I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me up, carrying me over to our four-poster bed. It had a real fancy gold princess canopy that shielded our bed from the world. Matteo set me down on it, and his tongue started to make slow work of my skin.
“Mmmmatteo,” I almost whimpered. It seemed like he was going over my skin, his tongue refusing to miss an inch. The way he was flicking his tongue, caressing with it, biting a little… I was starting to squirm. I wanted him inside of me—now.
He said something in Italian, but the words were like another note in a symphony. I registered it, but I was too focused on the entire song.
His hands came over my hips, pinning me down some. “Still yourself, my wife,” he whispered against my heart. “Let me enjoy what’s all mine.”
I didn’t even bother trying to tame my breathing. I was too far gone. Especially after he started to whisper words to me in Italian—all over my skin, puckering it. And when he blew cool air against my nipples, I started to buck my hips, desperate for him to fill me up. He stilled me with his hands again, but this time, he took my leg and wedged it up. His cock was so close to my entrance, and his eyes were on mine.
“All that I am, I give to you,” he whispered, his voice like pebbles rolling across my skin. “All that is mine is yours. You are my life. My wife. And I serve your body only.” And with that, he pushed into me for the first time as my husband.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
I watched his gorgeous face and whimpered.
Neither of us could control the need for each other.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me again. Who am I to you?”
“My husband,” I barely got out. He was pushing into me so deep, I needed to hold on to something, claw at something, sink my teeth into something. My hands came to his back, and my nails clawed at his skin.
He hissed, but pushed even deeper into me, groaning deep in his throat as he did. “Whose body serves yours and yours only?”
“Yours,” I whispered.
He pulled almost all the way out, and coming back with a harder thrust, almost sent me into the headboard, but he was too in control to let my head hit it.
“Tell me again,” he said.
“Yours,” I said louder.
“Mine,” he said, melting into my skin, sliding into my bloodstream, going straight for the place he vowed to me he would. My soul. We were already tangled, and whatever we were doing—something that felt more intense than making love—was making sure we would never be able to unravel.
“Yours, yours,yours,” I whispered, and instead of clawing him, I used my fingertips to glide along his ribs.
“What you do to me, my wife,” he said through pleasurable noises. “What you do to me…I can’t even put into fucking words.” He stretched me, pushed even deeper, and I almost wanted to open my legs wider, lessen the pressure that was building in my uterus. I couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t escape him. But I realized. He wanted me there. He demanded that I feel what he was and not run from it. Lessen it. Feel it deep inside of my soul.
That was what this was.
A finalization of the vows we’d spoken earlier.
A fusing together of two people into one.
He started to move faster, even deeper, and as he did, our eyes were locked, our mouths whispering what we felt.
“Ti amo.”
“I love you.”
I couldn’t stand the pressure for another second and called out his name. He called out mine, and we seemed to crash into each other at the same time. He rested his forehead on mine, and we breathed each other in, the silence in our room suddenly seeming so loud. But it didn’t lessen the peace that washed over my heart and soul.
I used my fingertips to caress his sides, and he sighed.
“Matteo?” My voice sounded rough, like I’d been screaming, but I hadn’t been. Not that I could remember.
“Yeah, baby?”
“All that I am, I give to you. All that is mine is yours.” I cleared my throat. “I hope you felt that just now.”
