Her father hadn’t bothered her—my power and influence made sure of that. And as far as the nightmare? When I demanded a delay, a skirmish arose in Eastern Europe, and I was granted more time than we could have arranged. Loring’s debtor was coming. Someday. But for now, we existed in a happy little pause between storms.
And now in her element, the challenge was back in Amanda’s eyes.
It made me burn with pride to see it.
Slowly, she kicked out of her shoes. Her caramel-colored trousers dropped to the floor next. The jacket and blouse followed until she stood only in her panties and bra. I bit the inside of my cheek and fought the urge to rise. To go to her. To throw her over my shoulder and haul her sweet ass into the bedroom.
I gave her an appreciative look. She’d been eating well. The last few weeks made marked improvement in her color, and her flesh was starting to fill her out once more. I never wanted to see her so stressed that she became a shell again.
“There.” Amanda dropped the bra and kicked the underwear off her ankle. “Next?”
“Such a fucking smart mouth,” I growled and flexed my arms. The stitches were out, the flesh knit back together, though the scar wasn’t pretty to look at. “I think it needs to be filled.”
The soft gasp of anticipation shot through the air. My dick strained against the zipper, eager to participate.
Amanda took a step forward, but I held up a hand in warning. “On your knees.”
A laugh blew out her nose, but she obeyed. So complacent. She thought she was still in charge.
“Crawl.”
That order had her rearing back. Rebellion flashed in those bright blue eyes. She sat on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest again. This time, there was nothing hiding the way her tits pillowed, full and enticing on her chest.
“What the hell, Enzo? I’m not—”
“Crawl, fiore, or I’ll come over there and spank your ass until it’s red and tender.” My voice was ice. Hard and unyielding. “You won’t be able to sit for a week,” I promised.
For a moment, she considered me. I noted that she didn’t immediately balk at the idea of a spanking for punishment, and that made me groan under my breath.
Amanda dropped to her hands. Slowly, swaying her body, she made a show of crossing the distance on all fours.
I tried not to die inside at the sight.
My blood turned feverish with heat. Air clawed down my throat in uneven bursts. Every muscle strained to hold myself back. The sight of my wife on her hands and knees, prowling toward me, was forever burned in my memory. I would take that image to my grave.
Right before she reached for me, I barked, “Stop.”
She did. Her lips, painted a crimson red, twitched in a smirk. I leaned forward, gripping her chin in a vice, and pushed my thumb against those pillowy red lines. Paint smeared in a messy smudge over her chin, up on her cupid’s bow. The sight had my balls drawing up tight and heavy, ready to explode in my pants like some untried boy.
“Suck,” I rasped and pushed my thumb into her mouth.
The torture was exquisite.
Her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked hard on my finger. Her tongue swirled over it, stroking the way she would if it was my cock. I saw stars. I wanted my wife’s mouth wrapped around my dick just as badly as I wanted to sink it into her tight, wet pussy.
But first, there was another matter.
I pulled the strip of silk fabric from my pocket. Keeping my grip on her jaw, my thumb in her mouth, I rose and moved behind her. I tugged her upright, the smooth, lean back pressed against my front. Amanda shimmied, rubbing herself against me, tormenting my cock where it dug into flesh.
“Patience,” I murmured, dragging my thumb from her mouth. My fingers skated down her throat, squeezing tight for the briefest of seconds. “You’re going to show me how good you can be.”
The sound that escaped her could only be described as a mewling, strangled gasp.
“How much you trust me,” I added. “Because you do trust me, don’t you, fiore mio?”
My flower nodded. She swallowed hard, throat dragging against my palm.
I draped the cloth over her eyes, tying it tight. “Lay down.”
