Page 61 of Luciano (Belles & Mobsters 1)

“Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he growled.

He pounded into me, his grunts mingling with my whimpering moans. The sounds of piano notes penetrated through my sex-drenched fog. With each plunge of his, my body pushed against the keyboard, creating a note in tune with his thrusts.

“That’s right,” he groaned. “You are mine.” He thrust into me again, hard and deep. The sounds from the strings resonated through the room as he fucked me hard, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh in tune with the deep notes. The pure sensation of fire and my love for him melted into liquid gold as another volcano erupted.

I pressed my mouth against my hand in an attempt to muffle my screams. Luciano’s own roar followed right behind me as his cock pulsed inside me, spilling his release. I felt his strong body pressed against my back and any rational thought evaporated, leaving only the passion for this man.

The music notes created by our bodies pressing against the keys ended, our bodies sated, and every single piece of me fluttered away, straight into my husband’s arms.

As I took a deep breath, I tried to shift when he scooped me up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I gasped at his sudden movement.

“I’m carrying my bride over the threshold of my bedroom.”

I should have known I had fallen for him that day.

Luciano’s big body stirred behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. God, it felt good having his arm around me, but it was stupid. I shouldn’t have succumbed to my desire for him. Yet, my body didn’t mind at all. I was relaxed and sated more than I have been in years.

I risked glancing over my shoulder and found my husband sound asleep. His sharp features were still striking, even in his sleep. But there were also traces of a gentle boy he once was, before he became a ruthless and dangerous man. His dark hair fell over his eye, and I knew it was soft as silk. Our son had the exact same hair color as his father. God, I wanted to twist around and wrap my arms around my husband, touch his hair, his inked skin. Make him mine. But I didn’t want to risk waking him up. And truthfully, he wasn’t mine. Not really.

Most of the night what we’d done was intense, rough, like two starving humans that haven’t experienced touch in far too long. I preferred that to the gentleness. His softness and tenderness would break me. After all night of starved and greedy sex, he took me into the shower and tore down every inch of my wall.

I was grateful for the shower sprinkling water all over my face. Because what we had done felt damn close to love making. The water from the shower hid my tears that escaped, rolling down my face at hearing my husband murmur words of love as he slowly slid in and out of me.

Slowly wiggling out of his warm, strong grip, I grabbed my panties and one of his shirts. Before leaving, my gaze traveled over his muscled body. Ink covered so much of his skin. Sleeves of ink painted both of his arms and hands, his chest and torso had magnificent tattoos that I could spend days studying. My eyes lingered on his chest and then I saw it, and my heart skipped a beat.

It can’t be.

Leaning closer, that was when I saw it.Sola Gratia.By Grace Alone.The tattoo over the left side of his chest. He didn’t have it before. How did I not notice it the morning Matteo fell asleep against him? Was there a meaning to his tattoo? It could mean nothing.

Yes, it is probably better not to read too much into that.

I tiptoed towards the door, softly opened the bedroom door with a silent click and snuck out of his room like a thief, then rushed to Ella.

Before passing by Matteo’s room, I checked on my son. Still in a deep sleep, his hair fell down on his forehead in exactly the same manner as his fathers. I reached out, brushing it off his forehead gently. My son has been my heart from the second I felt him move inside me. Living without Luciano shattered my heart, but living without Matteo would break me. I had to ensure he was safe; regardless of the cost. To me or anyone else.

Leaving his room, I continued towards Ella’s room. We ran into each other ten feet from her bedroom door, she was coming from the opposite direction. Wearing someone else’s shirt. Massimo’s, if I had to guess.

Our eyes locked, both of us in a state of undress. She gave me a sheepish smile.

“I guess we both had a wild night,” I muttered, shaking my head. It would seem both of us were stupid.

“But what a night,” she replied wistfully.

With a soft chuckle, although somewhat coated with bitterness, we both entered her room.

“I thought of something,” I told her. I wouldn’t grill her about Massimo. She’d tell me if she needed to talk about it. It was the same with me. That was what made us great friends. We trusted each other and always listened when the other needed to vent. But we never asked, pried or demanded to know it all.

“What?”

I pulled her into her room and we sat down on her bed before I started.

“My grandmother usually holds her annual gala every year. It is supposed to be tomorrow. What if we made an appearance there? Grandma and Uncle usually never miss it.”

She frowned. “Yeah, I remember, but what good would that do?”

“We could take him and her down there.”

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