Page 121 of His Two Hidden Masks

I looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Bella Baci taste like heaven. Just like you, my love,” Dylan said. He winked and walked away.

My cheeks burned with emotion. He was proud of me. I heard it in his voice. He believed in my dream. He believed in me.

“I’ll be playing a few more songs tonight,” Dylan said. “I’m afraid I need to leave here soon and go make love to my wife.”

The crowd laughed. They loved him. He talked to them in between every song and played for another hour. I danced to every one of his songs. As my hips moved back and forth, I imagined his arms around my waist. I thought of his hands parting my thighs. I remembered the length of him pushing against me, pushing inside of me.

Seeing Dylan on stage doing what he loved made me want him more. With every breath he exhaled, my body answered him. This feeling was greater than desire. Dylan played the strings of my soul.

29

That night, Dylan and I slipped away to a room at Gritti Palace after the concert. I knew my friends had questions, but they would have to wait.

News of Strand’s real identity broke around the world. It eclipsed the story that Street Entertainment’s acquisition of Uzano Properties had also been blocked by a last-minute board vote spearheaded by Dylan Street and his wife, Isabella Uzano.

All the world wanted to know about Strand, and the only thing I wanted was to make love to my husband, but first, I needed him to get me out of my wedding dress.

“Leo said there was a ribbon,” I said as Dylan worked the buttons on the back of my dress.

“You are wrapped up tighter than a Christmas present, Mrs. Street,” Dylan said, his tone focused but playful.

“Pull it. Rip it. Fucking cut me out of this dress if you need to, and I never agreed to change my name.”

Dylan laughed, as he found the bow. The thick, silk-and-lace dress fell to my feet. He held my hand as I stepped out of the skirt, wearing nothing but a corset, lace panties, a garter, and stockings.

Dylan’s smile vanished as he looked at me. His dark eyes sparkled with desire.

“Thank you, Mr. Street,” I said, playfully spinning a strand of my hair. “I am your wife tonight, and I need you to come inside me.”

“My wife, tonight,” he said.

“Yes, tonight.”

With every word I spoke, my body opened more. His songs were our foreplay. My sex was wet with desire. The only thing I wanted was to feel his hard cock sliding into me and I wanted him now.

“Fuck, yes,” he said, lifting me in the air. He kissed me as he carried me to our wedding bed. The sheets cool beneath my body, I unhooked my corset and slid off my panties and stockings while Dylan unbuckled his pants and dropped them to the floor.

His coat, shirt, and briefs came off next. Watching him undress, my breathing grew shallow, my pussy aching with need. “Now?” I said, unable to look away from his gorgeous cock.

“Now,” Dylan answered. He crawled over me, first reaching for a condom. He slipped it on as he knelt between my spread legs before lowering his body onto mine.

His arms on either side of me, his hips just above my pussy, the tip of his throbbing cock at my entrance. I lifted my hips up as he slid inside of me.

“Ahhhhh,” I gasped.

We cried out with every thrust, unable to contain our passion. Our lovemaking was not a slow building fire, but a roaring flame that could not be controlled.

“Faster. Faster, please.” I raised my hips and spread my legs wider. He couldn’t be close or deep enough.

“Fuck,” Dylan said, eyes hooded as he drove into me stroke after stroke. “Fuck, yes. Fuck.”

I was so close to coming. The tension inside of me coiled and tensed, ready to unfurl. My head rock backed, eyes closed. I felt dizzy and tingling remembering the sound of his voice as he sang to me.

“Oh, Fuck, Bella,” he said.

My body tightened around his hard cock as he drove into me. My clit throbbed and pulsed, ready to explode as I remembered his words.

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