The mood of the French Quarter had changed, just like the mood of the group. Except where we were all quiet, not celebrating as we had been on the walk to the restaurant and during dinner, the French Quarter was in the throes of debauchery. Pulsating neon lights that matched throbbing beats seemed to spill out of packed nightclubs and strip clubs.
Bouncers in tight muscle shirts with the name of the establishments they worked for hovered around entrances. A man in a top hat offered our group of men the most sensual pleasures if they would only step foot inside his magic door. A woman in skimpy white chiffon and lace, wings attached to her back, spun on a silver pole in plain sight.
Rocco kept his eyes straight, the vein in his head still swollen, his jaw ticking. He must have felt my stare on his face and looked down to meet my eyes. He touched my chin and said, “Solo tu, mia moglie.”Only you, my wife.
Almost home, a bachelorette party was doing some kind of dare scavenger hunt. The women were wanting beads, and a group of guys who held them yelled, “Show us your tits!”
The women did, and beads rained down around us, and then the women turned to us and flashed our group. Then theystarted running for us, trying to kiss as many men as they could. One of them held a stopwatch. The soldiers on the outside of the formation were getting attacked by lips, but these men were raised to respect women to a high degree, and were merely lifting their hands, letting it happen. As far as I knew, these were all twenty-something Fausti soldiers who were unattached.
Until the crazed women—Those lips! The cologne! The muscles!—started to push through to the middle, trying to get toallthe attached men. When the bride went after Rocco, I snagged her veil, ripping her head back along with a strand of her hair. It wasn’t just me. All the women in our group started to swing on thebachelorette group. And just like our men had done during the pepper picker fight on the island, they hauled us home. It wasn’t my finest moment, and I could tell the other women were feeling the same way. As we dangled, we locked eyes, as if it say,I don’t regret it, but I do.
I just couldn’t understand the disrespect. And if the shoes would’ve been on the other feet, the men around me would have killed a group of guys who had done the same as the bachelorette women.
As it was, I had no effing clue what Rocco was going to do about Remy. I just knew the rock-hard coldness hadn’t melted—but when it did, I didn’t think a head start was going to save Remy from Rocco’s wrath.
“Put me down,” I demanded after we entered the house.
Rocco ignored me.
“Put me down!” I started to fight against him, and instead of dealing with the tantrum, since we were one step away from climbing the ones to our bedroom, and no one was ahead or behind us, he hauled me over his shoulder like a caveman and hauled ass up the steps,myass exposed.
Once we were tucked away in our room, his back to the door, we faced off. I was starting to tremble from the fadingof adrenaline and something I couldn’t identify—it was coming from my husband. Trapped rage, maybe? He had it under control, butIcould feel the need for its release beating against his muscles from across the room.
We stared at each other.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
We went for each other.
Except…our bodies were at war, but our hearts seemed to be sighing at the first touch.
We ripped at each other’s clothes, and I couldn’t help the words that left my mouth,I love you, I love you so much,only you, it’s always been onlyyou, as he smeared my lipstick down my face with the force of his kiss. He was speaking directly to my heart, my blood and my bones, down to the deepest part of my soul, his voice hot and molten, commanding all of me to all of him.
Mine.
Yours.
Mine!
Yours!
He set me down on top of him, wet and wanting, and pulsed his hips up so hard, I thought maybe the pulse between my legs flew into my brain. It took control of me entirely—I was one red, neon, throbbing pulse. It knocked the breath from my lungs, but when he ordered me to open my eyes, I did, and I started to move with him. I was giving him as much as he was giving me.
Our bodies were slapping.
Our mouths inhaling.
Teeth almost clashing.
Our hands entangled.
My aching nipples found friction against his hard chest, my nails into his wide shoulders.
I couldn’t stop.
