Page 156 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I ride him slow, steadily, the motion of our bodies unhurried and deep. His hands grip my hips, his lips find my throat, and every time I roll my hips, his breath catches like he's surprised I still have this power over him. I kiss him between each thrust, my fingers tangled in his hair, my body tightening with the slow build of pleasure.
"You feel so good," he murmurs.
"So do you," I whisper, leaning forward to kiss him again, slower now, deeper.
I shift my hips, grinding down just enough to make him groan again, and then he flips us, lays me down on the sheets and braces himself above me. He drives into me with a force that makes my breath stutter. The bed shifts beneath us, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, the scent of sweat and salt and sex thick in the air.
He moves like he needs to remember this for the days that might come when we are not young and hungry and lost in each other. He moves like he is writing a vow into the curve of my hips, the line of my throat, the soft place behind my knees.
When we come, it is together, my body pulsing around him as he buries himself deep with a groan that sounds like everything he's never said. He collapses onto me, breathless, shaking, and I wrap my arms around him, my mouth at his temple, my heart wide open.
Later, as the night deepens and the world narrows again to this room, to this bed, to this man, I trace the line of his spine with my fingertip and whisper what I never tire of saying. "I love you."
His answer is a kiss to the inside of my wrist. And a quiet, "Always."
He wraps me in his arms, holding me still till my eyelids shut. Just as the sleep is about to become deep, I hear his phone ring.
Not the usual one, the one Luca handed in case there would ever be an emergency.
Both of us sit up straight at the same time.
He pats my arm as he reaches for the phone, answering it. My heart begins hammering, and it is all I can do to convince myself that Luca Salvatore will not compel my husband to return to a life of bloodshed and war.
Enzo frowns and slips out of bed as Luca's voice fills his ear. I watch him walk to the window, one hand on his hip as he looks out at the little garden just beyond.
When he finally ends the call and returns to me, the first thing he says is, "Don't worry, my love. It isn't what you think," and I sigh audibly.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice still tinged with anxiety.
"I've just been invited to a wedding," Enzo replies quietly.
"Whose?" I ask, squinting up at him.
He meets my gaze, then. "Dante Salvatore."
My frown deepens. "The youngest brother, the one who's literally the worst playboy I've ever met? Why is he getting married?"
Enzo shrugs and drops his phone on the bed before getting in and wrapping me in his arms. "Turns out he got the wrong woman pregnant. Who knows, maybe he'll take it in his stride."
My fingers tighten slightly against Enzo's back, my heartbeat picking up even as I try to quiet it. Something is moving. I can feel it beneath my skin, the old rhythm of tension threading through calm. The stillness before thunder.
Enzo senses it too. I can tell by the way his jaw has gone rigid, by the way his breath slows like he's bracing for something he cannot yet name. But neither of us speak.
I press my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of soap and salt and the faintest trace of iron that never seems to leave him.
Dante Salvatore, as I remember, is the most beautiful of the three brothers, but his personality is shit.
If he's getting married, it's not for love.
Something is brewing in Nuova Speranza.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
GIANNA
Power has a strange scent when it's newly earned. It smells like old leather and dry smoke, like men clapping you on the back while watching for the moment they can push you off the ledge.
I've lived inside that scent for the past year.
