The drive back to the compound is a blur of excitement and planning and Bianca calling everyone she can think of to share the news. By the time we arrive, we’re greeted by Matteo, Bella, and what seems like half the family organization, all wanting to congratulate us and see the ring.
The celebration is spontaneous and joyful—champagne appears from somewhere, toasts are made, and even the normally stoic Antonio gets emotional when he hugs Bianca and tells her how happy he is for us both.
“When’s the wedding?” Bella asks, practically bouncing with excitement as she examines the ring for the hundredth time.
“Soon,” Bianca says, looking at me with eyes bright with love and anticipation. “Life’s too short to wait.”
“Soon,” I agree, pulling her closer to my side.
Matteo frowns. “At least wait until you’ve finished the school year,” he protests before Bella shoves a hand over his mouth and glares at him so fiercely that he mutters his apologies for daring to voice his opinion.
I take a mental picture of this moment. It’s not often that Matteo DeLuca is cowed into silence and I’m going to relish the rarity of this occasion.
Eventually, we manage to extract ourselves from the well-wishers and drive to my place, both of us giddy with champagne and the reality of what just happened.
“We’re engaged,” Bianca says wonderingly as I unlock the front door. She hasn’t stopped staring at her ring since I placed it on her finger. “We’re actually engaged.”
“Having second thoughts?” I tease.
She scoffs. “Never.” She turns to face me, her engagement ring catching the hallway light. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The kiss that follows is soft at first, tender and full of promise. But it quickly deepens as months of love and desire and the euphoria of our engagement combine into something urgent and necessary.
“I need you,” she whispers against my lips, her hands already working at the buttons of my shirt.
“Always,” I tell her, lifting her easily and carrying her toward the bedroom. “For the rest of our lives.”
I don’t bother turning on the lights as we go. I’ve lived here long enough to find my way in the inky shadows that blanket the hallways. When we arrive at my bedroom, I open the door with my foot. Then, in a few long strides, I cross the space and deposit her onto the bed.
“Clothes off,” I order her, even as I reach for the buckle of my belt.
“Make me,” she says, smirking at me as she looks up at me from the mattress.
It’s a sight I can get used to. Even in the dimly lit room, I can see the flush on her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes. The engagement ring sparkles in the moonlight. She doesn’t need to disrobe for me to imagine her naked, spread across my sheets or curled under my covers.
Is it too soon to ask her to move in? I mean, we are engaged now so it’s not like shecan’tmove in. After all, when she was in the hotel penthouse, we were basically living together anyway. Myfantasies are interrupted by her hands covering mine, or rather shoving them out of the way as she undoes the button of my pants.
“No,” I say, stilling her movements.
When she looks up at me questioningly, I say, “It’s my turn.”
Without waiting for her to say anything, I guide her back onto the bed and flip the skirt of her dress. She’s bare beneath—goddamn—glistening for me. It makes my mouth water, and really, why should I deny myself any longer? I descend into the apex of her thighs like a starving man, my mouth on her pussy eager and wanting. My tongue dips between her folds to sample the slick juices that leak from her.
Bianca’s fingers thread through my hair and she holds me in place as she undulates her hips, chasing her pleasure as she grinds against my face. I manage to tear myself away from drinking from her long enough to purse my lips around her clit, my fingers taking the place of my tongue.
It doesn’t take long for her to fall apart as a result of my actions. I’ve always considered myself to be an attentive partner. The orgasm I deliver with my fingers and mouth leaves her boneless. She doesn’t even protest when I tear the dress from her and toss the tattered remains of the garment to the side of the bed. I’ll buy her another.
Fuck me, she isn’t wearing a bra.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I manage to get out, my cock straining against my underwear.
Bianca laughs throatily, looking up at me through her lashes. “I was hoping we would skip dessert at the restaurant and have dessert here,” she says cheekily.
My cock jumps and I lean forward to capture her nipple in my mouth. I don’t bother with my own clothes now. I’m too desperate to be inside her. In a few short seconds, I take my cock from my boxers and push into her in one fluid stroke.
A strangled cry escapes Bianca at the suddenness of it, at the way I split her open with no warning. And still, she clearly welcomes it. Her thighs bracket my waist to hold me close to her. Her heels dig into my ass to urge me forward. Her nails leave red tracks down my back, bringing pain that I revel in. When she digs her teeth into the muscle of my shoulder, I groan my approval. I love that she leaves marks and wants to show me off as hers.
The pain also grounds me, allowing me more control over my own body. If the sheer euphoria of fucking her was all that existed, I wouldn’t last more than a minute. I’m not embarrassed by this admission. I don’t think anyone who has had her could feel differently. As it is, this push and pull between pleasure and pain lets me keep my orgasm at bay. It causes the ecstasy to build in a slow crescendo, rather than crash over me abruptly. By focusing on the stinging, tender flesh of my back, I fuck her through another orgasm.
