Page 61 of Unforgiving Queen

His grip on my hips rocked me into motion, grinding me against him. His thrusts filled me completely. He drove in deep, consuming me as he fucked me like there was no tomorrow. Maybe he needed me—craved me—like I needed him.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his mouth wet against my ear. “So fucking right.”

“Amon.” His name was a throaty moan on my lips. “Oh my God.”

“Not God, cinnamon girl.” His raspy voice made me crazy. I was nothing but heat, flame, and pleasure—all for him. “Your pussy was made for me.”

His filthy words. My complete surrender. Our need.

It all felt like making love.

His pelvis ground against mine, spreading molten heat from my clit outward. Every thrust pushed another moan from my lips.

His eyes were feral. “Fucking made for me,” he grunted, pounding into me.

His eyes were full of awe, locked on my bouncing breasts. He moved his hands all over my naked body, stroking, kneading, pinching. His thrusts quickened, my heart pounding out of control. My body started to convulse, my walls clenching around his cock. He thrust in once, twice, and then he groaned his release at the same time I cried out mine, his cock jerking inside me.

I fell against him, my forehead resting against his broad shoulder, our breathing heavy. He was still inside me, his cum dripping down my thighs. I was spent, unable to move or say anything.

The “he fucked my brains out” sentiment finally made sense.

Amon’s strong biceps wrapped around me and he peppered kisses over my skin. Then he cupped my face and kissed me with reverence.

“I would burn down this world for you, cinnamon girl,” he whispered against my lips.

He’d lied that day on the rooftop, the Eiffel Tower in the distance bearing witness to it all. He didn’t burn the world down for me. He burned me and then left me.

He broke his word. He brokeme. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. No man would ever be let into my heart again.

The line between love and hate was thin. I’d heard that my entire life, but I hadn’t understood it. Not until he gifted me heaven and then left me in hell.

* * *

The room, music, chatter… everything faded away the moment I spotted him, and my heart skipped. Amon Leone. Although the underworld knew him as Amon Takahashi-Leone, emphasizing his connection to the Yakuza.

What is hedoinghere?

I would recognize him in total darkness. In every lifetime. Maybe even in a different body. And I would love him until the very last star in the sky burned out into oblivion.

He was my beginning and end.

The truth was that I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t feel this way. That little girl unknowingly gave her heart to the boy with galaxies in his eyes. If only that girl had been smarter. If only she’d kept her heart locked up.

He was leaning against the wall, even more handsome than the last time I saw him. Three years had gone by, but it took only a glimpse of him to know I hadn’t moved on.

Not that I would admit it to anyone. These feelings for Amon were my curse.

I paused for a minute, taking him in. His dark hair with hues of blue. That sharp jaw. Those lips that rarely smiled. Those dark eyes that could—

Stop it, Reina.

I didn’t need this shit. If it weren’t for Enrico Marchetti and Papà—along with some other important Omertà members in attendance—I’d ask security to see him out.

Fuck Amon and his gorgeous ass.

Be that as it may, I couldn’t afford to piss off Enrico Marchetti. He’d already done me this massive favor.

Turning my back to Amon—and our past—I made my way over to Mr. Marchetti, wiping my palms on my skirt. It’d be rude not to welcome him and thank him personally.