Page 68 of Forced Arrangement

We’ve been traveling around for two weeks, checking off bucket list items as we go. I showed Angelo all of my old haunts and my favorite places in the UK for starters and then we picked from a list of other places we had always wanted to see. We were always going to end up in France, however, to make sure that I got to check off a big item on my list.

I lean against the railing of the Juliet balcony at our hotel and just stare at the Eiffel Tower in all of her glory. It’s so beautiful here. I can’t believe we are going to be eating in the tower tonight.

My mother and I had planned to visit the Eiffel Tower when we first fled to France, but we would never have been able toafford to eat there at the time, not when my mother was trying to hide our location from my father so carefully.

“It’s incredible,” Angelo says behind me, stroking a hand down my back and then leaning around to kiss the side of my neck. He pulls me backward into the room, partially closing the shutter-style doors onto the balcony. There are other buildings all around us and my heart races as he slips a hand into my yoga pants and tickles my most intimate self.

It might be the pregnancy hormones or the fact that we have gotten closer than ever over the past month, but I am instantly wet for him.

“What if someone sees?” I ask him, looking back at him in question as he slips my pants off and then tugs off my shirt.

“Let them,” he says to me, his voice a rumble in my ear. “You have to get dressed for dinner soon anyhow. I’m helping you out.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Oh, sure,” I say to him.

“Aren’t I?” he asks me as he dips two fingers inside of me and starts to work his magic.

I gasp and grab onto the shutters for purchase as my legs tremble and my insides turn liquid in response to his touch.

“We don’t want to be late,” he murmurs to me, and then I feel him step behind me. His hardness caresses my clit, as I arch back into him like a cat enjoying being stroked.

“Can’t have that,” I mutter back, tilting my head back.

He presses into me in one long thrust, wrapping his hand around my throat and sucking my earlobe into his mouth. He nips at it as he starts to thrust, his other hand coming up to cup a breast and squeeze it.

“Angelo,” I moan, arching my back to take him deeper. It’s always like this. I can never get enough of him. Within moments of having an orgasm, I just want him again. I wonder if it will always be this way.

“Good lord,Tesoro mio,”he says to me, allowing me to fall forward so that he can grab my waist as he pounds into me. “Good God, you feel amazing.”

My breasts sway as he fucks me and I look at the Eiffel Tower through lowered eyelids as the pleasure builds within me. I feel my orgasm hovering, but he abruptly pulls out of me and steps back.

I turn my mouth down in a frustrated frown, but then he catches my hand and twirls me around to face him. “I want to see it too,” he says with a teasing smile sucking my lip into his mouth and nipping it gently.

He deposits me on the little dining table in our suite of rooms, scattering napkins and the table runner all over. He steps in between my legs and thrusts inside of me right away, making me cry out and arch away from the table.

He grabs my hips again, sliding me toward the edge of the table and moving faster. He looks down at me with lust-hazed eyes, his glasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly.

“Come for me,Tesoro mio,”he says to me and reaches down to touch my clit.

I come apart instantly, arching and spasming on the table, grabbing the edge of it for purchase as my body crackles with pleasure.

“Perfect. Beautiful,” he says in Italian, before allowing himself to take his own release. He slumps over me on the table, catching himself with one hand as the pleasure shakes through him. His hair has grown longer as we have been traveling and it tickles my breasts, which grow more sensitive every day.

He presses a trembling kiss to the small mound of our child, growing in my belly and then looks up at me, his green eyes very bright.

“Do you think that it’s a girl or a boy?” he asks me. His cock twitches a few times inside of me, and I clench it with my inner walls companionably in response.

“I think it’s a boy,” I say to him. “Although I keep telling the universe that I also want to have a girl someday, I think it’s a boy.”

“Hello, little Castiglia,” he says to my stomach, before pressing another kiss to it. “Are you ready to go and eat at a Michelin-star restaurant, you spoiled creature?”

I giggle. “Good thing we are doing this now,” I say as Angelo rises and pulls out of me. He helps me to slither off the table and back onto my feet. “There is no way that a toddler would allow us to enjoy eating at the Eiffel Tower in peace.”

“You say that,” he tells me with a grin, “but I bet that we will have the perfect child.”

I roll my eyes. “If the amount of movement I am already feeling from junior here is any indication, I doubt that very much,” I say with a laugh.

“Come,Tesoro mio,”Angelo says to me. “We need to get dressed for dinner. I don’t think that they will let you in if you are dressed like Lady Godiva.”

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