The Sicilian's Secret Son
He no more knew the answer now than he had five years ago in London.
Dropping to his knees on the floor, he parted her legs and heard her suck in her breath as he hooked them over his shoulders and kissed his way down the silken length of one inner thigh. When he reached his destination, he stroked his fingertips through soft, golden curls and into folds already swollen and slick with arousal. He inhaled, dragging the scent of her delicate musk into his lungs, and then he tasted, running his tongue along that seam of hot, feminine flesh.
‘Oh...’ She groaned, her hips bucking and lifting until Luca splayed his hand across her stomach, anchoring her to the bed.
He pushed his finger inside her, amazed at how tight she was. How ready. One more hot glide of his tongue in the right spot and—
Her fingers plunged into his hair and she cried out as her internal muscles clenched hard and then rippled around his finger.
Annah’s body went limp, but little gasped moans continued to rise from her throat.
Luca’s blood roared with satisfaction. Easing his shoulders out from under her legs, he trailed kisses up her body, pausing to circle his tongue around her navel then to lavish attention on her breasts before finally taking possession of her mouth.
‘Take me,’ she whispered against his lips, and those husky words almost had him spilling inside his boxers.
He pushed off the bed, stripped off his clothes, and sheathed himself with a condom. He could hear nothing but the thud of his pulse and the rasp of his breathing as he joined Annah on the bed again.
With a single, sure stroke he sank deep into her velvety heat, the sheer ecstasy of their bodies joining as one pushing a massive, shuddering sigh from the depths of his chest. Her long legs circled his hips and her hands gripped his shoulders, her beautiful body trembling and bowing beneath him as he rode them both towards climax.
His heart thundered as white-hot sensation ripped through his centre.
Annah clung to him, a sob wrenching from her throat as they careened over the edge together.
Perfect.
The word pulsed in Luca’s head as he rolled onto his back and took her with him, holding her close as aftershocks continued to quake through their bodies.
They were perfect together.
Why would he ever want another woman when he could have Annah? The mother of his child. Mother to many more of his children if he got his way.
A fierce swell of unfamiliar emotion surged in his chest. For a moment he felt intensely discomfited, until he recognised the emotions for what they were.
Possessiveness.
Protectiveness.
It made sense he would feel those things. Annah and Ethan were his family. A man was bound by honour and duty to protect his family. It was the Sicilian way.
He stroked a possessive hand over Annah’s hip. Protecting her and their son would be a damned sight easier once they carried his name. His resolve strengthened. Binding them to him was the only acceptable solution.
Annah would become his wife.
Sooner rather than later.
* * *
Annah awoke with a violent start and sat bolt upright. She blinked rapidly, her heart rate galloping, her breathing fast and uneven. Her body ached in strange places and her mouth was so dry each gulp of air scraped her throat like a razor.
Where was she?
Ethan.
Blindly, she threw off the covers, stumbled to her feet and walked straight into a wall. A rather odd wall, for it radiated heat and somehow she bounced right off it.
‘Annah.’
A man’s voice. A voice she still recognised after all these years. A voice that should have terrified but soothed instead with its deep, measured cadence.