“You’ve loved me every day since?”
“No.” I stopped the dance, moving a loose piece of hair from her face. “I’ve loved you my entire life. You are the only one, the only place, the only thing I’ve ever claimed as mine.”
A noise between a sigh and a cry came from her mouth. She wrapped her arms around my neck, bringing our foreheads together, our lips just a kiss away. Her breath washed over me, cool and sweet. I breathed in at the same time she breathed out.
“I love you so much that it fucking breaks me, Scarlett—it rips open my heart and sends my soul straight to yours.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Scarlett
La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue.
A man of his word, he had meant it when he promised to be merciful.
After his beautiful words, the natural course of things seemed to flow without any constraint. He kissed me and my lips followed his pace, soft and light. My entire body went supple as his hands cradled my face.
Drifting even lower, he caressed my neck and unfastened the top button of my wedding gown, working his way toward freeing me. The dress pooled at my feet and I stepped out, shivering with hesitation and anticipation. Somehow together, they equaled to unadulterated want.
Brando undressed in front of the fire, and I was able to appreciate the naked form of my husband as undulating light passed over him, creating elongated shadows on the walls, wavering in response. Yet he was solid in front of me, the most unmovable person, place, thing in my life.
A reflection of some ancient Roman god, his face seemed chiseled, but with enough wildness in his features, in those eyes, that the perfection of his appearance achieved balance.
He wasn’t just a beautiful face.
There was an unyielding power that radiated off him, something close to a murderous storm trapped in a bottle. Cool, calm, and confident, he didn’t seem to have a fear in this world. His powerful body backed up the claim.
He had wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered into a narrow waist, but his abdomen was so full of muscles that the light of the fire shadowed the lines. Being a dancer, I was not blind to the fine specimens that male dancers are; they worked on their bodies just as tirelessly and fervently as the female dancers worked on theirs.
Still, none of them compared to my husband. He had the most defined abs I had ever seen. Where lower abs met hip flexors, the concavity there formed an imbedded V. Long legs that seemed able to swim for miles without tiring were powerful enough to fight the Bering Sea. His feet were long and narrow—double the size of mine.
For as powerful as he was, he was graceful, not one bit uncomfortable in his skin. In fact, I had never met anyone as comfortable in his skin as Brando Fausti. He moved with the grace of a lethal cat. There was no doubt that his strength matched.
His arms were my favorite destination, though, so strong, so capable, and forever willing to carry me.
Barely grazing his skin with my fingertips, raising every hair on his body, I journeyed over the slope of his bicep, all of the veins that swelled underneath his forearms, even the ribbon tattoo, and substantial hands, following the trails back up to his heart.
“You are so beautiful, Brando,” I whispered, placing a kiss on his shoulder. I ventured even further up. His eyes were so intense that they made me weak in the knees. They closed to the sensation, giving me more bravado to explore. The tender crescents underneath his eyes were in shadow, a much deeper shade than his Mediterranean skin.
“I don’t tell you enough, how beautiful you are,” he whispered.
“Tonight, you’ve told me over a thousand times.” He stiffened and I hastened to explain. “Your eyes, Brando. Your eyes tell me. They speak louder than your voice ever could.” I took a deep, trembling breath, and as I released it, he seemed to breathe in at the same time. “Speak to me in Italian. Please.”
It took him a moment. Before he formed the words, I traced his sensual mouth, almost hesitant. He was known to bite, his perfect teeth sharp. We both were.
“Un regalo a mia moglie il giorno del nostro matrimonio.” His warm breath flowed over my fingers, and this time, I breathed him in.
Ah, yes, I thought. He had saida gift to my wife on our wedding day. He allowed me to explore him at my will, conceding control. For a man like him, giving me all of his power took a leap of faith and even more self-control. He might have been cool, calm, and controlled, but under the surface Ifeltthe truth—all of that reserve made him wilder than a caged animal. He’d release that feral energy on me when the time was right. And there was no one a more willing sacrifice to his needs than me.
As my fingers continued their explorations, he visibly relaxed, but I knew it was only a matter of precious time before he willed the little control he offered back to his side.
Hair as black as the night sky shone in the tender light as if the moon had gifted him with its ardor. After running my hands through it, I let my fingers linger, barely gliding down his skin until I traced the area between his throat and clavicle. Standing on my toes, reaching, I placed my mouth to the concavity there while reaching below for something harder.
He shook his head, like he was waking up from a dream, and all of the will he had given snapped back into place. He lifted me off my feet and carried me to the bed. All the while, my lips thoroughly enjoyed the taste of his neck. A trace of sweat gave his skin a hint of salt, but the whiskey he had drunk earlier seemed to sweeten his pores. His cologne hung around him, making me take in extra breaths, just to inhale once more.
His hands and mouth roved over every inch of me, the two parts stronger together. I became breathless, lightheaded.Pleading.
He rose over me, his eyes so intense on mine that they burned with intent, and he entered me in a gentle, slow stroke. His eyes closed briefly to the feeling and a tenderahtrembled from my lips.
