Page 155 of The Serpent's Bride
“I almost lost you,” he said, his voice rough.
“You didn’t.”
He shifted slightly, and I winced at the fresh wave of sensation. He noticed, of course. His gaze softened fractionally.
“Hurt?”
I shook my head, a small, tired smile playing on my lips. “In a good way.”
A ghost of a smile touched his own lips, but it was gone as quickly as it came. His hand moved from my waist to my stomach, splaying wide across my lower abdomen. The possessive gesture was both a claim and a prayer.
“It’ll take,” he said, a statement of fact. Not a hope. A command directed at the universe itself. “We’ll have a son. He’ll have your eyes.”
The image hit me with the force of a physical blow. A child with Leo’s dark hair and my eyes. A small, perfect being created from this complicated, terrifying, passionate thing between us. Tears pricked at my eyes again.
“And your stubbornness,” I whispered.
His thumb stroked my skin, a slow, rhythmic motion. “He’ll be a king. He’ll rule this city, but he’ll do it differently. He’ll know what it means to protect something instead of just fear it.”
My heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. This was Leo’s deepest desire, laid bare. Not power for power’s sake, but a legacy. A continuation of himself, but better. A chance to rewrite the story of the Moretti name.
“He’ll be loved,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Leo’s gaze locked with mine. The raw intensity there stole my breath. “He’s already loved. Because he’s a part of you.”
He leaned down and kissed me then. It wasn’t a kiss of passion or possession, but of reverence. A slow, deep, tender exploration that spoke of a future we were building in this bed, in this room, with our bodies tangled together.
When he finally pulled away, he carefully withdrew from me. The sudden emptiness was startling. I watched him, my body humming with a pleasant soreness, as he moved to the edge of the bed. He stood, and for a moment, he was just a silhouette against the gray, rain-washed window. A king surveying his kingdom. But then he turned back to me, and the vulnerability was back in his eyes.
“Don’t move,” he commanded softly.
I watched, transfixed, as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water was a gentle counterpoint to the drumming rain. He returned a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Gently, almost reverently, he cleaned me. The warm cloth was a stark contrast to the cool air on my overheated skin. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal possession he’d just demonstrated. He was meticulous, thorough, wiping away the evidence of our lovemaking with a care that felt more intimate than the act itself.
This was the duality of him. The monster and the man. The brutal captor and the tender lover. And I was beginning to realize they weren’t two separate entities, but two sides of the same coin. Both born of a deep, possessive love that he was only now learning how to express.
When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and pulled the duvet over us both. He gathered me into his arms, tucking myhead beneath his chin. His body was a warm, solid wall behind me, a bastion against the world.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured into my hair. “We’re not stopping.”
“I know,” I whispered, a strange sense of peace settling over me. “I don’t want to.”
His arms tightened around me. “Good.”
I closed my eyes, letting the steady beat of his heart against my back lull me into a state of drowsy contentment. The rain was still falling, a steady, soothing rhythm. I was in the belly of the beast, in the bed of the man who had ruined my life, and I had never felt safer.
“Leo?”
“Hmm?”
I hesitated, the question on the tip of my tongue feeling both foolish and monumentally important. “Do you think… do you think it worked already?”
He was quiet for a long moment. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint scratch of stubble against my cheek.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble. “But I have faith.” His hand moved to cover my stomach again, a warm, heavy weight. “I have faith in us. In this.”
I turned in his arms until I could see his face. The dim light from the city cast shadows across his features, softening the hard lines, making him look almost boyish. Almost vulnerable.
