Chapter Twenty-Four AURORA #2
The rhythm was slow and deep, filled with emotion rather than just raw need.
Every thrust was accompanied by whispered promises, how he would protect me, how he would cherish our child, how he would never let the darkness of our world touch us again.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, losing myself in the feeling of being completely, utterly his.
We moved together in perfect sync, sweet and spicy and full of love.
His hands explored every inch of me, gentle where I was still bruised, firm where I needed him most. When I came apart beneath him, crying out his name, he followed soon after, burying his face in my neck as he spilled inside me with a low, broken groan.
Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed buried deep, holding me close as our heartbeats gradually slowed. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin while he pressed soft kisses to my shoulder, my jaw, my lips.
“I love you,” he said quietly, the words sounding almost foreign on his tongue but so very real. “Not just the obsession. Not just the possession. You, Aurora. The woman who challenged me in a devil mask. The woman who makes me want to be better. The mother of my child.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks again, but they were happy ones. I kissed him softly, pouring my heart into it.
“I love you too. My devil. My husband. My everything.”
We fell asleep like that, tangled together, his hand still resting protectively over my stomach, our future finally feeling safe and bright.
The devil had stolen me from that blood-stained altar.
But I had chosen to stay.
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, painting the bedroom in warm golds and soft shadows. I woke slowly, cocooned in warmth and the familiar scent of Santino, dark spice, cedar, and something uniquely him that always made me feel safe.
For a moment, I just lay there, savoring the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. My body ached in the best way, a delicious reminder of the night before. The fear from the freezing tub, from Sergio’s madness, felt distant now, like a nightmare fading with the dawn.
I shifted slightly and felt something cool and unfamiliar on my left hand.
I lifted it, blinking sleep from my eyes.
A stunning engagement ring sat on my finger, elegant platinum band with a large, flawless diamond that caught the light like captured starlight. Smaller diamonds flanked it, subtle but breathtaking. It was perfect. Not flashy, but powerful. Just like him.
My breath caught.
“Santino?”
He was already up, standing near the dresser in nothing but black suit pants, buttoning a crisp white shirt. The morning light carved shadows across his broad shoulders and the defined lines of his torso. Even half-dressed, he looked every inch the dangerous, beautiful devil I had fallen for.
He glanced over his shoulder, a slow, devastating smile curving his lips when he saw me staring at the ring.
“Good morning, future wife,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. He crossed the room in a few strides and sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. His thumb brushed over the ring, eyes warm with satisfaction. “You like it?”
I laughed softly, still a little dazed. “It’s beautiful. When did you…?”
“Last night,” he admitted, leaning down to press a kiss to my knuckles, right above the diamond. “While you were sleeping. I wanted you to wake up knowing exactly who you belong to.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning. “Possessive much?”
“Extremely.” He nipped at my finger playfully before kissing the ring again. “You’re marrying me in three months. Consider this my official claim. No more running. No more cold baths. Just you, me, and our baby.”
I sat up, letting the sheet fall to my waist, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Three months? You're sure? You won't change your mind?”
“Never.” His hands slid down my bare back, pulling me closer until I was straddling his lap. “I’ve waited long enough to make you mine in every way. The ring. The wedding. The name. Everything.”
I kissed him softly, then pulled back just enough to tease. “What if I wanted a long engagement? Maybe elope on a motorcycle instead?”
He growled playfully, flipping me onto my back and pinning me beneath him. His eyes sparkled with mischief and heat. “Try it, troublemaker. I’ll chase you down, throw you over my shoulder, and marry you right there on the side of the road.”
I laughed, the sound bright and free. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Without hesitation.” He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over my stomach. “You’re stuck with me, Aurora Moretti. Get used to it.”
I melted into the kiss, fingers threading through his hair. When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing harder, I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb.
“I love you,” I whispered. “Even when you’re being a possessive caveman.”
He smiled against my lips. “Good. Because this caveman is never letting you go.”
Three months later
The estate buzzed with a kind of controlled chaos I had never imagined I’d enjoy.
Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows of the bridal suite, turning the room into a golden sanctuary.
It caught on the delicate white lace of my wedding dress, making the subtle gold embroidery shimmer like threads of fire.
This dress was nothing like the blood-stained gown I had worn at that nightmare altar three months ago.
This one was soft, flowing, and entirely mine, chosen with Santino’s surprisingly patient input and my own growing confidence.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning slowly as Sienna fussed with my hair, twisting dark strands into an elegant updo with practiced fingers.
Chiara knelt beside me, carefully adjusting the delicate veil that cascaded down my back like moonlight.
Matteo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene with that familiar half-smirk he’d perfected during his intense training sessions with Santino.
“You look like a princess who’s about to stab someone,” Sienna declared dramatically, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She tilted her head, lips pursed in mock criticism. “In the best possible way, of course. Very ‘I’ll marry the devil but I’ll still keep my knife handy.’”