Chapter 17
POV: Amanda
He stepped behind me, his presence swallowing the room. His heat pressed into my back, solid, inescapable. His fingers swept my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck, and I shivered—anticipation already crawling under my skin.
The cool chain touched me, and I gasped, the metal sharp against the fever he’d built in me with just his proximity.
He fastened it carefully, deliberately, but he didn’t move away.
His fingers lingered, brushing down my throat, tracing the line of my collarbone like he was memorizing me. Claiming me.
Then his lips pressed to the curve of my shoulder. Soft. Reverent. Then firmer. Possessive. His teeth grazed my skin, dragging heat into my blood.
When he turned me, his hand cupped my chin, forcing my gaze up until I was drowning in him. That fire. That certainty. That terrifying devotion.
“Mia Regina,” he murmured, his lips hovering over mine. My Queen.
The word wrecked me. I smiled—unguarded, stupidly happy—and touched the necklace, feeling its weight, the promise behind it. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a soldier. Or a bodyguard.
I felt chosen.
“This is so beautiful,” I whispered, my voice cracking. My fingers trembled over the tiny crown. “Adrian, you didn’t have to—”
“I know.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, slow, possessive. “But I don’t give crowns to women I don’t intend to keep.”
My breath hitched.
“I want you to remember,” he continued, voice low and dangerous, “that everything in this city bows to me. And you…” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “…you bow only because you choose to.”
The words went straight between my legs.
“I love it,” I whispered, clutching the pendant. “Thank you. I love it.”
His lips curved, arrogant, pleased—and then he kissed me.
Soft at first, like he was worshipping something sacred.
Then he devoured me. His tongue claimed me like territory, and I melted, my body betraying me completely.
The crown shifted between us, cold metal brushing my overheated skin with every movement.
“You can thank me properly, Mia Regina.”
“Properly?” I teased, my voice trembling.
His eyes darkened, molten, predatory. “Coming for me. Wearing my crown. Begging like a queen who knows exactly who owns her.”
A shiver tore through me, hot and violent. His words undid me almost as much as his touch. Boldness I didn’t even recognize as mine surged up, and I stripped.
“Wait, my king.” I whispered, smirking as I freed myself piece by piece, slow torture—bra, panties, falling to the floor.
His breath hitched, jaw tightening as he watched.
“Perfection,” he murmured. “I built an empire, and still nothing compares to you kneeling in front of me.”
He snapped then, hauling me against him, my body plastered to his. His hands roamed like they owned every inch—and maybe they did. He lifted me onto his desk, the wood cold, his body fire. His fingers tugged at the crown.
“Keep it on,” he growled. “I want to watch you wear my mark while you fall apart.”
His mouth trailed down, kisses biting, teeth grazing. The pendant pressed into my skin, every touch amplified.
Then he dropped to his knees.
“Adrian…” My voice shattered as his mouth brushed higher along my thigh.
He looked up at me, sinful and devastating, like a king worshipping something dangerous.
“Eyes on me, Amanda. Queens don’t look away when they’re being worshipped.”
And then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, the world fracturing. His tongue was slow, deliberate, ruthless. He held me open, no mercy, devouring me like I was his favorite sin.
“God—Adrian—”
“That’s it,” he murmured against me. “Sing for your king.”
His fingers slid inside, curling exactly where I needed. My vision whited out. My body betrayed me completely.
I shattered, convulsing, thighs clamping around him as he refused to stop, stretching the pleasure until I was trembling and boneless.
He rose, kissed me deeply, making me taste myself on his tongue. His cock pressed hard against me, and I ached.
“I want to thank you properly,” I whispered, sliding down to my knees. His eyes widened as I freed him, boldness burning through me. “Your queen, on her knees. Is that what you wanted?”
His control fractured.
“Dangerous woman,” he groaned.
The weight of his cock in my hand, the taste of him on my tongue—God, it was intoxicating. He groaned, his control fraying as I took him deep, moved on him, savoring every sound he gave me. His body shook under my mouth, under my worship.
“Enough,” he growled. “I need to be inside you.”
I kissed my way up, lips swollen, body on fire. “Then take me.”
“Say it right.”
The crown was cold against my pulse. “I want you, my King.”
His groan was primal. “Brava, Mia Regina.”
He bent me over his desk, voice hoarse at my ear.
“I wanted this here since the first day you walked into this office. I just needed you to realize you were already mine.”
He thrust into me—deep, brutal, stealing my breath.
“Look at you,” he rasped, desk shaking beneath us. “Wearing my crown. Taking my cock. Acting like you still had a choice.”
“Yes,” I gasped, pleasure consuming me. “Yours, my king.”
He fucked me harder, hand on my throat, other at my clit, dragging me apart until I broke, screaming his name. He came with me, holding the crown against my chest like a vow.
“Mia Regina,” he whispered. “My queen.”
And trembling, breathless, I smiled.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
It was a coronation.
I was the last to walk into the dining room, and for a moment, I froze.
The long polished table was already filled—Bella smirking at her phone, Riccardo shifting nervously with a covered canvas propped against the wall. But what made my breath hitch was the empty chair.
Right beside Adrian.
Everyone else had already taken their places, as if the seat was always meant for me. As if it belonged to me.
And for one dizzying second, I let myself believe it. That I wasn’t just an intruder. That I wasn’t lying to every single person at this table. That I was… part of them.
Guilt burned low in my stomach, but when Adrian’s eyes lifted to mine—dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, light brown gaze catching me and holding me there—it was impossible to feel anything but claimed. Wanted.
I sat, and he let his hand brush mine under the table, a silent reassurance that only made my pulse race faster.
And God, that was dangerous.
That small gesture had the power to silence the screaming guilt inside me.
Some of Adrian’s men hovered near the door, watchful shadows. I didn’t even know their names. I only knew the heat of Adrian’s hand, the warmth of the chair beside him, and the heavy weight of being seen here—at his side.
Bella’s sharp eyes flicked to me, then narrowed on the delicate chain resting at my collarbone. Her lips curved slowly.
“Well, well… someone’s been shopping.”
My fingers instinctively rose, brushing the golden crown pendant. My cheeks warmed.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, smirking as if he had been waiting for this. “Yes.”
Bella tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “A crown, hmm? Because she’s your queen, right?”
My heart tripped.
“Yes,” Adrian answered without a second of hesitation, his voice smooth and absolute. He didn’t even look at Bella—he looked at me. “She’s my queen.”
I swallowed hard, unable to say a word. A smile tugged at my lips anyway, helpless and soft.
His possessiveness should have scared me.
Should have made me bristle the way I always did when someone tried to claim me.
But with Adrian… it was different. His possessiveness didn’t feel like control—it felt like safety.
Like belonging. Like being wrapped in something I didn’t even know I craved until now.
Bella laughed, shaking her head, but her smile carried no real malice. Across the table, Giuliana said nothing. She simply sipped her wine, gaze unreadable, but there was something in her silence… an acceptance. And for some reason, that scared me more than her disapproval would have.
Before I could drown in the warmth of it, Riccardo pushed his chair back with a scrape. “I finished it,” he said, almost shy, eyes darting toward the canvas propped against the wall.
Adrian gave him a nod, and Riccardo stood, carefully pulling the cloth away.
And then I saw it.
My breath caught, my whole body freezing.
It was me.
Not just me—something more. Something deeper. He had captured my blond hair, my blue eyes, the way the light played in them. But beyond that—he had painted strength I never saw in myself. A softness too. Vulnerability, courage, fire… all tangled together in one image.
Behind me stretched the garden I had posed in. But in his hands, it was transformed—lush, alive, almost dreamlike. The roses looked like they were breathing. The ivy clung to the stone like veins of memory.
I stood before I even realized it, moving closer, my throat tight.
I had posed for him. But never, never had I imagined this.
My vision blurred, tears welling as I whispered, “Riccardo… it’s beautiful.”
I lifted my hand to my mouth, because my voice shook, because my chest ached. “It’s… it’s me, but… it’s more than me.”
His face lit up, boyish pride softening his sharp features. “I wanted to paint what I saw,” he said simply.
That undid me. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him without thinking. Me—hugging. Something I never did. Not easily. But it felt natural here, with him, with this family who lived by touch and words and unfiltered hearts.
“Thank you,” I murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you, Riccardo. You don’t know what this means to me.”
He hugged me back, awkward but proud, and I could feel him rocking slightly on his heels. Adrian’s gaze burned into me from across the room, protective and full of something that made my stomach flip.
When I pulled back, I caught my reflection in the painting again. And it hit me like a wave—how easily I was fading into this family, how natural it felt, how dangerous it was to want it.
Because I didn’t just feel like I belonged here.
I wanted to.