Chapter 60. Patience (R18)

Chapter 60: 60. Patience (R18) –Livana– From my husband’s daily updates—every early morning in Greenland to match the Philippines’ 9 PM—I had to endure his non-stop talking and endless questions. It gave me a headache. My surgery had been a success, but my vision remained blurry. All of it. I couldn’t see anything clearly—only light and faint shapes. It’s been two weeks now, and there’s slow, steady progress. I still can’t see fully, but he keeps reassuring me that soon, my vision will return. At least now, I no longer see the black particles whenever I open my eyes. He said it would take two months for my sight to stabilize. He watched over me like a hawk for three entire weeks, until he finally told me I was free to move again. I could travel—but only with my sunglasses on to protect my eyes. Now? I feel ready. Ready to visit him—wherever in Italy he may be. And I have a gut feeling he’ll find me first. We made a stop in Finland to drop off Adrian. We switched planes, and a private jet escorted him back to the Philippines after his vacation. As for us? We booked First Class on a commercial flight. Once we landed in Italy, we checked into a hotel and freshened up. Afterward, we headed out. In Rome, midyear heat hangs in the air—warm and dry. I could hear the bustle of traffic, conversations floating around me. The sound of clinking coffee cups, murmurs of laughter. As we passed a line of cafés, a wave of fresh basil reached my nose. I exhaled softly and turned toward Sophie. "Let’s have coffee at the best café here," I said. "Sure," she replied, and I looped my arm around hers. Logan was on my other side. I wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield myself from the sun and oversized sunglasses that concealed half my face. "I found a seat," Logan called out as Sophia guided me over. She pulled me gently toward the table, and I heard the metallic scrape of an iron chair. I sat down. The seat was warm from the sun, but nothing like the sweltering heat back in the Philippines. "What would you like to order?" Sophia asked, then read out the menu in detail. I thought about it for a moment. I needed coffee. And maybe something sweet. "Hmm," I hummed, deciding. "Cappuccino. And a croissant." Sophia’s voice dropped as she leaned in. "Your husband’s here... I don’t think he’s seen us yet." "Oh, he will," I smirked. I could already hear Damon’s distinct footsteps. "Wife?" His voice called out. I lifted my head. Though everything was a blur and color was still faint, I knew that voice. I knew it in my soul. My hat was lifted gently off my head. "Oh," he breathed, voice low with emotion. "Why are you kneeling?" Sophia grumbled. "Get up—people are staring." "Who cares," Damon muttered. Typical. He never cared what the world thought. He cupped my face with both hands. "Kai?" I called softly. "Kai?" "Yup, yup?" Kai’s voice chimed in from a nearby chair. "Did he fuck someone while I was away?" "Fuck no," Damon snapped immediately. "Nope," Kai added. "He was busy beating up people and using his other hand." "Hmm." Damon sighed, and I felt his lips press into mine. "I would never fuck anyone else," he said quietly, like a vow. "I’m only being cautious," I said as I raised my hand. He caught it, brought it to his cheek, and kissed my knuckles with a deep, contented sigh. "Glad you’re still wearing your rings," he murmured before kissing me again. I kissed him back, even as the others groaned in protest. One thing that always drives him wild? When I respond with just as much hunger. "Let’s get our own table," he whispered. "Aren’t you busy?" I teased. He hummed. "Baby, I was just out grabbing a few things to bring home to the Philippines." He placed my hat back on gently, then helped me to my feet. He led me to another table, pulled my chair closer to his, and placed his order. We didn’t linger. After our coffee, we walked to nearby luxury stores and picked up gifts for our siblings. Later, we returned to the hotel. And that’s when the real reunion began. I brought him to my room, and our afternoon unraveled in waves of moans and tangled sheets. Non-stop. Maybe because I was ovulating again. I had my period last week, and Sophia had been taking care of me since. I could feel it now—my breasts tender, my body craving him. I didn’t fight it. How could I? I love the feel of his body pressed fully against mine. I love the way he thrusts into me like it’s the end of the world. As for making love? No one else could satisfy me like he does. He’s too much. Too intense. Too good. Besides, he’s the only man I’ve ever been with. And I want to keep it that way. –Damon– She was already half-asleep, her breathing deep and steady, but I couldn’t stop touching her—my fingers playing lazily over her nipples, tracing circles along every edge of her soft, full breasts. Each flick made me harder than I already was. How the hell do I stop? I can’t. I never can. I’m obsessed with her. "Hmm," she moaned, pushing at my chest. "I want to sleep," she murmured, annoyed and half-dazed. "Last one," I whispered with a grin, grabbing the vibrator from the nightstand. I teased her slowly, dragging it along her stomach, letting it hum over her navel, down to the tops of her thighs. She gasped—then flipped to her stomach and lifted her ass toward me with a needy wiggle. "Do it like this," she demanded. Fuck. She’s like a cat in heat. "Yes, my Queen." She was soaked—still wet, still leaking creamy remnants from earlier. All mine. I hope to God our mating becomes fruitful. I want her pregnant. I want my seed growing inside her, binding us in the most irreversible way. I slid into her with a guttural sigh, reveling in the tight, perfect heat of her body. "The vibrator," she gasped. "Yes, yes," I grunted, fumbling for it again. I pressed it against her clit while I was inside her, massaging her just the way she liked it. She reached back, fingers gripping my wrist, guiding the motion. Her body twisted and tensed under me as she buried her face in the pillows. And then I started thrusting. Hard. Deep. God, she makes me lose control. She makes me insane. I’ve been holding back for a month. Now? I want to ruin her. I want to destroy her for hours. She screamed my name—my goddamn name—and it sounded like music, like a violent orchestra made just for me. I pulled out, just to watch her break apart. She squirted, violently, endlessly—ruining the sheets—her body trembling uncontrollably while the vibrator stayed pressed against her swollen, hypersensitive clit. She nearly collapsed, but I caught her by the waist and drove myself back in, hard. I kept moving, even when she whimpered, even when her body clenched and shattered all over again. I was laser-focused, my entire lower body flexing, thrusting—every motion hitting deep. My glutes burned, but in the best way. Hell, I’m glad I never skip leg day. Because this? This was the best workout. When I felt her completely give in beneath me, when I knew she couldn’t take another second, I came—hard—emptying everything I had inside her with a groan that came from the pit of my stomach. But I didn’t leave her. I couldn’t. I tossed the vibrator aside and wrapped myself around her from behind, spooning her tightly, still buried inside. I could feel her breathing—soft, ragged, exhausted—and my own pulse matched hers. "I love you," I muttered against her shoulder. "Fuck, I love you." I kissed her skin like it was the only thing that could calm the storm inside me. "Let’s shop tomorrow," I whispered. "Then I’ll take you to my villa. Just you and me." "Hmm," she mumbled, barely awake. She reached for my hand and pulled it tighter around her body, locking me in place. She wanted me to be her blanket. I’ll be that. I’ll be anything she wants—so long as I can keep her close. Forever. I pulled out slowly, careful not to wake her, making sure every drop of my release stayed inside her. I wanted it to take. God, I needed it to. I pulled the blanket gently over her bare skin, shielding her from the slight chill of the room, and padded over to the table to pour myself a glass of water. The cold liquid grounded me. I was still hard, still obsessed, but for now—I needed to let her rest. After finishing the glass, I grabbed the negligee draped on the chair and carefully slipped it onto her sleeping body. She didn’t stir. But I needed her dressed—just in case something went wrong. I always prepare for the worst. Especially when she’s around. She’s too precious. I threw on my boxers and pajamas. One last glance at her—beautiful, breathing steadily, face relaxed—and I was about to climb back into bed when— Crash! The sound of shattering glass tore through the quiet room. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged forward, grabbing her and rolling us off the bed just as another sharp pop echoed through the air. "Damon!" she gasped, startled. "Baby, I’m sorry," I gritted out, wrapping her tightly in the blanket as I scooped her up against my chest. "What’s happening?" Her voice trembled, her fingers fisting the fabric of my shirt. Another sharp crack. The window. I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it toward the glass. It shattered again. A goddamn bullet. A sniper. Fuck! I should’ve taken her to the villa. Not this goddamn hotel. And worse—I’d forgotten to close all the curtains. "I need my watch!" she said quickly. "Or call Logan. Or Sophia!" "It was supposed to be a perfect night," I muttered bitterly, tapping my smartwatch with one hand to send an alert to my security team. Reinforcements would be on their way in under sixty seconds. She wrapped her arms tighter around me, burying herself in my chest. "I feel something... seeping down between my legs," she whispered. I paused, lips twitching into a grin despite the chaos. "It’s our future babies," I murmured, voice low and rough with satisfaction. There was a moment of silence—tense, strange, intimate—broken only by the faint hum of danger outside. I should be focused on the sniper. On getting her out of here. But all I could think about was her body, warm against mine, and the fact that my seed was inside her. God help me, I’m so fucking distracted. But no one—no one—threatens her and walks away alive. Not tonight.