pulling the gag free, letting it fall .

His hands untie the garter, bringing my wrists down, kissing each one softly before pulling me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around me.

His lips brush my ear.

“Officially Mine,” he whispers again, softer now, but no less true.

His hands are gentle now, a stark contrast to how they just claimed me, how they made me his.

He tucks himself away, breath still uneven, and reaches for me, steadying me as my legs wobble beneath the weight of what just happened. His palm cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin like he can erase the flush of heat there.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent. “Even when you’re wrecked for me.”

I try to catch my breath, my fingers trembling as they smooth my dress down, but he’s already there—straightening the bodice, brushing invisible wrinkles from the satin, his touch lingering like he doesn’t want to let go.

He crouches, picks up the bit of lace that once was my panties, smirks, and tucks it into his pocket like a trophy.

“Angelo,” I whisper, half scolding, half breathless.

But he’s focused, determined, his hands gliding over me, ensuring every piece is in place. He adjusts my necklace where it’s shifted, smooths a stray lock of hair from my face, his fingers tender as they trace the curve of my jaw.

Then he lifts my left hand, presses his lips to my ring, the symbol of what we are now, of what we’ll always be.

“Mia Regina. My Queen ,” he says softly, his eyes burning into mine. “Perfect. As you should be.”

His knuckles brush my cheek once more, and then he offers his arm, that cocky grin slipping back into place.

“Ready to go remind them all who you belong to?”

I swallow hard, still trying to gather myself .

“Lead the way, Don Amato .”

And together, we step out into the waiting world, as if we hadn’t just stolen forever in the space of a heartbeat.