His hand came to his head, removing the piece. He stared at it for a moment before he dropped it on the floor. When his eyes returned to mine, they were on fire. “Really, Scarlett.”
“Really, Brando.”
A pot of cherries cooking in red wine sat on the stove. It had been cooling for over three hours. He moseyed over, looking in. “What’s this?”
“Dessert,” I said a bit cautiously. “One of them.”
“One of many,” he said, almost to himself.
He touched the pot, testing its heat.
“Brando…” I warned. “That's Uncle Tito's favorite!”
He turned on me so fast that my back was pinned to the counter. The look on his face seized my heart. “You aremywife. Therefore, that’smyfood.”
My lips pinched—he had never coveted food before. In fact, I'd always remind him that a man was never measured on what he took, but by what he gave.
He started laughing, no doubt at the look on my face.
“You ass!” I laughed with him, more relieved than anything.
“It turns you on when I get like that.” My breath caught when his hand slid between my thighs, proving his point. “Still,” he said, going for the pot. He stuck a finger in and sucked off the mixture. “Mmm,” he copied the noise I made whenever he touched me. “That’s good.”
My eyes flicked back and forth, looking for an out.
“Yeah, no,” he said, knowing I was about to make a run for it.
I threw up a cloud of floured dust, hoping to get lost in it so I could make my escape.
He caught me before I took two steps. The entire pot of stewed cherries dripped from my hair, sliding down my slip in a gooey flood. The corset-like top caught most of it, a puddle forming between my breasts. Red wine and tartness drifted from me like a perfume. I licked my lips.Such a good batch too.
“Ooh, Uncle Tito is going to spank you.” I wiped some of the stickiness from around my eyes.
At the wordspankhis eyes glowed dangerously. He picked me up and deposited me back on the counter, my legs parting to allow him space.
“It seems like such a sin to let all of this go to waste,” he said, using his fingertips to slide down the straps of the slip. His tongue carved a sedate trail over my lips, down my neck, across my collarbone, into the steep V of my cleavage, every so often stopping to appreciate the taste. Of the cherry dish or me, I wasn’t too sure. My body served a private buffet for him alone. He meant to take his time enjoying the sustenance too.
I looked down and he looked up. His eyes blazed so hot that he could have warmed the dessert again.
“Yes, a sin,” I agreed, breathless.
“I won’t leave a trace—”
His two substantial-sized hands slid underneath the cups of the material, pushing up, my breasts spilling over, giving him access to my nipples. The usual pink flesh was crimson and glistening with sugar and wine. A cherry dangled, and his mouth wrapped around it, sucking, teeth barely grazing, savoring.
Every part of me trembled. “I—” I couldn’t finish the thought.
I yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. He kicked his boots and socks offs. My feet pushed down his pants and the briefs beneath. He was ready, always ready for me.
My arm shot out, feeling for the bowl. When I reached it, I returned the favor, coating him in mascarpone. It was the perfect counterpart to the cherry dish.
Brando’s body needed to be explored with the mouth. If I didn’t use my tongue, I would consider that a terrible, terrible waste.Sinful.
“You want to lick me,” he said, a knowing look in his eyes.
My cheeks rushed with blood. “I do,” I said, breathless. “More than anything, Ido.”
A moment passed. We laughed as he pulled me close, our bodies smearing the two together. There was no laughter after that. He allowed me to lick the mixture from his lips, down his neck, which had traces of salt extracted by the Tuscan sun and a bit of whiskey from his pores, venturing further and further down. His fingers found my hair, knuckles deep, as his eyes closed.
