She refused to answer me.
I took the sponge from the basket she kept it in, submerging it in the water, and once it swelled, I lifted it over her, letting the fat droplets fall to her chest and run off.
Placing it against her skin, I moved slow but with a firm hand, along her neck, over her collarbone, along her arms, between her breasts, taking an even slower time over her nipples.
Her breath hitched, her chest came forward, her back arched, her legs opened, and her eyes closed.
“Look at me, my wife,” I said in Italian.
She blinked before she focused. Her eyes were hooded, hazy. Not as bright. The glow had spread to her face, especially her cheeks.
“Tell me who you belong to, Scarlett.”
I wouldn’t repeat myself. I slid the sponge lower, below the water, between her thighs. At first touch, she clinched against me, but then opened even further.
Dipping my head, I set my mouth on her hot skin—so soft that she almost felt like a petal. My tongue trailed languorously from her throat to her sternum—I could feel the echo of her pulse on my tongue, and the ridges of every bone along the path—and then around, tracing the shape of her breasts. They were shaped like two perfect teardrops.
I pulled her nipple into my mouth and bit, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that she jolted, the water rippling around her.
“Y-you,” she barely got out.
“Louder,” I whispered. Then I bit her again.
“Ah! You!”
“Better,” I said, lifting, staring at the beautiful woman who belonged to me only.
I brought the sponge from under the water, running it over her waist. The concave shape made her hipbones seem more pronounced. Then around her ribs, lower still, going under again to her round cheeks. She slid her legs closed when I touched her thighs again.
“Only you,” she whispered, setting her warm hands on my arms. Water ran over the sides, dripping to the floor. “Only you.”
“Here?” I let the sponge float, using my fingertips to circle her breasts. Goosebumps puckered her skin and she shivered.
“Solo tu.” She pulled my hand up, putting my finger in her mouth. Her tongue made circles, before she sucked hard and then released me.
“It fucking better be me. Only me.” My tone came out hotter than temperature of the water. “On your knees.”
She came out of the water, the wetness between her thighs not just from the bath.
“Please,” she said. “Touch me.”
I lifted my hands to her face, setting her lips against mine. She was eager, our tongues touching and then circling in frantic swirls. The moans from her mouth were becoming louder, echoing around the bathroom, the water sloshing around the tub.
“Open your eyes,” I said, taking my lips from hers, moving them to her neck. She did, watching me through the oval shaped mirror hanging on the wall.
I poured the last of the red wine along her collarbone, so deep that the liquid pooled like glistening blood along her flesh. I sucked hard and deep, the thin ribbons of alcohol making her taste tart and sweet all at once.
Her hands fisted in my hair, but she kept her eyes open, though barely. When my hand slipped between her legs, her breath came faster and her thighs quivered.
I stopped, and she yanked my hair. Hard. I grinned.
“D-don’t stop,” she barely got out.
“Keep watching.”
“Oh God,” she moaned. “I—I need t-to—touch—you!”
“Not now.”
