Page 268 of Legacy
I think I might be pregnant.
My breath hitches.
“She’s pregnant,” I whisper.
“Who’s pregnant?”
I jump, turning—
Angelo’s already in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame like he’s been there long enough to watch the exact moment my soul left my body.
His voice is casual. His eyes aren’t.
They track me, slow and hungry, like I’m something he plans to devour.
I snap the journal shut, not looking at him. “No one. Just a book.”
He steps inside.
I set the journal down, my pulse fluttering, not from fear, not even from being caught.
From him.
Because he’s wearing all black again, dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, collar open, ink curling along his forearms, hair a little messy, like he’s been dragging his hands through it while thinking about things he shouldn’t.
And fuck. He looks good.
Too good.
Dangerous in the way only he can be—clean lines, controlled strength, and a slow, stalking presence that turns every inch of me to fire.
His eyes drag down my body, lingering at my hips.
He steps closer, heat radiating off him, crowding into my space until my back presses harder against the counter.
“Leggings?” he says, head tilting, voice low, dark amusement curling around the words. “Why the fuck are you in leggings?”
“I was comfortable,” I breathe.
He tuts, shaking his head slowly, his hands sliding to my waist, gripping, thumbs pressing into my hips.
“You’re wearing too much,” he mutters, voice rough, threaded with hunger.
In one swift motion, he lifts me, setting me on the counter, stepping between my legs so my knees frame his hips, pulling me closer until there’s no space left, his eyes locked on mine.
His fingers go into the waistband and I lift my hips off the counter, letting him drag the leggings down my legs, the fabric brushing my thighs, my calves, slow and deliberate, heat prickling across my skin with every inch he uncovers.
When they hit the floor, his eyes drag back up my now-bare thighs, dark and possessive, his breath hitting my lips as he leans in, close enough for me to taste him before he even kisses me.
“You should never wear pants in this house,” he murmurs against my skin. “Bottomless.At all times.”
I huff a breath of laughter. “With the guards around? Not really feasible.”
“Fuck it.” His mouth drags along my neck, voice a low growl. “I’ll kill whoever gets a glimpse.”
“You can’t kill them,” I murmur, fingers threading into his hair. “We need them for the war.”
“Fine,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll take an eye. One each. They don’t need both.”
