Page 155 of The Crowned Garza

Heart thumping in my chest, I hold my breath and listen, and wait.

And wait…and wait…

His scent arrives first.

Promises. Safety. Forever. Peace. Mine.

Then, footfalls.

Quiet, steady, assured.

Soon, the bedroom door opens.

Crippled with relief, anticipation, a weary heart, I’m left incapable of doing anything except to just lie there, curled in on myself, heart thumping…thumping…thumping. Listening to his carefully quiet movements around the room, the rustling of material, the barely audible sound of his cufflinks touching the nightstand.

And then he gets in bed behind me.

When his large palm settles on my bare shoulder, a flow of heat slithers through my body, thawing my inertia.

“Regina?”

Exhaling a slow breath, I turn over to face him, and my heart stalls and stutters.

My perfect, perfect dream. Too perfect for words.

He sweeps a thumb across my cheek, wiping away tears I didn’t even feel. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

“I missed you. So much. I just…”Ugh. Why must my emotions always betray me? “I just want us to be together.”

“I’m back,bella.”He cups my cheek. “I’m back.”

“Me over everything? Like you promised”—I lift a palm to his chest, settling over his inked promise—“here?”

“You over everything,mia regina.” He seals the promise with a kiss, his tongue sweeping in with force, with commitment. The gust of this kiss is a wordless assurance, a voiceless confirmation that he’sready.

I match him, his energy, his force, letting him know I’m ready, too.

With equal fervor, with dancing tongues, we align.

We’re ready. Ready to start forever.

He rolls me onto my back and peppers tiny kisses along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone, simultaneously peeling down the straps of my nightgown.

When my breasts are exposed, he drips kisses between my cleavage before swirling his tongue around my nipples, his fingers scraping deliciously against my skin.

I’m ignited. On fire. Wound up and quivering. As his mouth moves down my body, my nightgown is pulled right along, until it’s completely off.

He presses his lips against my tattoo, again and again, before dragging kisses along my pelvic bone, down to my inner thighs, worshiping my body with his lips, tongue, and fingers.

Writhing, I whimper, “I want you.”

“And what do we say when we want something?” he asks against my skin.

“Per favore...”

He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my panties and peels them off, and I spread my legs, wide and wanton.

A low hum rolls in his throat as he glides a single finger along my slick heat, back and forth, again and again, teasing, making me whine and whimper.