“Tutti mio,” he breathed against the secret part of me that only he had ever known. “Tutti i tuoi segreti.”All mine. All of your secrets.
“Il tuo.”I was noteven conscious that I’d spoken until another low, deep growl came from the depths of his throat and he said, “she is yours” against my stomach.
The tender skin between my thighs was slick, glistening in reflection to the flames, lighting the ways his tongue had traveled along my skin, and my own desire for him.
Standing, he towered over me, the firelight throwing his shadow against the wall— so bold that his encompassed both of ours. But then a hand would rise here, another there, and it was apparent that the two of us had become one in the darkness.
Wood cracked in the fireplace and embers exploded, sending sparks upward in scorching sparks of light. The sweet smoky smell of surrender, of consumption, came alive in my nose, and something muskier, the strong scent of a man edging toward the loss of control. It was rare that he did, and I reveled in the fact that it was me who could make him.
The connection was no longer a humming but a hot bubbling that made me sweat.
Like moving through water, free to float, time ceasing, we made it to the fur rug, the softness of it against my back, then his, mine again, and then his again.
I used this position to my advantage, using my hands and mouth to make love to his smooth skin. I trailed my lips, seeing my own mark upon his skin glimmer in the firelight, and then back up with my tongue. I nipped at him, slow bites that were a mixture of sucks and teeth that made his skin contract until—
His hips bucked up, and his hands fisted in my hair. “Scarlett.” The low growl in his throat didn’t register into consciousness until my back was to the soft furs again.
He straddled me, hovering. His hair was as wild as his eyes. Both of my hands were pinned, his hands holding my wrists on either side of my head. His erection slid against my stomach, hot and silky against my skin.
A scorching heat ripped through me, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, from the erotic contact. A low mewling noise emanated from my throat, one that made the pressure he had on my wrists increase.
I was barely able to breathe out, “I need you,” in Italian.
He bent down low, his mouth teasing mine, nipping at my bottom lip, which was turned down in a pout. “Lento, mia moglie,” he said, coming in closer, and then leaving me without so much as a brush.
Past the point of going slow, I was in a state of craving madness. He set the pace, though, and as one trailing after magic would, I followed. His hands moved up, his palms stroking mine, his nose sliding down my cheek, inhaling, his kisses feather light. My body still arched, wriggled, begged. Diamond beads of sweat rolled from his skin, mixing with mine.
Twisted crimson and amber tongues of fire flickered over us, illuminating the space between his body and mine, highlighting the contrasting lightness and darkness, and his profile—wide shoulders, sculpted arms, the deep lines of his stomach and his ribs, and his powerful legs.
I released a sighing breath, my body responding to his without words.What’s the rush?
A howling wind started up outside. Winter rain pelted the house, and more scents seemed to rise up from the floor—the burning of wood, the bitter tang of ash, and our peculiar scent together. As fragrant as incense in my nose, but not as overwhelming.
I absorbed his touch, the newness of the moment, and the history that existed between his heart and mine. On the floor, I felt totally exposed to him, even more so when his hand found its way south and his mouth closed over mine, inhaling my pleasure. I shattered like glass in his hands.
He gave me precious seconds to recover, kissing and caressing, until he flipped our positions and I hovered over him.
Using my palms to brace against his chest, I could feel the pounding of his heartbeat against my palms. Closing my eyes, lowering myself slowly, I barely took him inside. Our breaths seemed to escape at the same time.
I forced my eyes open, to look at him, to memorize every line of his face; my breath caught. Then, by instinct, I lowered myself even further. It was a long way down with a thickness that took my body time to welcome. As turned on as I was, it took all the restraint I had to movelento.
His hands clasped my hips, guiding me down quicker, and once he was buried to the hilt, he started to move me. There was no need. My body knew his as well as his knew mine. I knew what he liked.
His eyes lowered to slits, his mouth parted, and if it were even possible, his skin felt even hotter. Searing.
My breasts felt swollen, heavy, and I reached up to relieve myself of the ache. A deeper growl came from his throat, and he bucked up, at the same time replacing my hands with his own. I gasped, coming down even harder with a slap of skin against skin.
About to shatter once more, I let him turn me over again, keeping us joined, staring at me as though I were about to melt into his skin.
Lifting one of my legs, he directed it around him, and as deep as I had gone, he went even deeper. I sucked in a breath at the intrusion, at how far he could reach me, and not just physically.
His eyes were solid on mine, completely guileless, but so damn passionate that the yearning was unmistakable. I held on to him, wishing there was a way to claw him out of himself, so we could get even closer.
Bringing my wedding band to his mouth, he rested his lips against the cool metal, his breath warm. He spoke to me in Italian, slow and low, rough with unshed emotions.
“I never believed in magic until I saw you dancing, my wife. I never believed in love until you touched my hand, my wife. I never believed in transcendence until I made love to you, my wife. I never believed in forever, until you became my wife.”
He knew what I liked too. I touched his cheek. “You made me believe too,” I whispered.
