Page 83 of Wicked King

He pushes in the remaining inches, and we release a sharp hiss in perfect unison as he settles deep inside me. I stretch around his cock, somehow accommodating his ridiculous girth. Once he’s in, I release the breath I’ve been holding.

Marco still doesn’t move, his body hovering a few inches above me. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you clenching your teeth?”

“Because you’re pissing me off.”

A deep chuckle vibrates above me, and I relax, a smile melting across my lips. “Dio, you’re going to ruin me, wifey.”

“I was about to say the same thing.” I tighten my hold on his ass and urge him on. “Just start slowly.”

He nods and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. His hips begin to move, and he inches out of me before easing back in. It’s a painstaking process, but soon the sting is eclipsed by the blossoming pleasure.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against my lips.

“Yes.”

“You sure you want me to keep going?”

“I said yes!”

He picks up the pace, and the brewing heat intensifies. His cock glides in and out, in and out—and I thought his fingers were good. There’s something about him being inside me, the connecting of our two bodies as one, and the significance of it all, that has my chest tightening with emotion.

What is wrong with me?

Heat springs to my eyes and despite blinking like mad, a tear spills over.

Marco immediately stops, panic washing over his face. “Fuck, did I hurt you? Is it the bullet wound?”

I shake my head, more tears running down my cheeks at the sheer terror in his eyes. Only it’s not just fear, but genuine concern, as if my husband truly cares for me. The realization has a sob building in my throat.

So I do what I always do when I panic. I push him off, spring out of bed, and race to the bathroom.

CHAPTER 39

YOU’RE IT FOR ME

Marco

As a newlywed, I never thought I’d spend so many nights on the couch. I stretch out my legs and my feet hang over the edge, only heightening my frustration. First, at the hospital and now, in my own damned home. I waited for Jia to emerge from the bathroom for half an hour last night before finally giving up and marching downstairs. At some point as I tossed and turned on the leather sofa, I heard her quiet footfalls across the loft.

At least she finally came out of the bathroom.

I haven’t heard her stir since. Even Yéye hasn’t materialized from his room, and he’s usually an early riser. Then again, it is only seven in the morning. But I’ve been up for hours. I’m not sure I can even say I truly ever slept. Besides my raging hard-on, I couldn’t get the look in her eyes off my mind. Like the sex actually meant something.

And it did. To me.

I’ve been with more women than I can count, and it never felt like that. Fuck, is this love? It’s been so long I’m not sure I remember what it feels like anymore. The craziest thing about all of it was that it was the most vanilla sex I’ve ever had. Hell, neither of us even came. And still, despite the awkward maneuvering, for those few blissful moments buried inside that warm pussy, it felt like I was finally home.

A home that belonged to me and no one else.

Being in foster care, I’d never had that. Not since I was a young kid and my mamma and nonno put Nico and me on that plane to America to find our father. Spoiler alert: things went to shit real quick when our father never showed up at the airport.

I bury the dark memories, reminding myself that Umberto Valentino wasn’t the bastard I’d spent my whole life believing he was. If it wasn’t for Dante and Luca sharing some old correspondence they’d found buried in our father’s boxes, I never would have known the truth.

Faint footsteps draw me from musings of the past, and my head swivels toward the spiral steps. Jia descends slowly, wrapped in a red silk robe with brilliant dragons embroidered across the material. Dark circles line the soft skin beneath her eyes, and they’re swollen and puffy as if she’s been crying.

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