A queen in my bed.
My queen.
Before she can slip away, I roll over her, pinning her gently beneath me. My cock hardens instantly against her thigh, the heat of her body pulling me in like gravity. “One more time,” I whisper, nipping at her earlobe. “Want to feel you before the day starts.”
Her breath hitches, eyes darkening with that mix of surprise and want I've craved for years.
She nods, legs parting as I settle between them. No words needed.
Her hands grip my shoulders, urging me on.
I slide into her in one smooth thrust, her pussy wet and welcoming, clenching around me like she was made for this. We both groan, the sound muffled against each other's skin.
It's fast, urgent now, but laced with the tenderness of everything we've reclaimed. I pump into her steadily, each drive deep and claiming, my hand cupping her breast, thumb rolling her nipple until she arches.
“Fuck, Izzy,” I growl low, burying my face in her neck. “So tight, so perfect. You're mine—every morning, like this.”
She moans, nails digging into my back, hips lifting to meet me.
“Harder. Fill me again.”
Her voice breaks on the plea, raw and honest, stirring that fierce protectiveness in me. Seven years lost, but this—waking to her, taking her—it's the future I swore I'd build.
I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her gasp, my free hand slipping between us to rub her clit in firm circles. She's close already, body trembling under mine.
“Come for me, baby,” I murmur, thrusting faster, the bed creaking softly. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
It hits her sudden and sharp. She cries out, pussy pulsing around me, pulling me over the edge.
I bury deep, spilling inside her with a ragged breath, the warmth of my release marking her as mine once more.
We stay locked like that for a heartbeat, foreheads pressed together, breaths syncing in the quiet.
“Love you,” she whispers, the words slipping out soft and real, cracking open the last walls in my chest.
I kiss her slow, pulling out gently. “And you, mia regina. Always.”
A few minuteslater we dress and head downstairs.
Morning light fills the dining room when I walk in, pale and quiet through the tall windows. The table is already set. Leone must have run out to get it before any of us woke up.
Now the table looks like a small banquet. Pancakes stacked high, bowls of fruit, yogurt, cereal, eggs, bacon, toast. More food than three people could reasonably eat.
Noah stops in the doorway and stares. “Whoa.”
Izzy laughs softly beside me, that warm sound that has become dangerously easy to recognize.
Noah climbs into his chair like he’s discovered treasure. “Is this all for us?”
“Yes,” I say, taking the seat across from him.
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
Pancakes disappear first, then eggs, then cereal. He eats like the world might run out of food if he slows down. Izzy watches him with an amused shake of her head, reaching over every so often to wipe syrup from his cheek or push the fruit bowl closer.
“He eats like this every morning,” she tells me.
I lean back slightly in my chair, watching him demolish another pancake. “I did too,” I say.
