Page 130 of Thorns of Death
I watched in fascination as a blush crept up her neck, turning her porcelain skin into a shade of pink. She turned her face sideways, her lips finding mine.
“Let me guess,marito,” she murmured, her lips moving against mine. Fuck, I loved when she called me husband. “You want to play with my ass.”
My cock immediately responded, turning rock hard and pushing against her ass. “Only if you’re up for it,” I grunted, painfully aroused.
She leaned back, her small frame pushing against my front. She was watching me with so much trust in her eyes that it had my heart twisting in my chest. I’d rather cut my dick off than break that trust or see any resentment in her gaze.
“Pick up the violin,amore, and tell me how it feels.”
She picked it up reverently, as if she was scared it’d break, and placed it on her shoulder. The awed expression on her face and the shimmering of her eyes was addictive to stare at. It reminded me of how she looked when she came around my dick.
“Gosh, it’s just so perfect,” she gushed. “I’m scared to even touch it.”
“You will play it, no?” Signore Paganini encouraged, coming back to join us at the perfect time.
Isla nodded, picked up the bow, and the moment the first note left the string, my chest shook with the beauty of it. Paganini must have felt the same, because he watched her with a mesmerized expression.
My wife was right. When she held a violin, she was at peace. I saw it that day at the Philharmonie de Paris, but up close, it was even more mesmerizing. Almost heart-wrenching.
The last note left the strings, and it was as if she’d woken up. Paganini discreetly wiped a tear from his cheek, and I realized I was the luckiest man alive.
“So you like it?” I asked her, although I already knew the answer.
“I love it.” She turned to face me, rose on her toes, and pressed her lips on mine. “And I love you. Thank you so much.”
“Prego,amore mio.” My nose brushed against hers lightly. “I’m going to need to hear your words of love at least twenty-four times a day.”
She frowned. “That’s oddly specific. Why that many?”
“Once for every hour of the day.”
She grinned, glowing. “It’s a deal. Now let’s go home.”
When I brought her home, she dragged me to the cliffs and played her new violin as the waves crashed against the shoreline.
It was the happiest I’d ever felt.
FORTY-FOUR
ISLA
It was all well and good to offer him my ass while we were in the music store, but now that the night had descended, nerves danced through me.
Dressed in a short skirt that barely covered said ass, knee-high stockings, and a white blouse I’d wrapped high around my waist to expose my flat belly, I was dressed to please my husband. I had done my hair up in high pigtails and donned high heels on my feet.
Where might I have found such a scandalous outfit? Well, it wasn’t easy. I’d had to text Enzo to steal one from one of his girlfriends from school. When he questioned me about what I needed it for, I told him it was for charity. Not exactly the highlight of my stepmotherhood.
So here I was, looking like a very slutty high schooler.
I paced around the room, waiting for Enrico to come up to our bedroom. The French doors that led to the balcony were open, the breeze carrying the sound of the waves.
Reaching for my phone, I slid it open to find another message from Illias, along with a bunch from my girlfriends. My heart twisted, as it always did lately, when I thought of my brother. I wanted to understand. I wanted to forgive. Yet, without answers, I found myself unable to move forward.
My finger hovered over his name and I slid the message open.
Isla, please come home. Tatiana is here. We’re family.
The message was sent six hours ago.
