“I like claiming your firsts.”
“I like claiming yours.” I can almost taste his smile.
“I want to wash you,” he says, but I shake my head, straightening up and turning around so I’m straddling his hips. “It’s my turn to take care of you.” I reach for the washcloth and dip it into the water to wet it.
“I had ulterior motives.” He flashes me a wicked grin, and my pussy clenches with need.
“Who says I don’t?” I bat my eyelashes in a deliberate manner, and he laughs.
“You are truly magnificent,” I say, pouring bodywash onto the cloth and soaping it up. “Keeping my hands off you is becoming problematic.” I rub the cloth around his neck and drag it down over his chest, washing him in slow circular motions.
“I fail to see the problem.” He grabs my hips, tracing circles on my puckered skin. “When you tell me, will you explain how you got these scars?”
“Yes, but not now.” I run the cloth lower, silently fist pumping the air when his abs tighten and roll at my touch and his erection solidifies under my ass. Rolling my hips, I gently grind on top of him, moaning as his hands glide up my body and his fingers flick at my nipples.
“Obviously not now.” He grins as he kneads my breasts, his caress softer than usual.
“I want to fuck you,” I say when my hand reaches his dick. Circling my fingers around his shaft, I stroke him the way he likes it.
“Ride me,regina. Take your cock and impale yourself on it.”
“Holy fuck.” I’m liquid lust as I abandon the cloth to the water and position myself over his straining cock. “Your dirty talk is such a turn-on.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Folding his hand around the back of my neck, he brings my face to his and kisses me passionately as I slowly slide down his length. We moan as I situate myself fully before sitting back to appreciate the moment. Massimo looks down to where we are joined, and his eyes are so dark with desire they’re almost pitch-black. “I know what you need,mia amata, more than you realize it yourself.”
Now I can appreciate the truth in his words.
“Tonight, we are going to go slow, but gradually you are going to relinquish control to me, and you’re going to love it.”
I am learning, when it comes to this man, there isn’t much I can deny him, irrespective of my fears. “What if I don’t want to go slow tonight?” I challenge him as I lift up and slam back down on his dick.
“Tough shit, babe.” He slaps my ass, and my pussy quivers. “I need to make love to you tonight. I want to worship every inch of your skin all night long.” He thrusts his hips upward, rotating his pelvis in a slow circular motion that has me seeing stars. “I want you to feel like a queen because you’remyqueen. You rule every part of me, and I willingly hand it over.” His eyes bore into mine as we rock against one another, our hips pivoting in sync, in a deliciously languid fashion. But it’s the raw emotion in his eyes that undoes me. The naked look of love in his gaze is unmistakable, and my heart beats in unison with his as the sentiment sends me over the edge, skyrocketing into a blissful orgasm that seems to last forever.
It’s the first of many that night as my husband again makes good on his word. After the bath, we dry one another, and he carries me to bed where he makes love to me over and over until we both fall into an exhausted heap.
I wake before him the next morning, enveloped in his arms and a deep sense of contentment I have never felt before. Rays of golden sunshine filter into the room through the cracks in the blinds, and it mirrors my mood. Even the thought of our impending conversation can’t put a dent in it.
I leave my husband sleeping, grab his shirt off the floor, and pad downstairs to make him breakfast. I love cooking for him, and he’s always vocal in his appreciation.
My exploration in the refrigerator and pantry doesn’t yield much of a bounty. I wish there were supplies to make fresh bread because Massimo loves it, but I can’t find any flour. Massimo clearly had someone drop off groceries, but the pickings are slim. I settle on eggs and bacon I’ll serve with the English crumpets I find in the bread box.
I am squeezing fresh oranges into a glass jug when the sound of approaching footsteps has me reaching for the knife at my thigh. I curse under my breath when I realize I came downstairs bare. Fiero enters the kitchen the same second I remember we are safe here and no one can get past the security at the gate or the front door.
“Will that stretch to three?” he asks, jerking his head at the skillet where the bacon is frying.
“I can make it work.” I haven’t had many opportunities to talk with Massimo’s best friend, and I want to get to know him. “Was Massimo expecting you this early?”
He nods. “Where is he?” He scrubs a hand over his prickly jawline. “Please tell me you haven’t killed him and stashed his body in the garden.” A grin spreads over his mouth as he takes in the knotty bird’s nest on my head and my state of semi-dress. “I would really hate to have to kill you.”
I pick up the knife I used to cut the oranges. “I’m pretty skilled when it comes to gutting men who piss me off.” I wave the knife at his face. “And I’m not much of a morning person, so I’d be very careful what you say to me next.”
He chuckles, dropping a duffel bag on the ground before heading toward the refrigerator. “I saw what you did to your first husband. I’d say your knife skills are top notch.”
“Massimo is sleeping,” I finally admit as I watch Fiero open the fridge door, remove a carton of milk, and chug it back. “We have glasses.”
“I’m thirsty,” he says after knocking back half the carton. He smirks, wearing a milk mustache like he’s five.
“And clearly not house trained,” I deadpan, setting the jug of juice aside.
