I’m barely down before I feel his eyes on me. Watching. Memorizing. There’s less fire in them now, more reverence. The kind of gaze that strips me bare in the softest, most terrifying way.
He peels off his shirt and my breath catches at the sight of him—shoulders broad, chest sculpted and inked, forearms roped with muscle. Everything about him is built for power, for violence. And yet, the way he looks at me now...it's not to devour, but to honor.
I don’t even realize I’m staring until I speak. “Why do you always look at me like that?”
My voice is quiet. A little teasing. But under it, something more fragile.
His mouth curves faintly as he undoes the button on his slacks. “Because I’m in love with you, Mrs. Marchetti,” he says, simple and certain.
And just like that, my heart stutters.
He steps out of his pants and climbs onto the bed, fully bare, one hand braced beside my head as the other drifts over my collarbone, then lower, mapping me like he’s relearning every line.
“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he commands. “I want to go slow this time. I want to feel you open for me.”
I do. Without hesitation. Because I trust him. Because every inch of me aches for this. Forhim.
He settles between my thighs, eyes locked on mine, dragging the thick length of his cock through my slick folds. Not pressing in. Just teasing. Letting the anticipation build, letting my body beg without words.
“You okay?” he asks, voice reverent now. Gentle.
“More than okay.” I reach up, thread my arms around his neck, and pull him down until our noses touch. “I want this. I wantyou.
He kisses me—tender in a way that makes me ache—and then he begins to slide in, inch by devastating inch, stretching me, filling me, like he’s claiming every part of me all over again.
His forehead presses to mine when he bottoms out, his breath shaky as he stills.
I can feel every inch of him—thick and steady, the subtle nudge of his piercings sending pulses of heat through my core. Each movement is controlled. Like he’s savoring the way my body gives beneath his, the way it opens for him, welcomes him back in.
My legs wrap around his waist, instinctive and possessive. I don’t want space. I want to feel him pressed as deep as he can go. He begins to move, hips rolling with reverence, like we have all day and nothing else exists. And every deep thrust makes me feel like more than just his wife. Like I’m sacred. His favorite thing.
His lips brush my ear, his voice raw. “Let me be the one who holds you together while I break you apart.”
The pressure coils tighter, unbearable, exquisite. “God,” I whisper, trembling. “You’re ruining me in the best way.”
His lips find my breast, tongue circling the sensitive peakbefore he suckles gently, then trails higher, along the column of my neck. Every kiss feels reverent, like he’s carving me into his memory piece by piece.
“You don’t know what it does to me,” he says against my skin. “Knowing you’re mine, letting me worship you like this. I want to hear every sound you make when you’re adored the way you deserve.”
My fingers slide into his hair, clutching tight, voice breaking. “Then don’t stop. Please, Enzo. Don’t ever stop.”
Pleasure seizes me in waves, rolling sharp and deep, my body breaking open around him as I cry his name into the kiss. He drives through the storm with me, a raw groan tearing from his chest as he pushes in hard, spilling into me with every tremor of his release, whispering my name like a prayer in the space between our mouths.
We stay there, tangled and gasping, skin damp and hearts hammering in the same uneven rhythm.
When he finally pulls back enough to see me, his fingers trace along my jaw like I might disappear, like he still doesn’t believe I’m real.
“I don’t want something fleeting,” he says hoarsely. “I want forever. With you.”
I smile, dazed and drunk on him, every inch of me full and buzzing. “Then you better keep fucking me like that.”
His laugh is wrapped in love. “Gladly.”
The silence after is warm and golden, not the kind that stretches awkwardly but the kind that wraps around us like a blanket. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his hand tracing lazy, reverent lines along my spine. We haven’t moved much—still tangled in each other, limbs heavy, our breaths gradually evening out.
A comfortable silence follows. I can feel the change in his breathing, the way his body tenses just a little, reluctant but restless.
“You’re thinking about leaving,” I say quietly, notaccusing—just knowing. It’s a truth I can feel in my bones, the shift in his energy, the distant edge that wasn’t there five minutes ago.
