Page 37 of The Hidden Heir

Deeper.

Faster.

His rock-hard balls slap shamelessly against my buttocks. I scream in sheer ecstasy as he pumps me full of him, as he tears me apart and rebuilds me into a whole new woman, a whole other version of myself.

“FUCK!” he snarls and tightens his grip on me, his mouth crushing mine.

Faster.

Harder.

I feel him so deep inside me, I fear my heart will explode.

But my core releases first, and I feel the gush of liquid heat, the ripples of my orgasm reverberating and wrapping around his cock. I feel him fucking me like it’s our last night on earth, breaking me until there’s nothing left.

“Oh, Valentina!”

He stiffens inside me. I feel the pulses. The release. It’s mutual. It’s simultaneous. It’s all-consuming. Tears of joy trickle from my eyes, my lips still glued to his. Our hearts pound against each other.

Sweating and trembling, I lie softly against his chiseled body as he trails kisses down my neck. As he thrusts his last thrusts, filling me with his hot seed, his essence flows through me.

“You’re mine, Valentina,” he growls in my ear.

“I’m yours.”

Sweat drips from his forehead onto mine as he looks at me. There’s a glimpse of clarity between us. A split-second in the vastness of time where I realize this won’t end well for me.

Petrucci.

The name spells tragedy and death.

And I just walked into it, wet and wanting and desperate for more.

So much more.

11

VALENTINA

My face is half submerged in a pillow by the time the sun rises.

A lazy smile stretches across my lips while I take a deep breath and register the faint odor of goose down, sweat, and hints of Luca’s musky cologne. My body feels limp and soft, like molten caramel. My limbs are weak. I stay still for the longest time, reveling in the never-ending afterglow of last night.

“Luca?”

There’s no answer. I raise my head and find the bedroom empty. The scents are all that’s left of him, and I feel cold all of a sudden, lonely, lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

With a deep breath, I get out of bed and hop into the shower. I need the hot water running down my body to soothe my senses. Once I’m dry, I wrap myself in a robe and make my way into the living room.

Luca stands by the window, watching the sun come up over the city, tension in his jaw.

There’s a diary on the coffee table that I recognize because it’s mine. I wrote feverishly in it night after night a long time ago. It’s a piece of my past that’s come back to haunt me by the looks of it.

“Where did you get that?” I ask him.

He gives me a hard look—made harder by the fact that he’s already dressed. Fully dressed and devastatingly handsome in his three-piece, navy blue suit. His hair combed, his beard trimmed. A hint of musk and smoky wood emanating from his body, tickling my nose.

“It fell out of your bag,” he says.