Page 42 of Finn

“We’re going to take a nap, then you’re going to sit on my face so I can eat you out again before I fuck you from behind.”

“Jesus Christ, Finn. You’re so damn bossy.” Alessia releases a tired chuckle but doesn’t object to my plan.

“I told you I had every intention of living out every one of my fantasies. Now rest up. You’re going to need your energy.”

She tries to lift her body from mine, surely so she can tell me to go fuck myself, but I tighten my grip around her waist, and she settles.

“Brute,” she says with a huff.

“You fucking like it.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I peer down at her. Her eyes are closed while a small smile plays on her lips.

Yeah, she isn’t going anywhere.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of sex, insults from my lovely wife, and more sex.

We finally make it downstairs around eight at night to scrounge up some food. The house is quiet, not surprising since I told my men we weren’t to be disturbed. Even my phone wasn’t ringing off the hook, which is a damn miracle in and of itself.

Alessia grabs a bunch of ingredients from the fridge and pantry so we can throw together some sandwiches. She makes one for herself and takes a big bite.

“You’re not going to make one for your husband?” I ask, watching her lick the mustard from the corner of her mouth. Goddamn, I need her to do that with my cock.

“You have two hands.”

“You know,” I start as I take some bread from the bag and place it on my plate. “You were a lot less mouthy in my fantasies.”

Alessia shrugs and swallows her mouthful. “That’s your problem. It’s not like you didn’t have a good idea of who you married on our wedding day. What about me says I’m the cook for my man type?”

“I’ll give you that, but a sandwich is hardly cooking. I assumed I was marrying a proper Italian woman who liked to cook.”

“That’s what you get for assuming. You married an Italian woman who likes to eat. The cooking we left to the staff or my mother.”

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

Alessia narrows her eyes and glares at me. “Depends. Do you like having your dick attached to your body?”

“I’m fond of it there. And so are you.”

I lean over and risk a kiss from the annoyed woman in front of me. She obliges, and it only takes seconds for me to forget about my growling stomach. I turn her back to the counter and lift her, setting her down and stepping between her spread legs before she wraps her limbs around me, never breaking the kiss.

Just as I’m about to rip her shirt down the middle so I can see her tits bounce in my face, my fucking phone starts vibrating on the marble counter next to me.

I look down and see Cillian’s name flash on the screen. Dammit. I’d love to ignore the call and continue with my plan for Alessia’s body and this countertop, but Cillian doesn’t generally call unless it’s important.

“Yeah,” I answer after the second ring.

“We have some movement on Cataldi. Thought you might want to know. One of our contacts saw him downtown, heading into a strip club.”

“Fuck. Did they see him leave or know if he’s still in there?”

“Says they haven’t seen him leave yet.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you at your place.”

I disconnect the call and look at my wife.

“You have to go,” she says. I don’t miss the disappointment in her voice. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bring me a small sense of delight, knowing she doesn’t want me to leave.

---