His eyes instantly turn heated, and my core pulses with renewed need. “I don’t know about you, but that only took the edge off for me.” He grinds his hips into my stomach, and a shiver works its way through me at the feel of his hard length pulsing against me. “I have never gone bareback before, and there are no words to describe how amazing it felt to be inside you with no barrier.”
I run my fingers up over his shirt-covered chest, popping a couple of buttons, revealing some of his toned, tan, inked flesh. “I’m dying to explore your body. I want to see your tattoos.” My eyes penetrate his. “All of them. I want to lick each one and every inch of your skin.”
Without warning, he scoops me up into his arms, carrying me across the gravel at rapid speed toward the front door. “What are you doing?”
“Something I should’ve done the first day I brought you here.” He stops at the door to plant a feather-soft kiss on my lips. “I’m carrying my bride over the threshold, and then we’re going to christen every room in our house, if she has the stamina for it.”
My heart swells to bursting point while liquid heat gushes to my core. I don’t know who I’m becoming, or what I’m doing, but all I know in this moment is I want this man and everything he is offering. Nothing has ever felt more right. “Trust me, she has the stamina,” I reply with confidence.
“That’s my wife,” he softly says, nuzzling my neck, before he hurries me inside the house to make good on his promise.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Catarina
My limbs ache deliciously as I wake the next morning, tangled in the sheets and my husband.
My husband.
For the first time, those two words don’t inspire scorn or ignite rage or invoke helplessness.
My husband.
A fluttering sensation churns in my chest, and my heart swells behind my rib cage as I look over at him. An unfamiliar protective, possessive urge swirls around me as I stare at his sleeping form, and I am terrified of how quickly he is changing me and the implications of what that may mean for my plans.
I am so conflicted. Torn already at the thought of doing anything to hurt this man.
My husband.
Pain settles on my chest, pushing down on me like a ton of bricks, constricting my air supply and making breathing difficult. Before I suffer a full-blown panic attack, I consciously focus on inhaling and exhaling, drawing air deep into my lungs and feeling it fully in my core, until the slumbering anxiety has passed.
Glorious buttery sunshine filters through the gap in the curtains, casting Massimo in a glowing light. He is still fast asleep, turned toward me on his side, his arm curled around my waist and his leg thrust between mine. Propping up on one elbow, I peer at him as I recall our frenzied sex marathon last night.
We were insatiable for one another, fucking our way from the hallway to the living room, then on to the kitchen, before making our way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes and bodily fluids along the way. We thoroughly indulged all our pent-up frustration, and it was the most mind-blowing experience of my life.
Sex has never been so good.
I have never come so hard and so many times, and I’m in awe of how perfectly we fit together. Not once, did I think about Carlo or my vengeance plan when we were enjoying one another.
It was all about pleasure.
Mine and his.
I’m squirming as I remember how incredible he felt moving in my pussy and my mouth, and I can still taste him on my tongue.
Intense desire twists in my belly as fresh need throbs down below. I am so screwed. I was truthful when I told him how scared I was last night. I’m even more scared now because I know I won’t be able to take any of it back.
The scariest admission of all is that I don’t want to.
I want this, and I refuse to consider the consequences.
I don’t want anything to rain on my parade.
I have never known anything good in my life, and it doesn’t feel selfish to want to keep this man.
Resting my head back on my pillow, I close my eyes as deep-centered pain flays me on the inside. What am I doing, and how the hell can it end well? I don’t have the answers to my questions, and I know what I need to do. I need to talk to Nicolina, and I must clean up before the housekeeper arrives, but it’s hard to tear myself from this bed.
Opening my eyes, I turn on my side. My heart beats to a different rhythm as I examine my gorgeous husband while he sleeps. Air trickles from his slightly parted lips, and his chest inflates and deflates as he breathes deeply. My eyes roam over the multitude of tattoos covering his arms, chest, and back. Tattoos I have been up close and personal with. My fingers twitch with longing, and I’m tempted to peel the covers back, kneel between my husband’s thighs, and take his morning wood into my mouth.
