“Yes,” I said, running a hand over the bulge. In loose clothes, it was harder to tell, but when I wore a dress that was custom-fit, my stomach protruded out as if I’d eaten too much pizza. “Your son has already claimed his room and is making himself at home.”
Emotions weren’t Brando’s specialty, and there were times when he had no idea what to do with them, or how to process a feeling without wanting to subdue it into oblivion. I could tell he was at war with himself, wanting to speak on what he was feeling—the sheer joy at the mention of his new child—against wanting to crawl out of his skin and ignore the situation.
A son.
This was all new territory for him and was the reason he hadn’t wanted children in the first place. His son would be expected to serve the family. Brando had only escaped by a technicality. Time would only tell if his son would get to choose his own path too.
After a minute or two, my husband settled somewhere between the two emotions.
“Now everyone who sees us knows,” he said in Italian, making his words come out slower, more sensual. “They know you are mine and that is my child you carry. When they see my little girl, they know she was born of our love too.”
“They know that you made love to me,” I replied in the same language.
We’d been speaking it all evening, and we’d mostly continued after we’d gotten back to our chalet.
“The only man who will ever touch you in that way.” His grip on me grew tighter, and I brought myself even closer, removing any space between us. “I’ll be the only man ever inside of you. To ever give you pleasure. My name the only one that your mouth will remember.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “The only man I’ll ever need or want.”
His hand slid down my leg, his head ducking underneath my chin, his mouth finding the heated skin of my neck. Though my flesh burned for him, my bones shivered.
“Show me what else you wore for me, my wife.”His breath tickled my skin, the heat emanating from his body rolling over me like a steam engine.
Moving as graceful as possible, I kept my eyes on his as I stood, then broke the connection when I turned around, asking him silently to undress me. He did so without a sound, and instead of the dress falling to the floor, pooling at my feet, it clung.
I decided to make a meal of it.
I rolled one shoulder, and the dress shimmied down, inch by inch, but only enough to expose one side. I repeated this little number until both sides were only partly drawn down.
A low growl came from his throat as he watched me, which meant he wanted it off. Even if it meant ripping the fabric with his teeth.
The glass before me showed his reflection—his eyes blazed, as hot as the coals in the fire, and were hooded with want.
The corners of his mouth twitched when I had to shimmy a little harder to get the dress over my bump. Once it was over, he wasn’t finding the humor in the situation anymore.
His eyes grew even more heated, his face set in serious determination.
A strapless, fitted slip with garter belt clung to me, keeping the stockings up. It had open-work styling, peeks of my flesh glowing through the darkness of it, in the old baroque style. My breasts were pushed up, nearly spilling over.
“Scarlett,” he breathed. “Your name is a fucking siren.”
I turned my eyes from his for a moment, needing to escape the intensity in his. But then I smiled, remembering the words he’d said the first time I’d touched him below the belt. Back then the words were—should’ve been a warning.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I did.
I gestured to the slip. “My husband—I wear this for you so you will take it off.” I could feel the savage want in his blood, his fingers and teeth aching to tear the layers to shreds, and the restraint not to do so in the tremble of his bone.
He nodded once, slowly, then sat back and watched me. He twirled his finger around, wanting me to turn for him.
An internal surge of pleasure surged through me when the breath hissed out through his teeth.
Needing to touch him, to feel his warmth, the solidness of him underneath my hands, I took the few steps to close the gap, nudging his legs to open so I could stick one of mine between.
I nodded to my heels and stockings, then tapped my knee against his. “Will you?”
“Which man is taking them off?”
