Page 76 of Borrowed Bride

Marco and I slowly move deeper onto the bed, barely allowing a second for our lips to be parted. There’s no heat thistime; at least not the heat that existed last night when we fucked like animals and clawed our way to orgasm like it was the last thing we could do on this earth.

No, this heat is different.

It’s deeper and sets my heart fluttering in my chest when Marco reaches under my shirt. My stomach twists into knots and I’m as giddy as I was during our first kiss which feels so long ago now.

“I want to take your clothes off,” Marco murmurs against my lips.

“Then take them off.”

He does exactly that, with such care that I feel like I’m on the verge of affectionate tears. Marco kisses every inch of my bare skin and chases the hem of my T-shirt with his lips. As each inch by slow inch is exposed to him, he kisses and nibbles promises into my skin, and it doesn’t stop there.

Every article of clothing is removed in the same way, like he’s worshipping every single bare inch of my body. He kisses softly, murmurs sweet praises against little bites he leaves around my ribs, kisses slowly near the softer skin of my upper arms, and then he’s down at my abdomen with his attention on my scar.

I’ve never been ashamed of the scar. Without it, I wouldn’t have Freya. But there’s something nerve-wracking about having him down there mapping out the silver line with his eyes. Before I can speak, he kisses one edge of the scar and then very slowly runs his lips along the twisted flesh right to the other end. Then he playfully nibbles and kisses softly.

“Beautiful,” Marco breathes against my skin, and my heart swells. Both hands fly up to my face and I have to fight not to cry. I didn’t need his approval or reassurance but it’s painfully nice to have.

With my eyes closed, I rely on touch to track Marco over my body and not an inch is left untouched. From my scar, he lowersto my pelvis and worships my thighs, my knees, and down my calves to my ankles. He kisses down one leg and then slowly up the other. By the time he’s back up near my face, my entire body is pulsing hot and my core is damp with need.

He kisses the back of my hands and gently pulls them away from my face. “Why are you hiding?”

“Because I’m almost scared to look at you,” I whisper. “Because sometimes this doesn’t feel real. Like I hit my head and I’m still back in that place, and this is a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” he assures me in the same soft whisper, kissing my lips softly. “This is our reality.”

When he enters me, he’s slow. While part of me craves the animalistic nature of our fucking, there’s something incredibly erotic about feeling his hard cock slide inside me inch by slow inch. It’s like I can suddenly feel every single detail of his length as he locks us together and holds me in his arms. We lie on our sides, arms around one another and legs tangled, staring into each other’s eyes.

When Marco’s hips move, he uses his grip on me for leverage and I do the same for him. We rock together like an erotic dance, using one another to help us thrust and rock. Occasionally, we roll over and whoever ends up on top takes control for a little while, but we eventually roll back onto our sides.

I never look away. I watch as pleasure blooms in his eyes, and he bites his lower lip as his cock twitches inside me. I swallow down his moans as we kiss slowly and he tastes the pleasure of mine.

Time becomes forgotten. Nothing else matters but our entwined bodies and the rhythm we can only find with each other.

We come together with noiseless gasps and pants, eyes locked as if we’re in the same cycle of pleasure. His cum floods inside me, a familiar warmth that I crave more each time Iexperience the sensation, and he gunts each time my pussy clamps down around his cock.

We remain like that, woven together like we are one and then tears spring into my eyes. I’m not sad. It’s an emotional moment and the most connected I have ever felt to another person. I can’t look away, scared that if I do, he will vanish.

So we stay together, lazily watching each other as our bodies pulse and twitch until blinks become lazy and slow, and tiredness sweeps us both into the land of sleep.

The next morning, I wake up all wrapped in the duvet and tucked up sleeping. Marco is missing from beside me which sends my heart fluttering painfully in my chest. Dressing quickly, I hurry through the building to Freya’s room. She’s still sound asleep and as I kiss her forehead, I realize just how early in the morning it is.

The sun isn’t even up yet. Marco probably just went to the bathroom. Feeling foolish, I trudge back to the bedroom, but low tones coming from the kitchen catch my attention. Curious, I walk over and peek inside to see Marco and Leonardo on opposite sides of the kitchen. They seem amicable at least, which is a surprise. Not wanting to intrude, I step away but not before Marco spots me.

“Gianna?”

“Sorry,” I say, flashing them both a quick smile. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy, I was just checking on Freya and passing.”

“It’s fine.” Leo shrugs one shoulder. “We weren’t discussing anything secret.”

“Leo was telling me about what he dug up on the Ricci’s. They really are a family from the dirt. Never been on anyone’s radar and we have no idea how they got on my father’s. Other than that, they’re exactly the scummy type of rats he would find if he wanted to sell someone.”

“Someone like Fawn?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Leo spits.

“So what are we going to do about him?” I step further into the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Marco sighs deeply. “Not until Emilia is safe.”

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