جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 80

Maria barely had a moment to breathe before he thrust into her again—slow, deliberate, dragging out every inch of pleasure as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of overstimulation and raw desire that left her gasping, her fingers gripping the counter as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.The wet, obscene sounds of their joining echoed through the kitchen, each thrust a slick, lewd melody against the backdrop of their breathless moans. The air was thick with the scent of sex—heady, intoxicating, laced with the remnants of last night. Luca was still inside her, and she could feel it, the remnants of his previous release making everything even hotter, even messier."You're dripping everywhere, baby," he murmured, his voice dark and amused, one hand gripping her hip possessively while the other trailed down the curve of her stomach. His fingers traced lower, teasing, smearing the evidence of their union against her skin.Maria w

Sitting in his study, with Maria staring at him like she always had, Luca sighed deeply. The dim glow of his desk lamp cast flickering shadows over the rich mahogany furniture, the faint scent of aged paper and leather-bound books filling the air.His fingers curled around the sleek black pen in his hand, but he barely glanced at the documents before him. Instead, his focus remained on her—the woman who had mastered the art of distraction with nothing more than a lingering gaze.“What is it?”Maria blinked, feigning innocence. Her hazel eyes gleamed with mischief, catching the light just enough to make them dance. She even tilted her head slightly—the same way she always had when she was about to manipulate him. A habit he knew too well, yet never quite managed to resist.“Nothing.”Luca exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp against the thick silence. He set his pen down with a quiet click, fingers smoothing over the fine grain of his desk before he lifted his gaze to hers.“Mire

Maria adjusted the strap of her handbag and cradled her belly as she stepped out of the museum. The cool evening air greeted her, mingling with the faint scent of old parchment and polished wood that still clung to her senses. She had spent the last few hours indulging in one of her new habits—shopping without checking the price tag. It was something she was still getting used to, but Luca had made it clear: she was his wife, and his wife would never want for anything.Her guards trailed behind her, arms laden with bags filled with delicate artifacts and paintings she had acquired on impulse. They weren’t just purchases; they were pieces of history, stories carved into stone and woven into canvas, each one adding to the growing collection she had started curating for their estate.Just as she was about to step into the car, a voice cut through the street noise.“Maria!”She barely turned at first, assuming it was just some overly familiar stranger or a paparazzo trying to get her a

Maria crawled onto the bed, her breath shallow, her heart hammering against her ribs as Luca’s dark gaze pinned her in place. The room was thick with tension — the kind that made the air itself feel heavier.“Middle of the bed,” he said, voice low, dangerous.She obeyed instantly, moving to the center of the cool sheets. Her body was taut, strung tight with anticipation, her pulse skittering wildly beneath her skin.Luca stood against the dresser, shirtless, his sculpted chest rising and falling slowly. In one hand, his phone; in the other, a belt, the leather flexing menacingly between his fingers. The dim light carved hard shadows across his body, highlighting every muscle, every ruthless line.The phone rang once. Twice. A sharp click as the call connected.“Voss,” he said, his tone clipped and cold.Maria's stomach twisted.No.She pushed up onto her knees, desperation creeping into her voice. “Luca, please—”

The early morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of earthy tones.Luca stood on the balcony, the city stretching far away from him in a haze of artificial lights and the fading darkness of dawn. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers glowing each time he took a slow drag.He hadn't slept well.Maria’s disobedience troubled him, the memory of her soft cries and stubborn glare gnawing at his chest like a dull, constant ache. His body remembered the feel of her, hot and trembling beneath him, even as his mind waged a war he couldn’t name.Luca exhaled a curl of smoke into the cold air.Inside, he could hear the faint shuffle of sheets. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse: Maria curled beneath the cotton duvet, her baby bump a tender curve even under layers of fabric. A picture of innocence. Fragile. His.His phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting through the silenc