Page 136 of I'm sorry, Princess
I take the seat across from her, legs spread, hands clasped in front of me, watching her with that slow, dark hunger I never bother hiding. “You really brought three books?”
She shrugs. “What if I finish one early?”
I stare at her.
“You’re not going to be reading, principessa. Not on this trip.”
Her breath catches and she knows exactly what I mean. Her cheeks flush, lips part slightly. She shifts in her seat like she suddenly can’t get comfortable.
Good.
That’s how I want her all weekend, flustered, aching, mine.
Eight hours in the air and I’ve fucked her three times.
Now she’s curled against me, wearing only my T-shirt, bare legs tangled in the soft leather of the jet’s seat. My cum is drying along the inside of her thighs, marking her the way I like, my mess on her skin, mine to see, mine to touch. She looks sinful and soft at the same time.
The flight attendant appears, discreet and polite, announcing we’ll be landing in thirty minutes. A reminder to buckle in, then he leaves us alone.
I glance at Serena. She’s gone under deep, so deep she doesn’t stir when I speak her name. Her breathing is slow, her lips parted, blonde hair fanned across the pillow like silk.I push a loose handful of it behind her ear and let my fingers trace down the side of her face. Warm. Smooth. Mine.
“We’re landing,” I murmur against her skin. My voice pulls a soft moan from her throat. Her eyes open slow, those big brown eyes that pin you in place, like they see more than they should.
“Get dressed. We’re landing soon.” I press a kiss to her forehead. Not for show. Just because I want to.
She shifts, reaching for the little scrap of fabric she wore earlier. Her hands smooth her dress over her hips, fingers working through her hair before she dabs at her makeup with practiced precision.
“My panties,” she says, glancing under the seat. “I can’t find them.”
I let the corner of my mouth curl. “They’re fine.”
What I don’t say is that they’re in my pocket. I’m not giving them back. Not yet.
“My driver’s waiting for us at the airport anyway,” I add, giving her ass a sharp smack as she stands. She yelps, shoots me a glare. I meet it with a smirk.
We land smooth, the jet rolling to a stop on the private strip. Nicolas is waiting at the bottom of the steps, just like he used to when I was a kid. He’s older now, hair almost entirely gray, deeper lines across his face, but the man still carries himself like he’s ready to take on the world.
“Lorenzo,” he says, voice heavy with the kind of warmth you can’t fake.
“Nicolas.”
We embrace, and for two full minutes I let it happen. The last time I saw him was before I took over the empire. He was more than a driver, he was a fixture in our family, a constant.
When we break apart, his eyes find Serena. Then they cut back to me with the kind of knowing look only someone who’s known you your whole life can give. First time I’ve brought a woman home.
“Miss,” he says, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles, his Italian accent thick. “My name is Nicolas. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Serena,” she says, smiling like he’s already charmed her. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her close, and guide her toward the car. The drive is forty minutes, winding through the countryside until the familiar gates come into view.
The house is exactly how I remember it.
The gates swing open with their familiar groan, the sound echoing up the long, winding drive. Sunlight spills across the terracotta roof tiles, the deep red burnished to perfection under the Tuscan sun. The mansion rises from the green like it’s grown from the land itself, stone, glass, and shadow woven into something too beautiful to ever be called a house.
This is the Moretti estate. My home. My inheritance. My kingdom.
From a distance, it looks almost serene, pale walls, symmetrical wings, manicured gardens cut into precise lines that could rival a royal palace. But I know better. Every stone, every hedge, every inch of this place was paid for in blood and power. My father made sure of it.
