The problem is what to wear after. I don't have anything remotely appropriate for a wedding night. No silk nightgown, no delicate lingerie. Nothing like what I would have bought for an actual wedding. Just practical clothes from the list I gave Elio’s security to pick up for me. I settle on a simple cotton tank top and sleep shorts—the closest thing I have to sleepwear—and stare at myself in the mirror.
This is not how I imagined my wedding night would be. No romantic hotel suite, no rose petals on the bed, no champagne.No breathless anticipation all night, or Elio taking me out of the wedding gown I chose for our marriage. Just me in cotton pajamas, about to sleep with a husband who married me out of necessity rather than love.
But when I open the bathroom door and see Elio sitting on the edge of the bed, all my self-consciousness evaporates. He's changed too—just loose sleep pants and a T-shirt—and he looks up when I enter with an expression that makes my knees weak. There’s desire in his eyes, regardless of why we’re here; a look of need on his face as his gaze sweeps over me that makes my breath catch.
"Come here," he says softly.
I cross the room on unsteady legs and stand in front of him. He reaches out and takes my hands, pulling me closer until I'm standing between his knees.
"You're nervous," he murmurs.
"A little," I admit. "Is that stupid? We're married. We've already—you've already touched me before."
"This is different." His thumbs stroke over my knuckles. "And you're allowed to be nervous. Hell, I'm nervous."
That surprises me. "You are?"
"Annie, you're trusting me with something you can never get back. Your first time. That's—" He shakes his head. "That's not something I take lightly. You should know that.”
Of course I know that. I can’t smell sunwarmed grass or hay without remembering Elio’s hands on me that afternoon, eleven years ago, his body hovering over mine, stripped down to his boxers and me in my T-shirt and panties. Can’t put on a wool sweater without remembering how the blanket felt against my skin. We were so young. It was probably the right decision, then.
But I’ve never gotten over wanting him.
"I trust you." The words come out shaky, but I mean them. "I want this to be you."
His eyes search my face. "Even though this isn't real? Even though we're going to divorce when this is over?"
There's something in his voice that makes me pause, some undercurrent I can't quite identify. But before I can decipher it, he's pulling me down onto the bed beside him. I sink down onto the mattress, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"We'll take this slow," he murmurs, brushing hair back from my face. "If you want to stop at any point?—"
"I won't want to stop." I'm surprised by how much I mean it. Despite the nerves, despite the complicated circumstances, I want this. I want him.
Elio studies me for a long moment, and then he leans in and kisses me.
The kiss is soft and slow. His mouth grazes mine, as if he’s learning the contours of it all over again. I start to press my lips more firmly to his, and he catches my chin gently in his fingers, slowing me down again.
“Iwant to take this slow,” he corrects. “I don’t care why we’re here, Annie. I’ve imagined this for eleven years. Every time I—” He breaks off, and reaches for my hand, drawing it down to his lap.
He’s already hard for me, thick and long and rigid under my palm. “Every time, I imagined it was your hand. Your mouth. Your—” He sucks in a ragged breath. “I’ve fucked you a hundred different ways in my mind. Two hundred. In every place I could imagine. And I still know that the real thing is going to be better than anything I could have fantasized about.”
I’m grateful I’m sitting down. His words make me feel dizzy, weak, breathless. He’s saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. Making tonight as real as it could possibly be, as if we’re here because we chose each other and not because we’ve been chased into a corner.
Maybe it is real for him.Maybe he means all of it. Maybe this is everything he’s ever wanted, too.
His mouth drags over mine again, slow and reverent. “I’m going to make you come before you do anything to me,” he promises, moving my hand away from his cock and placing it on the bed. “I don’t care how badly I need it. I’m going to hear you moan and cry out and come for me. First with my fingers, and then with my tongue, until you’re so ready for me you’re begging. And then—” Another kiss, his tongue dragging over my lower lip, his thumb gently pressing into the hollow of my chin. “Then,cuore mio, I’ll make you mine.”
I’m lost, and I think he is too. Everything else has vanished, every reason for being here, the simple cabin bed instead of a plush luxury hotel, the scent of wood and cold and fireplace embers instead of linen spritz and expensive candles and roses. All I can feel is his lips, his hands guiding me back onto the bed, laying me against the pillows as he slowly works my tank top upwards, baring me an inch at a time.
When he reaches my breasts, he skims his thumbs over the nipples, back and forth until they’re stiff. And then he leans down, capturing one between his lips, and I’m transported back in time.
The blanket beneath me smells like wool. The sun is hot on my skin. And Elio’s mouth is around my nipple, teasing it until it’s hard, his fingers working beneath my panties as he pushes me toward an orgasm. He’s in nothing but his boxers, his body lean, his skin smooth, untouched yet by ink. His dark brown hair falls into his face, tickling my skin.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes, and I’m pulled back into the present. Into Elio leaning over me, still fully dressed, his mouth moving to my other nipple as he slowly builds my arousal, making me ache for him with every pass of his tongue, every light squeeze of his hand around my small breast.
“They never really got any bigger,” I whisper with a shaky laugh as he palms my breast again, and he looks up, his pupils blown dark.
“Perfect,cuore mio,” he murmurs again, his voice thick and halting as if he can’t manage more than those few words. A ripple of desire runs through me, my eyes misting over as if my body can’t contain all the emotion in me right now, all the need, all thefeeling.
