Chapter 16
POV: Amanda
I lost count of how many times he took me after that.
Somewhere between the third orgasm and the moment he pinned me to the mattress, fucking me so deep my vision blurred, numbers stopped mattering. Time stopped mattering. There was only him.
His weight.
His heat.
The way his strength caged me in, every muscle hard and unyielding as he drove into me, stretching me, claiming me in a way no man ever had.
I was acutely aware of my body — too aware — every nerve lit, every sensation sharpened until it hurt in the most delicious way. His name lived on my lips, in my chest, echoing in my head with every thrust.
He made me ride him until my thighs burned and shook, until I couldn’t tell if the tremble was exhaustion or need. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in, forcing me to take every inch of him, again and again, like he needed to feel just how completely I could hold him.
Every roll of his hips dragged a whimper out of me. The friction was relentless, turning sharp, then molten, then overwhelming — fire licking under my skin until I was nothing but sensation and sound.
When my body finally begged for rest, when my muscles gave in and my breath broke, he didn’t let me drift away from him. He flipped me onto my side, dragging me back against his chest, fitting himself to me like we were carved to match.
His hand spread over my stomach, possessive, anchoring me, while he slid inside me from behind.
Slow.
Dirty.
Intimate.
Each measured stroke had me sobbing, my fingers clutching the sheets as pleasure rolled through me in waves too big to contain. I was delirious, undone, floating somewhere between pain and bliss, my body surrendering to him completely.
Then he was over me again — sudden, dominant — pinning my wrists above my head, his grip firm but reverent, like he knew exactly how far to push me. His rhythm turned brutal, unyielding, driving into me with a force that stole my breath.
My cries filled the room. Each snap of his hips sent me higher, harder, until I shattered beneath him. I came again… and again… my body writhing, my heart screaming yes, yes, yes with every thrust.
I wasn’t Amanda anymore.
I was only his.
His plaything.
His queen.
His prey and his prize.
And God help me, I loved it.
I loved being claimed like this — consumed until there was no room left for thought, for fear, for doubt. Only Adrian. Only us. Only this.
When my body finally collapsed, boneless and trembling, he gathered me against his chest, still buried deep inside me. His heartbeat thundered beneath my cheek, strong and steady, grounding me. His arms locked around me, possessive and warm, his breath ragged against my hair.
I wanted to stay like that forever.
To sleep in his arms every night.
To wake to his hands, his hunger, his mouth every morning.
To belong to him completely — endlessly.
Sleep pulled me under, tangled in his heat.
Morning came softly.
I drifted back to consciousness not to light or sound, but to sensation.
A slow, languid heat bloomed low in my body, followed by something wet, teasing, deliberate. My breath caught as awareness flooded back — his mouth. His tongue. Lazy, wicked kisses trailing down my stomach like he had all the time in the world.
I gasped awake when his tongue found me.
“Adrian…” My voice cracked, half a moan, half a plea, my fingers curling into the sheets as my body arched toward him on instinct.
His chuckle vibrated through me, warm and sinful, his tongue flicking against my clit in a way that made my hips jerk helplessly.
“Buongiorno, tesoro,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my skin, tender and dangerous all at once.
Pleasure crashed over me, sudden and unstoppable. I clutched his hair, my body bucking as sensation tore through me, my cry breaking as I came undone in his mouth, shaking and breathless.
Before I could even catch my breath, before the last tremor faded, he hauled me over him, guiding me down onto his cock.
His groan was deep and raw, vibrating through me as he filled me — so deep, so perfect — that tears stung my eyes. My head tipped back as his hands gripped my ass, driving me down harder, claiming the rhythm, claiming me.
I rode him, desperate, my body tight and greedy around him, every movement sparking fire through my veins. His mouth found mine in bruising kisses, his tongue stealing every moan, every broken sound, like he needed them as much as I did.
When he rolled me beneath him again, pressing me into the sheets, his pace punishing and perfect, one thought burned through my mind:
I could die like this.
I could wake up every morning like this.
Loved.
Worshiped.
Fucked until I couldn’t think.
When we finally stilled, tangled and slick with sweat, his arms wrapped around me, crushing me against him like he was afraid I might disappear. His lips brushed my temple — soft, reverent, almost tender.
“Amanda…”
“Mhm?” I breathed, dazed, my body still humming, still trembling.
His voice lowered, quieter now, thoughtful against my skin.
“Did you always want this?”
A pause.
“To go to the army? To live that life?”
The question slid deep, cutting through the haze of pleasure. My chest ached with it, though my body was still boneless in his arms.
I didn’t answer. Not yet.
Because all I wanted right then was this—his body, his heat, his claim. And the dangerous wish burning inside me… to wake up like this every day, forever.
His breath was still warm against my neck, our bodies tangled, slick, and boneless from everything we’d done. My pulse hadn’t steadied yet, but my chest ached with something deeper than lust. Something I’d been carrying for years, pressing down on my ribs until I felt I might suffocate with it.
And maybe it was the way he held me, his arms locked so tightly around me like nothing could rip me out of them. Maybe it was the way his mouth brushed my hair, soft, reverent, like I was more than just flesh to him. But the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“My father…” My voice cracked, surprising even me. “He was a police officer.” I made the thought of the one your father killed, go away. Not now.
I felt Adrian’s body still against mine, the rhythm of his hand on my hip pausing. My stomach twisted. For days, I’d thought of telling him—wondered if it would change everything. And now it just… broke free.
“I always thought I’d follow his path,” I continued, before fear could stop me. “But I didn’t want to be exactly like him. Didn’t want to live in his shadow. The army gave me something different. A bigger fight. Guns, adrenaline, missions that mattered. I loved it. I still do.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “But I hated losing people. Friends who didn’t come back. Faces I still remember every night before I fall asleep. I was lucky—no PTSD, no scars I can’t control. But I’ve buried more brothers and sisters in arms than I ever thought I would.”
Adrian shifted then, just enough to tip my chin up. His eyes burned into mine, dark and merciless but soft just for me. “Tesoro,” he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheek. “You’re too strong to break. Stronger than any soldier I’ve ever seen.”
I let out a shaky breath, a laugh tangled in the tears I wouldn’t let fall. Strong. Maybe. But it was different hearing it from him, from a man who looked at me like my strength was something holy.
My fingers trailed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, the steady pound of his heart. “And you, Adrian?” I whispered. “Did you always want this? To be… king?”
His lips curved, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest.
“I was raised to be, Amanda. Groomed from the day I could walk. My father put the crown on me before I even knew what it weighed.”
He exhaled, eyes hooded, but never leaving mine.
“I do my best. For my family. For my people. I carry them all on my shoulders. It’s heavy, sì—but it’s mine.”
I searched his face, the sharp lines, the shadows in his eyes. “And it doesn’t bother you?” I asked quietly. “All the… illegal things?”
For a moment, silence pressed between us, thick and dangerous. But then he leaned closer, his voice dropping into that deep, unshakable timbre that always made my skin shiver.
“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “But these things—they are too deep, too rooted. If I don’t control them, someone worse will. Someone without honor. Without balance. I make it fair. I keep the scales steady. I protect those who need protection, I punish those who betray,
I take care of those who would be forgotten otherwise.”
His hand slid into my hair, fisting gently at the nape of my neck, grounding me to every word.
“It isn’t clean, mia volpe. But it is just.”
My chest tightened, a strange ache spreading through me. Because he wasn’t lying. There was no polish in his words, no attempt to make himself seem noble. Just truth. Heavy and dark—but truth all the same.
And instead of recoiling, I felt something deeper take root in me. Admiration. Respect. Maybe even love—though the word was too dangerous to speak yet.
I pressed my forehead to his, my voice raw. “Adrian…”
He kissed me before I could say more, swallowing my doubts, silencing my fears, sealing me into his world with his mouth. And I let him, because maybe for the first time—I didn’t want to escape.
The mornings in the De Lucca villa had their own rhythm—coffee, fresh bread, laughter that filled the long dining room. I slid into my usual seat, trying not to look as tired and sore as I still felt, though the ache in my leg and the sweet tenderness Adrian had left all over me betrayed me.
Adrian was already there, commanding the table without even trying.
Beside him, Roberto was halfway through a story about some old friend; Bella laughed softly, covering her mouth with a delicate hand; Riccardo listened, sketchbook never far from reach.
And Giuliana, of course, presided like the true matriarch, eyes sharp even when her smile was warm.
It was… strange. A family. Something I hadn’t thought I’d ever sit in the middle of.
Halfway through breakfast, Adrian’s phone buzzed. His jaw flexed as he read, and I knew instantly—it wasn’t good. He set the phone down, gaze sweeping the table before settling on me.
“I need to leave.”
I froze, fork clinking against my plate. Then I pushed my chair back and stood. “Then I’m coming with you.”
His brows lifted, almost amused. “La volpe…”
“I’m your bodyguard. You don’t get to pick when I do my job.”
“You’re still healing,” he countered smoothly, eyes flicking to my leg. “I need you fully recovered.”
“I can handle it.”
“You’ll stay.” His voice was firm, final. Then, softer, just for me: “I’ll take the vest. I’ll take the men. But you? You stay.”
Heat pricked my throat. I hated how much sense he made, and hated even more that he was right. Still, my chest squeezed as he stood, kissed the top of my head in front of everyone, and left with his security detail.
Before I could wallow, Riccardo leaned forward, that boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Then I suppose you’re mine today, sì? I’m almost done with your painting. Come, pose for me in the garden.”
It worked. My heart softened. I let him lead me outside, settling on a bench under the shade while he set up his easel. The brush danced across canvas, his eyes flicking between me and the painting with the focus of a true artist.
“You really see people,” I murmured.
He shrugged modestly. “I only paint what’s already there.”
When Giuliana appeared some time later, her steps quiet on the path, she lingered behind Riccardo, studying his progress. Then her gaze slid to me. There was a glint in her eyes, something sly, knowing.
“It seems my sons like you, Amanda,” she said casually, like it meant nothing. But her words carried weight. A test. A warning. Or maybe a blessing. I couldn’t tell.
Afterward, restless, I found Bella and asked if she had an old corkboard. Her face lit up—she loved being helpful—and within minutes I had one under my arm, heading straight for Adrian’s office.
The room smelled like him. Dark wood, leather, faint cologne. I spread out papers, photographs, names, pinning and connecting threads across the board. Delacquas. Mancinis. Enemies. Allies. Betrayers. My soldier’s brain took over, sharp and relentless, until the web began to take shape.
I was so focused I didn’t hear the door open until it clicked shut again.
Adrian.
He leaned against the doorframe, and my chest tightened instantly.
Tall, broad, impossibly self-assured. His dark hair was just a little disheveled, as if he’d run a hand through it on his way here, and it only made him look more dangerously handsome.
Light brown eyes—those molten, unreadable eyes that could cut a man down or set my body on fire—fixed on me with amusement and something far deeper.
“My Queen,” he drawled, his lips curving, “already plotting wars?”
I turned, ready with a retort, but stopped when he crossed the room. His presence filled it completely, the faint scent of his cologne—wood, smoke, something purely him—curling around me, making me weak before he even touched me.
In his hand, a small velvet box. My breath caught.
He opened it slowly, revealing a delicate gold necklace, a tiny crown pendant gleaming like it had been made for me.
“I saw this,” he said softly, his voice low, intimate, “and I thought of you.”
My throat closed. “Adrian…”