Page 71 of His Angel

As he inches back a little, a wicked grin curves at his mouth. “Now, you have a choice to make, Mrs. Del Rossa.”

My heart leaps when I hear him call me that for the first time. “And what’s that…Mr. Del Rossa?”

He backs me up against the wooden post of the canopy, his eyes predatory.

“I can carry you to the villa and lay you down on silk, touch you, caress you, make love to you,” he presses a kiss on my collarbone, “worship you until you break apart for me,” he kisses along my jaw, “then we can fall asleep in each other’s arms as husband and wife. Or,” his lips hover close to mine, his breath warm, and voice low, “I can give you my cock right here—rough, hard, and make you come, make you scream while the moon, the stars, and Mother Nature herself watches me fuck you.” He nuzzles his nose against mine. “How do you want it, wife?”

My body’s already fire for him, my core quivering with anticipation. Between the passionate ceremony and our heated kisses, desire is a dangerous undercurrent tugging at me. I feel it in the arch of my back, the quickening pulse in my throat, the hitch in my breath.

Most women dream of their wedding night being romantic, slow, a worship of bodies. But not me. Not with him. We’re just…different. Our love is different. Our passion is different. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I wrap my arms around his neck, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth. “Prove to Mother Nature I’m yours.”

His approval vibrates up his throat, his eyes flashing with fiery desire. And as he pins me against the wooden post of the canopy, his lips crash into mine with a savage hunger that rips a desperate moan off my tongue.

I claw at his shoulders as he yanks off his suit jacket, my nails digging through his shirt's fabric. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, fucking it with a brutal rhythm that makes my clit pulse, and I taste the raw need in our kiss, fueling us, making us wild with want.

He licks up my jaw. “Tell me you’re not attached to the dress.”

“I’m not attached to the dress.”

He rips at the bodice, the lace tearing with a sharp sound as he exposes my tits, his fingers pinching my nipples so hard I cry out, the pain shooting straight to my dripping cunt, then taking the hardened peak into his mouth—tongue flicking, rolling, sucking until my I’m squirming against him.

“I can smell how wet you are for me.” He yanks my dress up, the slit splitting wide, and tears my panties off, the lace shredding in his grip, and I’m bare for him, my thighs slick with my arousal as he drops to his knees.

I’m all whimpers and moans as he spreads my pussy lips wide.

“If your cunt were poison, I’d still eat it.”

I cry out, his mouth hot on me as he flattens his tongue over my pussy, licking up and down my slit with quick, hard strokes.

He’s not gentle. He’s not patient. He’s a starved man indulging, tongue plunging deep with a ferocity that makes my entire body quake.

I grip the post, my knuckles white, my head thrown back as he sucks my clit hard, and I scream, the sound echoing through the clearing like a primal call.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven, Mrs. Del Rossa.” His voice is a guttural rasp against my skin, and he grips my thighs, spreading me wider, his fingers bruising as he buries his face deeper, his tongue fucking me faster, harder, while his thumb rubs my clit in vicious, tight circles.

My body shakes, my pussy clenching around his tongue, and I pull his hair, yanking, grinding against his face as I chase the pleasure, my moans raw and filthy, the fairy lights blurring into streaks of gold.

The stubble of his beard scratches against my inner thighs, a contrast to the softness of his mouth against my slick folds, sends shivers coursing downward.

I thrust against his tongue, nails digging into his scalp, moans spilling out, and my release starts to build in my toes, trickling up, my body nothing but sensation.

“Isaia, I’m going?—”

“Don’t you dare.” He’s on his feet and picks me up, wrapping my legs around him. “The first time you come as Mrs. Del Rossa will be on my cock.”

Roughly, he takes us down onto the grass just beyond the platform, the petals scattering beneath us like a bed of sin.

The grass is cool against my overheated skin, the blades slick with dew, and I rip at his shirt, my hands frantic as I tear it open, buttons flying, my nails raking down his chest, leaving red welts as he shoves his pants down, his cock springing free, thick and throbbing, leaking precum that I want to lick off.

The sky above darkens, clouds rolling in with a rumble of thunder, and I feel the first drops of rain on my skin, cold against the fire burning inside me. Lightning flashes, illuminating his face, his eyes wild with a primal need that makes my pussy clench.

Wrapping his fingers around my knee, he yanks my thighs farther apart. “You want my cock, wife?”

“God, yes,” I gasp. “Please…” My response is cut off as he plunges into me in one swift move, filling me entirely. A strangled cry wrenches from my throat as I arch against him, the stretch both achy and divine.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he breathes. “Your cunt is so tight… so wet…” His voice is thick with lust, the sounds that come from his lips nearly indecipherable, lightning reflecting in his eyes as he pounds into me.

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