“I know.” A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, a new confidence in her eyes that I haven’t seen before. “But this is where it all started. You and me. The chess games. I want one more before…” She trails off, her cheeks flushing pink.
Curiosity outweighs my impatience. I retrieve the board and pieces, setting them carefully on the rug between us as I sitacross from her. The fire crackles beside us, sending waves of heat across my skin.
“And what are the stakes of this game, Mogliettina?” I ask, arranging the pieces with practiced movements.
Her eyes meet mine over the board, a flicker of mischief in their blue depths. “If you win,” she says, her voice steady despite the blush deepening on her cheeks, “we’ll have sex.”
I smirk, reaching out to run my thumb along her lower lip. “And if you win?”
“We have sex.” The simple declaration, delivered with such innocent conviction, pulls a genuine laugh from me.
“A win-win proposition,” I observe. “I’m impressed, Piccola. You’ve learned to negotiate.”
“I had a good teacher.” She moves her first pawn forward, the traditional opening.
I counter with my own move, watching her face as she studies the board. Her wedding ring glints on her finger as she reaches for another piece.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, not looking up from the board.
“You’re mine to stare at,” I counter, my voice rougher than intended. “Mine to touch. Mine to take.”
Her breathy laugh is all the answer I get as we start trading moves for real. It’s nothing like the hesitant game we played the first time I suggested it. She’s still not a champion, but, fuck me, one day she will be. Especially if she continues to learn this fast.
Her breath catches, her fingers faltering on her bishop. She looks up at me through her lashes, a smile curving her lips. “Well, well, well,” she laughs, sliding her queen diagonally across the board. “Check.”
I glance down, surprised to find my king indeed threatened. I’ve underestimated her again, distracted by the swell of her breasts above her dress’ neckline, by the memory of how she tastes. I move my king out of danger, refocusing on the game.
“Better,” she approves, leaning forward to consider her next move. The motion gives me a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, and I wonder if the distraction is deliberate.
Two can play that game. I reach across the board, capturing her hand instead of a chess piece. Bringing it to my lips, I press a kiss to her palm, then to the inside of her wrist where her pulse flutters like a trapped bird.
“Raffaele,” she breathes, her pupils dilating as I trace the veins on her wrist with my tongue. “That’s cheating.”
“All’s fair in war,” I murmur against her skin. “And this is definitely war.”
She pulls her hand free with reluctance, returning her attention to the board. But her focus is fractured now, her breathing uneven. She moves her knight without her usual careful consideration.
I seize the opportunity, advancing my bishop to a strategic position. “Check,” I announce, watching her face as she realizes her error.
She frowns, shifting her king to safety. But the damage is done; she’s on the defensive now, and we both know it. Still, she rallies admirably, forcing me to work for every advantage.
Between moves, I steal kisses, light brushes of my lips against hers that deepen when she sighs into my mouth. Each touch grows more heated, more desperate.
By the time I back her king into a corner, her lips are swollen from my kisses, her hair falling loose from its careful styling. I capture her final defending piece, leaving her king exposed.
“Checkmate,” I declare, my voice hoarse with need.
She stares at the board for a long moment, then raises her eyes to meet mine. No disappointment there—only heat, anticipation, surrender.
“You win,” she whispers.
“We both win,” I correct her, reaching out to cup her cheek. “That was the deal.”
Her smile is radiant, transforming her face. With newfound grace, she rises to her feet, the white dress cascading around her. She steps around the chessboard, pieces scattering as her skirt brushes them aside.
“Undress me, husband,” she commands, her voice steady despite the tremor I can see in her hands.
The words shoot straight to my dick, hardening it painfully against the confines of my pants. I rise slowly, towering over her, enjoying the way she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
