I sat Mia down on the counter before I lit an old lantern that one of my great-aunts had left in the room. I went to the warmer on the counter and turned it on. The entire place smelled like chocolate.
Mia blinked against it, even though it only produced enough light to give the room a hazy glow.
“Is this where your aunts make the chocolate?”
“Yeah,” I said and stalked closer to her.
She looked like she wanted to scoot back, but she knew it was no use.
“That look in your eyes,” she said, tilting her head. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Is that so?” I said slowly. “When?”
“When you’re hungry,” she breathed out.
“Right now,” I said, “I’m fucking starving.”
“You just ate.”
“Too long ago.”
She gasped when I took her robe and yanked the fabric apart. Her tits were a work of art. They overflowed in my hands, and I brought one to my mouth, sucking on her nipple. Her ass scooted on the counter, trying to push it further into my mouth. A breath rushed from her mouth when I released it, sliding my tongue to the other side, sucking on the other one.
Her hands ran through my hair, and when I looked up, her eyes were closed, neck tilted back, her entire body arched.
My wife.
My wife was a work of art.
As I kissed a trail up, I set my hands on her waist, pulling her even closer. Her legs wrapped around my waist when I squeezed both of her ass cheeks. The desire soaking her thighs smelled as sweet as the chocolate.
She was ready for me.
Always ready.
My dick throbbed, and my balls felt heavy. I had to control the urge to lay her down on the counter and fuck her until she went wild, out of her mind—sinking her nails into my skin and crying out. Her legs locking me in, urging me to take what was mine.
All of her.
I licked my lips when I pulled away. Her robe was hanging low, and her legs were open, her thighs glistening.
She rolled one shoulder and then the other. The piece of silk fell completely off. I balled it up and flung it over my shoulder. It fluttered to the floor.
I don’t think she even realized how gorgeous she was. How she could kill me with a look. It was so innocent but so deadly. Her eyes had been turned down, but when she heard me come closer, she slowly raised them to meet mine. A fine sheen of sweat coated her body. Her lips looked like she had put honey on them after she licked them.
“Careful, Macchiavello,” she breathed out. “You might get addicted.”
“Too late,” I said. “Been there. Doing that.”
She bit her lip and nodded. She slid from the counter to the floor, her naked body touched by the moonlight streaming through the windows. She met my eyes as she passed, then checked the temperature of the chocolate melting in the warmer on the counter. Lifting a finger running with chocolate, she licked from the base of her finger to the tip.
“Sweet,” she said.
My aunts were well-known for making what was called Modica chocolate. It was an ancient recipe that had been handed down for generations. They had stores in the town that sold it. But I didn’t want that one. I wanted milk.
I twirled my finger around in it and held it out to her. She leaned forward a little and put her mouth around it, sucking down to the end, her teeth barely grazing, sucking even harder on the way up.
A groan that almost sounded like a growl rose from my chest. She stuck her finger in again, and a mischievous look came into her eyes. She flicked it at me. It splattered against my chest like paint. I looked down, and by the time I looked up, she had a palm full. She flung it at me. It landed all over my face, dripping down my neck, running down my chest. I rubbed it in a bit.
