He pushed deeper inside, and my breath caught. I raked my nails against his back, and he hissed out before he captured my mouth again. What he had showed me, his cock coated with my want, was the most erotic thing I had ever seen. The taste of him, rainwater and cinnamon with a touch of mint…his cologne wafting in the air around me, woodsy, spicy, citrusy, consuming my senses…
“I cannot…mmmmmm.” My thighs automatically clenched around him when I felt I could no longer hold on. He was too deep inside of me. Too deep to even catch my breath. It felt sogood, tears streamed down my face, though they were lost in the rain.
He knew.
He always knew.
He licked the trail of them up my cheek until he came to my eye, and then he kissed a path back down to my lips, where he consumed them again in a kiss that transported.
His hips began to work harder, faster, and I could not hold on.
I orgasmed around his cock with a sound I knew echoed in the night as if we were two feral animals mating out in the wild. The growl that came from his throat when he spilled himself inside of me was so animalistic, it sent me into a warm spiral again that made me tremble around him for a second time. There were times when he pulled out of me that I orgasmed again.
I was so spent, not only from the physical act, but the emotional one, that I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in and taking shelter in the pace of his pulse. My arms hung like two limp spaghetti strands around his neck. My legs trembled around him. I was not sure if I could even walk.
He pulled back, gazing into my eyes, then fixed the straps of the nightgown. They had slid down my arms and stuck there. The light fabric was soaked.
So was I. To the bone. I probably looked like a drowned rat.
My husband…sigh.
He looked like a Roman statue standing tall in Italy. The mist only gave him more of a male mystique.
The scent in the air was powerful around him. His scent belonged here, belonged to the woods, the water, except…I could smell us together. The scent of his seed and my arousal. Bitter and sweet.
He closed his eyes, and I almost whimpered at the lost contact, as I would sometimes whimper when he separated us.
He leaned in and kissed me. Kissed a trail from my mouth, down my throat, until he moved the fabric down even further and kissed each breast, licking around the shape of them, until he put my nipple in his warm mouth and sucked. Sucked until the peak could cut glass when he pulled away and lavished the other with the same attention. I felt needy.Greedy.I pushed myself closer to his mouth, feeling my uterus contract as if an invisible string tugged from my nipple to the inside of my legs.
I was so sensitive…my entire body shivered, and I orgasmed again. It was not loud, but a quiet whimper in his ear.
“Fuck,” he breathed out against my nipple. He moved to my mouth. “You’re going to fucking kill me. Stop my heart.” He kissed me again. “This. What exists between us. This is living. This is my life. You. You’ll also be the death of me. When you snap at me. When you curse in Italian—so fast, my fucking head spins. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way you take care of me. The way just sharing the same air as you heals me. The way you make my heart fucking balloon to triple its size.
“The way when I’m fucking you, making love to you, it feels like I’m emptying more than just my balls when I spill myself inside of you. All of you. You’re the life in me. You’ll be the death of me. Tell me you fucking hear me, Sistine Fausti.” He moved the hair away from my face. “The life and the death of me. The cure and the poison. The woman who heals my heart and breaks it. No other woman. No other woman could ever come close to you.”
All I could do was kiss him back with almost manic fervor, allowing my feelings to take the lead and assure him my heart had given him a hardyesthe moment his eyes had met mine, even if I had been spewing spicy Italian at him.
He kissed me back as manically as I was kissing him.
It was insanity.
The way it felt as if we could not stop touching.
Kissing.
Lightning lit us both up.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
I was caught up in a major storm with him, and I did not care.
He was the storm of my life.
He was also the shelter.
He was all things to me.
He moved us away from the tin, turning back toward the house. My hair whipped in the wind, and my dress clung to me harder. The boots were filled with collected rainwater. When he set me down by the front door, we stared at each other. My fingers tingled to touch him again. My entire body ached to be close to his. My heart and soul craved the connection.
