Page 47 of His Vow
“I wish we could stay too,” he says, nuzzling into my neck. It tickles, and my shoulders pull up to my ears. His lips explore new pathways down my neck, and I melt beneath the caress.
These five days have been perfect—the best I can remember. Filled with moments I’ll never forget. Like the press of his tongue on my clit, the hungry kisses he’s peppered over every inch of my body, and the delicious tenderness between my thighs. It’s changed everything. I’m Antonio Barbieri’s wife in every sense of the title.
Every whimper, every gasp, and every orgasm belong to him and only him. I thought I knew this man well, but never like this. Never with lust-filled, smoky eyes pinning me to the bed as he thrusts into me.
I never imagined that one man could consume my every thought, leaving no space for anything but him. His touch. His taste. Ant has become my lover and there’s no going back to what we were before. Returning to separate rooms at the hotel in Florence or, in reality, our separate lives doesn’t seem possible when I now know how good we are together.
I want more, and I’m going to fight to get that. I place my hands on Ant’s bare chest and rest my chin on them. His hand landing in the center of my back with the heat of a branding iron.
“I guess it’s time we talk about how this marriage is going to work,” I say, peering at him through half-shuttered lids.
A wrinkle forms between his brows. He’s as confused as I am about what comes next. “How do you want it to work?” he asks, and his palm traces a path down my spine to my bare butt cheek. The warmth of the possessive touch makes my body sizzle and my next thoughts jumble.
I want my husband to love me half as much as I love him, but I don’t dare say the L-word, because I’m not sure he’s there yet. It would hurt too much to hear him repeat that he loves me as a friend.
My bravery to have this conversation wavers as I lift my head. “Well, first, I don’t want to sleep in a separate bed from myhusband. I’d like to wake up next to you in the mornings,” I say, while circling a finger on his chest.
“Definitely doable. I like the way you wake me up.” He waggles his brows suggestively.
I swat him playfully on the chest before continuing, “And I’d like you to take me on date nights.”
“It would be my pleasure.” The cheeky grin I adore stretches wider. “What else?”
“Sex. I want sex with my husband. Lots of it.”
“W-w-well …” His head tilts like he’s seriously having to consider this point, and I slap him lightly.
His deep, rumbling laugh fills the room again like thunder announcing a coming storm. I get my wish, except this time, it’s better because he lifts his head to seal his lips to mine, and I capture some of it in my mouth. The kiss is passionate, satisfying, and totally off topic. But right as I think our conversation is over, Antonio pulls back. His eyes bluer in the bright morning light as his gaze holds mine.
“I definitely want to keep making love to my hot, sexy wife. In our bed or any other nearby flat surface, for that matter,” he says, reminding me of last night when he splayed me out on the dining table and fucked the breath from my body.
“Making love?” I ask, liking the sound of that.
In the blink of an eye, I’m flipped onto my back, and Antonio hovers over me. “Lucia, what we’ve been doing here is not just sex.” His brows pull down low. The laughing man of a moment ago long gone. “Do you know what I want?”
I shake my head, my mouth gaping in stunned surprise.
“I want a real marriage. No more faking it, because I’m fucking crazy about you. Obsessed, even,” he growls. All of his words make my body hum with desire. It’s not the L-word, but obsessed sounds like a damn good substitute.
My hands snake up the firm ridges of his chest and over his shoulders to link back together behind his neck. “I want that too.”
The kiss he places on my lips this time is soft and sensual, a light brushing that has me reaching for more. But he lifts his head higher. “Come with me to New York this week. You know I need to be there for these contract negotiations, but I hate the thought of being away from you for possibly weeks.”
“New York, hmm. I think I can. My next runway show isn’t for a few months.”
“Great,” he roars, and his smile shines brighter than the sunbeams now hitting us at thigh level.
In one deft movement, Ant hooks my leg over his arm, spreading me open. His cock already nudging my entrance, slipping in. Sliding home.
“This is making love,” he murmurs close to my ear, where he’s placing kisses that tickle with each brush of the scruff on his jaw against my soft skin. “Am I too scratchy?”
“N-n-never,” I stutter, before the air whooshes from me with another firm thrust of his hips, shifting me up the mattress.
Everything about my husband steals the breath from my body. My heart races and my core clenches as, again, I chase my next orgasm.
***
New York
