Leona couldn't believe what was happening.
She was the Matriarch of this village—the ruler who commanded dignity and respect from everyone around her.
And yet here she lay on the grass like some common woman, being ravaged in the open where anyone could see, as if her lover couldn't even afford the decency of a room.
The worst part? She was loving every moment of it.
Luca's hands moved over her with a reverence that made her chest ache.
Every touch, every kiss, every brush of his fingers against her skin seemed designed to pull something new from her—emotions she had buried so deep she had forgotten they existed.
When he kissed her face, he was impossibly gentle.
His lips would press against her cheek, soft and slow, then travel to her nose, her forehead, the corners of her mouth.
He would pull back just to look at her, his gaze full of something that made her heart stutter—like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real.
