He leans down and kisses me. His lips taste of me. For a moment, I lose myself in him. In his kiss. Then I feel him nudging at my entrance. Pressing inside me. One inch, and then another.
He rocks gently, pushing in and then retreating. Yet more teasing, but at least he’s giving me a chance to adapt to his size.
“Good girl,” he purrs as he presses in deeper. One hand cups my breast, kneading my flesh, distracting me from the burn of taking him.
When he’s fully seated inside me, he pauses. From the tension in his body, and the way he hovers over me, he’s on the edge. Just like me.
Angelo is now my husband in every sense of the word. It hasn’t escaped my notice that after more than a year, this is us finally consummating our marriage.
It’s a big step. For both of us.
“Move,” I grit out when he carries on staring down at me with an unfathomable expression.
He smiles before doing exactly that, lifting my hips and powering into me so hard it feels like I might never walk again.
My nails dig into his back, breaking the skin, and he hisses but doesn’t slow down. Harder, faster, angling his entry perfectly so he rubs my clit with each roll of his hips.
I fall apart with a scream, losing myself in a rush of pleasure so powerful I almost black out. Angelo pumps into me a few more times and then follows me over the edge with a low groan.
Heat blooms inside me, and too late, I realize we just had unprotected sex.
Fuck.
Maybe the kids I mentioned earlier will arrive sooner than I thought.
38
Chiara
Iwake with my face pressed against a slab of warm muscle. Angelo’s arms wrap around me so tight I can’t move, and with our legs entwined, it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins.
After months of enforced physical distance between us, my brain struggles to make sense of what I’m experiencing.
He’s hard, a thick, hot length caught between our bodies. Pulsing lightly against my abdomen. The space between my legs feels tender, but I can’t help wishing for a repeat of last night.
Or was it this morning? It’s hard to tell because Angelo has blackout blinds and I can’t see a clock.
My head aches, and my neck and cheek are sore, but surprisingly, I’m not hungover. At least not hungover to the extent I would have expected given how much wine I drank.
I need to use the bathroom, but when I try to extricate myself from Angelo’s grip, he grumbles and refuses to let me go.
“No.” Dear Lord, he sounds like a fractious toddler.
“I have to go pee.”
He sighs and relaxes his iron grip on me before rolling onto his back, still half asleep.
Just as I’m about to slide out of bed, the door bursts open. Kane storms in and slams to a halt. He looks first at me and then at Angelo. I yank the sheet up to cover my exposed breasts, which is stupid because Kane’s seen everything, and I refuse to feel ashamed for fucking my husband.
“Well,” he says with a faint smirk while crossing his arms. “This is unexpected.”
“Did you need something?” Angelo snaps. “If not, kindly fuck off.”
Kane’s expression dims. “As much as I hate to interrupt such a momentous occasion…” He seems almost pleased that I’m in bed with Angelo, clearly sex-rumpled, which is strange. “…I can’t get hold of Matteo.”
Angelo snaps into business mode. “Have you tried Fina?”
“Yes, but her phone is switched off.”
