“I can’t breathe!” I wheezed with laughter.
He roared with it.
Until he claimed my mouth with his and stole a passionate kiss in the barrel filled with grapes intended for my bottles. His personal stock.
The music changed then, became more romantic, and we slow-danced, our family and friends singing along to the ballad, serenading us as we gazed at each other, our lips continuing to meet as the golden sunlight illuminated us amid the clouds circling the barrel. And after he carried me inside of our home, the juice from the grapes soaking me to the bone, we laughed all the way to our bed as we picked grape particles, leaves, and sticks off each other.
Rocco set me down on the bed, and coming in close, kissed me so deeply, I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. He moved slow, undressing me, kissing every inch of my body,licking me clean, even down to my feet. He kissed them reverently, softly, and after I undressed him in the same way, he parted my thighs and entered me.
My back arched and my mouth parted. My hands went to his back, and breathing in each other, we made love as if it was the first time, as if it was the last time. This was how Rocco always made me feel when we connected this way, as if there was no other way.
Every stroke of his cock penetrated me deep, and I pulled him even closer, almost clawing his back to slice through skin and hit bone. It had to be madness to feel this way, almost a crazed need to find a place deeper than the body. He was as deep inside of me as he physically could be, but I always needed him deeper—there was a hunger inside of me that was always satisfied but stayed starved at the same time.
He pushed into me even deeper, and I gasped, gasped for air. His mouth came over mine, and his breath was mine. Our bodies were becoming sticky the longer the juice lingered on our skin, but still, the juice of the grape made our bodies slide with ease.
My husband stilled inside of me, his head tilted back, his breathing labored, not from exertion but from pure feeling, and his eyes closed. I reached up and touched his throat, running my slick fingers to his lips just to feel his breath wash across my skin. His arms were straining, his muscles bulging, and I felt every tremble of flesh and bone.
All he was sharing with me…all he held back…was all mine.
His hand slipped down my stomach, to my womb, and his eyes opened. Our stares held, and when I made a whimpering noise, long and low, he started to move again, our eyes locked in a moment that could never fade.
It was etched in the chambers of my heart—a memory that not even the hands of time could steal from me.
The sun was making its descent into a sky growing dark. The fog was growing thicker, flowing along the ground, almost clinging to whatever it could touch, almost tasting things to see if it liked the flavor of them, and if it did, it hung around. Some spots were so much thicker than others.
The lights above were playing nice with the fog, not burning it away like the sun. The hundreds of candles on the tables, illuminating all the tablescapes, did the same. Candle flames made everything shimmer, including the air once the sun had left us for the night.
Rocco and I chatted with everyone, sharing memories of the day, receiving countless compliments on the food and wine, our new home together, and how happy everyone was that the two of us found each other. Rocco made sure my crown was on straight the entire night, and even though he’d told me earlier, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he loved me in the silk burgundy dress I’d changed into.
It was another vintage design, but this time I wanted something a little dressier for the night.
The night.
It moved like the fog, slow and easy, and it clung to everyone’s feet as they took to the dance floor, moving in tempo to traditional Italian dances.
My head was fuzzy from so much wine, and I was dizzy from all the dancing and laughing, so I told Rocco I was going to take a break and have a seat. He walked me to a chair, then walked off, coming back a minute later with a glass of cold water for me. All the wine had made me warm, and the bite to the water made me shiver.
He rubbed his hand along my shoulders, then kept his warm palm on my neck.
Maggie Beautiful danced up, drunk on wine and the exhilaration of the night. Luca was right behind her, and even though Maggie Beautiful complimented me on the harvest celebration, and Luca nodded in agreement, there was still something so far away about his eyes. As if he was inside of a scene only he could see, and maybe…maybe he was trapped inside of it.
Rocco nodded to his father, then went to hold out a chair for Maggie Beautiful, but she shook her head and wrapped her arm around his.
“I’m still in the mood to dance, Handsome! This reminds me of the parties Brando and Scarlett used to host, minus the grape crushing, which I loved!Weeee!” She clapped at a bunch of kids running with sparklers.
Scarlett said they were always a hit, and they were.
“See!” Maggie Beautiful deftly took one from a boy who had two. He hadn’t even noticed until he stopped running, and after looking down at the hand that just had it, he looked confused as he searched the ground for it. Unfazed, Maggie waved it around, and the light seemed to drag against the darkness, almost etching into it. “So much fun! Dance with me, Rocco! Let’s give it another go, Handsome!” The sparkler burnt out, and she set it down on the table.
Rocco squeezed my neck and then moved his hand to my shoulder, where I kissed his fingers. He offered her his arm, and together they walked toward where everyone was dancing. Maggie Beautiful had not only danced with all of Luca’s sons, but each of their wives too. At one point, she had all of us together.
I smiled at the memory, taking a sip of the water Rocco had given me. I watched as they danced. As the reflection of twinkling lights above my head swayed on the ground. At thekids with the sparklers again. Anywhere but at the man who stared at me.
Finally, I met my father-in-law’s eyes. I decided to just come right out and ask what was wrong in Italian. I asked respectfully, softly, and even though his eyes softened some at the tone of the question, nothing had softened about his demeanor. But I wanted him to know that whatever was going on, I had suspected it wasn’t good from our last interaction at my birthday party on the bayou.
For a moment, I thought he was going to take me by the arms and shake me. He hadn’t moved, but the oddest sensation moved over me that he wanted to seize me. It was as cold as the water my husband had given me to help clear my head. I felt a rush of emotions from my father-in-law, like he needed to release some of the pressure that had been building inside of him.
I wasn’t sure why it was aimed at me, but it was. Maybe because he thought I knew something I didn’t. Scarlett would’ve been a better source for that kind of information, but if he’d been looking at her the way he sometimes looked at me after the party on the bayou, I hadn’t noticed it.
