Page 37 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
I can’t. My body is no longer my own, every nerve alight, every touch sending me spiraling further. His fingers press harder, his cock driving into me with an unrelenting pace, and I shatter. The orgasm tears through me, ripping me apart in the most exquisite way, my cries filling the room as my body clenches around him, holding him tightly.
He groans, low and primal, his thrusts slowing but growing deeper, more deliberate, drawing out every last tremor until I’m utterly spent.
But he doesn’t stop. His thrusts grow erratic, harder, deeper, as he chases his own release. When he finally lets go, a guttural groan escapes him, and I feel the hot rush of him inside me, the weight of his body pressing me into the bed as we both collapse, spent and utterly wrecked.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing, ragged and uneven, the heat between us still burning. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, his lips brushing against my shoulder in a soft, almost reverent kiss.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, and I can feel the truth of it in every inch of my body.
Do I still want to run? How can I run from this, from him?
I can’t speak, but I’m faintly aware of him picking me up in his strong arms and carrying me to the bedroom, quiet and wrapped in shadows and soft, flickering light from the fireplace. He lays me down on the soft bed.
My body aches, deliciously so. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I stroke his chest and let him fiddle with my hair until he falls asleep. I could run right now.
And yet, I lie here, staring at the man who now sleeps beside me, my heart a tangle of emotions I can’t begin to unravel.
Luca Salvatore, the untouchable, the unstoppable, the king of this shadowy world, looks utterly human in sleep. The hard lines of his face soften in repose, the faint crease between his browsdisappearing as his breathing slows, deep and steady. His lashes, absurdly long for someone so fierce, fan against his cheekbones, casting delicate shadows.
How is it possible for him to look like this? Like a man who could just as easily protect me as destroy me?
My chest tightens painfully, and I press a hand there, as if I can will my heart to beat normally.
I should hate him. Ishould.
He’s made me a pawn, trapping me in a world I wanted no part of, forcing me to play a game where the stakes are life and death. Yet, when he holds me, whispers in my ear with that rough voice, when he kisses me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive...I don’t feel like a pawn.
I feel like his queen.
The thought terrifies me.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and prop myself up on one elbow. The blanket has slipped down to his waist, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars etched into his skin telling stories I’ll probably never fully understand. My fingers itch to trace them, to learn the language of his pain and triumph.
I shouldn’t be staring at him like this. I shouldn’t care how the firelight gilds his skin or how the faintest hint of vulnerability clings to him in sleep. But I do.,I drag my gaze away and force myself to breathe. I need clarity. I need to remember why I can’t afford to fall for him.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up like a flare in the dark. My stomach drops as I reach for it, my fingers trembling slightly.
It’s from Sofia. My throat tightens as I read the message.
The plan is in place, if you’re still thinking about it.
The attachment is a screenshot of the forged documents—a new name, a new life waiting for me somewhere far from here.My chest constricts as I glance back at Luca. He stirs slightly, the faintest crease returning to his brow, as if even in sleep, he senses my turmoil. How am I supposed to run from this? From him?
I press a hand to my mouth, muffling the sob that threatens to escape. I can’t do this. Ican’t.
The rational part of me—the part that remembers every threat he’s made, every moment I’ve felt like a prisoner in this gilded cage—tells me to take Sofia’s plan and run. To escape while I still can. But another part, the part I hate for being so foolish, reminds me of the way he looked at me tonight, the way his touch made me feel like I wasn’t just surviving but living, even if only for a moment.
My thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to respond to Sofia. I glance at Luca again, my gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the slight curl of his lips, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He looks so…peaceful.
And in that moment, I hate Sofia for being so good to me, because she’s given me an option that I don’t know if I should take. If I run, there’s no coming back.
I look at the message again, the tightness in my chest growing unbearable. The plan is perfect. The window to escape will be small but doable. Sofia’s thought of everything, down to the last detail.
But none of that matters if I can’t bring myself to leave. Another buzz draws my attention to the phone.
Valentina, we don’t have time for second thoughts.
