Page 71 of Third Degree

“I wasn’t trying to sneak past you,” I retorted, crossing my arms in defiance. “I was just… making sure I got a piece of cake before it disappeared.” I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—frustration, longing, and an undeniable attraction to the man standing before me.

I could feel his presence as he stalked over toward me. He looked down with a glass of gin in his hand. The air felt as though it was sucked out of the room.

“I dropped my slice because of you…” I trailed off.

It was the only thing I could say right now without sounding like a total idiot, and even then, I sounded stupid.

“I’ll buy you the whole fucking bakery.”

His tone was low and smooth, and the warmth of his breath was so close to my mouth.

“What were you doing in your room?” he mused, the damn corners of his lips turning up into a smile. I could actually die from mortification. There was no way he heard me. No way. The rooms were separated by a wall. It wasn’t paper thin. Or was it?

“I just took a shower.” I started to nervously tug on my pajama bottoms, cursing that I didn’t bring a full zip-up onesie at this point.

“Uh-huh.” His hand lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. They had darkened and were now filled with burning-hot desire. “What did you do after your shower?”

“I have insomnia. After today, my anxiety got really bad, so I couldn’t get my thoughts to quiet down.” I could barely get the words out as he trailed his thumb along my jawline.

“Uh-huh,” he repeated. “So, when this usually happens to you, what helps?” His other hand pulled my waist tight against him.

“Usually, I like to garden,” I confessed, trying so hard to skirt around him.

“What else helps you?” My shirt was so oversized it had shifted, exposing my shoulder. He dropped his lips right to the curve of my neck and pressed a tantalizing kiss there.

“Drinking tea,” I coughed out, my voice raspy, and I could feel the same desire from earlier pooling in my shorts.

“If you don’t want me to lie to you, then I need you to not lie to me.” He lifted his head and looked me in the eyes.

“I am not lying.”

“Tell me the truth, Gianna. What were you doing inside your room just now? When you thought nobody could hear you?” His lips dropped to the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you do to yourself when you feel anxious, rosa mia.” He didn’t ask but also didn’t command. He just put it out there like it was a statement.

“I… touch myself,” I sheepishly admitted, feeling a flush immediately go to my cheeks.

“And when you touch yourself”—this time, he lowered his lips so they were only a fraction of an inch away from mine—“what do you think about?”

My heart quickened its pace, thumping against my chest as a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. My palms grew clammy with nervous perspiration, prompting me to rub them against my shirt in a feeble attempt to dispel the heat.

With a deep inhalation, I summoned the strength and resolve to find my voice. “You,” I confessed.

Immediately, his lips were on mine. It was like the kiss we shared at the end of the aisle, but better, if that was even possible. There was so much frustration and longing that had been pent up. Now, we could just be us. There were no barriers, except in our minds, stopping us from doing anything.

This was my husband, and I was his wife.

I seethed through the pleasure, “I am so fucking angry at you still.”

He forced my lips open, and his tongue shot inside. He explored the inside of my mouth as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted. His shirt was unbuttoned, and I could see the faded ink around his chest. Along the delicate fabric of my shorts, I could feel him hard and engorged as he pushed his hips against my thighs.

“I know, rosa mia. Be angry at me,” he murmured, peppering delicate kisses along my cheek until his lips reached the shell of my ear. “But if we start this tonight, I won’t be able to stop,” he whispered, his words holding a promise in the air.

“Elio,” I whimpered and allowed my arms to float up to his neck, where I pulled his head down, deepening our kiss. Instinctually, I could feel my hips grinding into his thighs as his swollen cock pressed against my stomach.

This moment, the culmination of my dreams, had occupied my thoughts for what felt like an eternity. I yearned to surrender myself completely, to offer every part of myself to Elio and him alone. In the past few months, I had grappled with the uncertainty of who would stand before me tonight. It had been a tumultuous and frightening journey, one that had shaken me to my core.

And yet, despite my overwhelming anger toward Elio and his deserving further penance, my body seemed to defy the protests of my mind.

I pushed into him, and now our mouths were fucking. I pushed myself into his thigh, rolling my hips against him.

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