His answer to that is to use his clever fingers, slide them between my thighs to boldly cup my heated centre in a way that leaves very little room for argument.
Because I’m already soaked.
Already trembling.
All but ruined.
His jaw tightens visibly, and his eyes darken to savage, hungry pools I want to dive headfirst into. “Madonna mia,”he mutters. “You’re killing me.”
His thumb strokes my core once, grunts when I shudder wildly. Then again.
Slow and cruel. Then fast…faster…his nostrils flaring as the scent of my arousalrisesto engulf us both, shaming me into clenching my fingers into one shoulder.
“God…Gio!”
With one, two…three expert strums of my engorged clit, I shatter.
My cry breaks loose into his mouth as my back arches violently, my body convulsing helplessly against his hand, my climax tearing through me so hard my vision whites out.
He doesn’t stop touching me until I’m shaking, until I’m gasping and frantically attempting to catch my breath as my body sags bonelessly against his chest.
Only then does he still, breathing just as hard as I am, drag his fingers from my sopping centre, and his eyes fused to mine, brings his fingers to his lips.
My jaw sags in shock and some weirdly electric thrill as I watch Giovanni lick my release off his fingers, a guttural groan shaking from his torso as he brazenly tastes my essence. As his very rigid cock surges urgently against my stomach.
I’m not sure whether I’m more disappointed or vastly impressed by his willpower when he doesn’t move to impale me with his steel shaft, doesn’t simply take what he so obviously wants.
Consummate this marriage that’s been failing almost since the second we said I do.
Instead, he tucks wild strands of hair behind myear, kisses my forehead, then my cheek.
Then my mouth again, slow this time, devastatingly tender.
“We will consummate our marriage,” he says quietly, as if he’s privy to every single thought whirling in my head. “In our marriage bed. As we should’ve done on our wedding night.”
My eyes flutter open, and my heart begins to pound again, and no, I’m not at all willing to admit it’s because he’s just announced he hasn’t given up.
“Call me traditional if you wish.”
A weak laugh escapes me. “You’re a sadist.”
“Yes,” he agrees easily. “But I’m also your husband.”
I have no argument left.
A knock sounds at the door and I jolt violently. “Oh my God, untie me,” I hiss.
“No.”
“Giovanni.”
The door opens at his low-voiced prompt and Caterina enters, wheeling in a trolley heavy with silver domes, fresh flowers, and the scent of coffee so rich it makes my stomach turn.
My face goes up in flames.
“Good morning,” she says warmly, as though nothing about this situation is remotely unhinged.
I refuse to look at her.
