Page 70 of His Ruthless Claim

"Marry me. Not because I need to possess you, but because I want to build something real. Something neither of us can control completely."

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate, doesn't play coy. That's my Skye - direct, fearless.

The moment the ring slides onto her finger, Maria emerges from the back room with Jazz, Kendra, and Mikayla. They're carrying champagne and glasses, their excited chatter filling the space.

"Finally!" Jazz pops the cork with practiced ease. "I've been holding onto that bottle all day."

Maria hands out glasses while Mikayla snaps photos. Kendra pulls Skye into a tight hug, whispering something that makes them both laugh.

I watch them, these women who've somehow become part of my world. Not soldiers or assets, but family. The kind that forms by choice rather than blood.

Skye catches my eye across the room, her smile holding that edge of mischief that first drew me in. She raises her glass in a silent toast, and for once, I don't need to calculate my next move.

34

LUCA

The second the front door shuts behind us, I scoop Skye into my arms, her laughter echoing through the foyer. She smells like rosewater and champagne, her amber eyes glinting with that fire I can never get enough of. Her hands tangle in my hair as I carry her toward the stairs, her legs wrapped around my waist.

"Luca," she breathes against my lips, her voice laced with that mix of amusement and desire that drives me wild. "You're going to ruin my dress."

"Good." I kiss her, deep and hungry, tasting the sweetness of her lips. "I'll buy you a new one. Ten of them."

She laughs, the sound muffled by my mouth as I push open the bedroom door and kick it shut behind us. The diamond on her finger catches the moonlight streaming through the window, glinting like a promise I intend to keep. My mother’s ring. On Skye’s hand. The thought tightens something in my chest - something raw and unguarded.

I lay her down on the bed, her body sinking into the silk sheets, and hover over her, my hands framing her face. "Say it," I demand, my voice low, rough.

"That I love you?" she teases, her fingers trailing down my jaw. "Or that I’ll marry you?"

"Both." I nip at her bottom lip, earning a soft gasp. "Say it."

"I love you," she murmurs, her voice warm and steady. "And I’ll marry you."

Her words ignite something primal in me. I kiss her again, harder this time, my hands skimming down her sides to grip her hips. She arches into me, her body pressing against mine, and I groan against her lips. "You’re mine," I growl, my mouth trailing down her neck. "All mine."

Her breath hitches as I leave a mark just below her collarbone, my teeth grazing her skin. "Yours," she agrees, her voice breathless. "Always."

I slide down her body, my hands pushing her dress up her thighs until it bunches at her waist. She’s wearing lace, black and delicate, and I run my fingers along the edge, watching her squirm under my touch. "Look at you," I murmur, my voice thick with praise. "Perfect."

"Luca," she whispers, her hands sliding into my hair as I hook my fingers into the lace and pull it off, tossing it aside. Her skin is warm under my palms as I spread her legs, my eyes fixed on the way she trembles for me. "You’re killing me."

"Not yet." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, my lips grazing the sensitive skin. "But I'll show you how sweet torture can be."

Her back arches off the bed when my tongue finds her, slow and deliberate. I take my time, savoring every sound she makes, every gasp and whimper. Her hands tighten in my hair, and I groan against her, the vibration making her cry out.

"Look at me," I demand, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. Her amber gaze is hazy, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I want to watch you fall apart."

She nods, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. I don’t look away as I bring her to the edge, my namespilling from her lips in a desperate plea. When she comes, it’s with a sharp cry, her body trembling under mine, and I feel a surge of power I’ve never known before - not from violence, not from control. From her.

I kiss my way up her body, lingering on every inch of her skin, every curve and dip. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can’t get enough of her taste, her scent, the way she shivers under my touch. When I reach her lips, she’s breathing hard, her eyes dark with need.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough, my hands gripping her hips. “Every inch of you.”

She laughs softly, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt. “You’re overdressed,” she teases, her voice warm and breathless. “Let me fix that.”

I let her undress me, her hands sliding over my chest, my stomach, until I’m bare before her. Her gaze rakes over me, and I feel a surge of pride at the way her breath hitches. “Better?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous.

“Much.” She pulls me down, her body arching into mine, and I groan as I slide between her legs, my body pressing against hers.

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