Page 40 of Sins of the Father
“You’re so thick,” she murmured in wonder, stroking him with tentative, daring fingers. “My hand can hardly fit around you.”
Her lack of fear was like a blade to his chest. He had not touched another woman since the first moment he’d seen her picture, and now here she was—taking what she wanted as if she owned him already.
“Curious,” she whispered, her eyes glittering. “You said you haven’t had anyone else since me.”
“Yes,” he ground out, jaw tight, every nerve lit like fire.
Her smile widened, shameless. She rose onto her knees, shifting her panties to the side, and pressed the blunt head of his cock through her slick folds.
Luc groaned, the sound ripped from deep inside him, his control splintering as heat and wetness stroked over him. He almost spilled right then like an untried boy.
“Fucking hell,” he snarled, hips jerking upward despite his iron will.
“Oh,” Mia breathed, her voice lilting, teasing. “I read about this in a book. I never expected it to feel so good.”
She rocked against him, sliding his length over her aching center, the swollen tip catching on her clit with every pass. A wild cry broke from her throat, and wetness flooded over him, slick and sweet.
Luc’s head dropped back, a guttural curse leaving him. He had thought to tame her, to teach her—but she was the one undoing him. Bold. Reckless. Taking her pleasure without fear.
Luc’s jaw clenched, his breath ragged as Mia rocked against him, her slick heat sliding over his length like fire. His self-control shredded with every pass, and when she cried out again, arching against him, he bit back a groan so raw it felt torn from his soul.
Through gritted teeth, he rasped, “Tell me, Mia… do you still want to wait until after the wedding?”
She stilled, the bold gleam in her eyes softening into something else—something luminous. Then, with a small smile, she nodded. “Yes.”
Before he could curse, rage, or even reason with himself, she rested her head on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Within seconds, her breathing evened, the weight of sleep pulling her under.
Astonished, Luc stared down at her. The little dove had undone him with her boldness, stoked fires in him he had never known existed and then had the audacity to fall asleep in his arms as if he were safe. As if he were human.
A rough chuckle broke from him, startling even himself. Shifting carefully, he gathered her up against his chest, stood, and carried her into the bedroom. He did not let go as he lowered himself onto the bed, Mia curled warm and soft against him.
For the first time in his life, Luciano Valachi closed his eyes with someone in his arms—and slept.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Twilight draped the horizon in molten gold and bruised violet, and Mia had never felt so achingly beautiful or so afraid. The sea murmured against the shore, the air salted and heavy with promise. Tonight, she was getting married. Mrs. Valachi. Wife to a ruthless mafia kingpin.
Her gown clung like moonlight spun into silk, white and luminous against her sun-kissed skin. She had left her hair untamed, a cascade of soft waves tumbling freely down her back, refusing the pins and polish Rosina had suggested. She would not walk into this life with her spirit caged. The gown made her feel like a bride, but her bare feet sinking into the wet sand reminded her she was still just a girl trying to stand her ground in a world that was no longer hers.
The tide rushed up, cool and insistent, swirling around her toes as her heart raced with the rhythm of the waves. The sheer vastness of the ocean pressed against her chest—terrifying, humbling, yet liberating all at once.
“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”
His voice came low, thoughtful. Mia glanced sideways at Luc. The fading light caught in his storm-gray eyes, softening whatwas usually so sharp, so unyielding. For a breath, he looked almost like a man, not a king draped in shadows.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “But in a good way.”
His gaze swept over her, unapologetic. “You are ravishing,mia colombina.”
A tight knot caught in her throat. She forced a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Luc stood impossibly composed, a wall of black tailored perfection beside her, but something about him was different. He was still unreadable, still dangerous, but tonight his silence felt less like stone and more like a held breath.
“We are getting married,” she whispered, almost testing the words on her tongue.
His smile curved slow and dangerous, promising things she both feared and craved. “We are.”
Behind them, only a handful of witnesses stood—his family, a priest, a notary. And farther out, armed shadows kept watch, weapons glinting faintly in the dying light. A life of constant vigilance, of boundaries set by men with blood on their hands.
