I had never seen or smelled a man as perfect as he was. Even men half his age wouldn’t be able to keep up.
He chewed the bite I offered him slowly, almost reverently, as he closed his eyes and allowed the flavors to settle on his tongue. I love that about my husband. Even though he was who he was in the world, he never let an opportunity to enjoy offerings of life pass him by. He did the same when a wine spoke to him. He said it was the grape. It spoke to him of hardships and how it turned those hardships into fine wines.
Not many men spoke that way. And I drank down his presence in my life like he drank down his favorite wine.
I didn’t realize until he bit down that my fingers were still feeding him. His tongue caressed my skin, and I closed my eyes, shivering. He pulled away, allowing his mouth and teeth to slideover my digits as he finished off the bite. My eyes closed at the overwhelming sensation of it. I could feel his cool breath wash across my warm skin, blackberries and lemon, and when his mouth took mine, I whimpered, and my hands automatically reached up and wrapped around his neck.
“Piccolo ladro,” his voice breathed against my mouth, the sound of the words rolling off his tongue. “Mine.” His hands fisted the thin fabric as he moved them up my legs, the dress easily giving into the roughness of his touch. His hands were warm and searching, and my thighs started to tremble in remembrance of what he could do—was about to do—to me...
…take something that, for some people, was solely physical and make it into what it was supposed to be…an emotional connection between a husband and his wife. What Rocco offered me went so much further than the physical. It was biblical. I had never imagined that making love would feel that way. How deep it could affect me. How the connection could never fade from my body. It was as if his love ran right underneath the surface of my blood. Even deeper. My soul. I craved it. Couldn’t live without it. He was feeding me somehow, the same way I seemed to be feeding him.
And the thought of the explosion at the house in the Quarter seemed to burst through my thoughts. Even though I had thought about it off and on, it was in the back of my mind, a voice telling me that, if he was in trouble, I could save him like Scarlett had saved Brando many times before. It had made feel…so vulnerable that my husband had enemies who could one day get to him, but at the same time, it made me feel…so thankful to have the “gift” Eva said I had been given. I had never truly appreciated it that way before.
Even so, the thought of losing my husband, never seeing him again, hearing his voice, feeling his warmth and smelling his cologne from his body, made me feel as if I was back in thatmoment—the moment when I knew something was wrong, and all I could do was call him. If he hadn’t answered…a place in my heart I had never known existed cried out in anguish at the mere thought of it. If my feelings were already wrapped up with him in this moment, the thought of losing him only made them intensify. Almost to the point where it felt as if my life was in his hands, and if something happened to him, it would happen tome.
I wasn’t understating it when I said Rocco Piero Fausti had become my world.
“Look at me,Vita Mia.”
My eyes slowly opened to meet his.
He breathed in deep. “This is it. My wife. My life. Your eyes on mine keep me alive, as if they are the only reason my heart pumps and I take air into my lungs.” He sat me atop the table, and I gasped at the power in his hands and the surge of adrenaline it caused.
My husband was a dangerous type of man, and the woman in me reacted to him, knowing the truth. There weren’t many men like him in the world.
He stared at me as he reached out for a glass carton on the table, warm blackberries almost overflowing from it. He bit into one of the berries, a splash of purple juice sliding down his chin, but instead of eating the entire bite, he held it in his mouth. He ran it around my lips, down my throat, and, using his head, urged me to tilt my head back and lift my chin.
The cottage was warm and humid, and the juice and the water I rinsed the berries off with glided down my skin in cool strokes. He was…painting my skin. I felt the lines he was making, the stain he was leaving behind. He was using the berry to mark me with his initial.
R.
I sucked in a trembling breath as he moved lower and lower, lowering the deep V dress around my breasts without using his hands, and when he used the berry to trace around my nipple, I moaned deep in my throat. It felt as if my uterus had contracted, and if he didn’t make direct contact soon, I was going to explode. His mouth was only tracing. I wanted him to take me deep inside of his mouth, licking and sucking, just like he was with the berry.
“This feels so good,” I breathed out. “So, so good.” I gasped when he moved up to my neck. It turned me on beyond comprehension when he sucked on me there. When he kissed me there. My words were no longer coherent. Neither were the noises I was making.
He made an animalistic noise in his throat as he made love with his mouth to the sensitive skin there, setting my body ablaze. I felt the vibration of it against my racing pulse. He was too fast for it, and he was catching it, making it feel his love, so the feel of it would go past bone and hit marrow. As if I were a puppet, his massive hands were moving my head from left to right, his lips instinctively knowing exactly where to touch my skin.
Without thought, I had wrapped my legs around his waist, needing him so close, he’d be inside of me.
At the command, I used my legs and feet to push down his pants, and together, we freed him of the constraints, and his cock sprang free.
I breathed out at the sight of it.
He was long, thick, and so hard, I knew he needed me as much as I needed him to be inside of me, touching me in only a place he could.
His eyes were lowered, narrowed, almost like he was drunk off the berries and my essence alone, and his stare moved over my body as if I was the meal he needed to survive. Then I realized I was still dressed. He’d known it all along, and I couldsee how worked up he was getting to undress me; to rip the barrier away so we’d be skin on skin.
He did just that. Ripped the thin piece of fabric and tossed it to the floor, where it covered Pisolino completely. He hissed as he tore at it and then flew out of the cottage.
Rocco and I were breathing heavy, just staring into each other’s eyes. I found my entire world within his depths, and so much love for me, cool tears slipped down my cheeks. My husband kissed them dry, until his mouth came to mine and we kissed.
We kissed for so long, our tongues touching, our lips caressing, I was sure my body had melted into his, and my heart was beating in his chest.
We hadn’t even connected, and we were one.
I anticipated every move he made, and in turn, my body automatically matched it, as if we were in synchrony. Our hands came up, entwined, while our mouths continued the frenzy, until we began to nip at each other’s lips.
“I need you,” I barely got out. “I need you inside of me, now, or I’m not sure if I’ll survive this. Please.” I barely got out.
