Page 72 of Cage the Storm
I slide a hand between us, thumb circling her clit, and she screams out my name. Her walls contract, milking my cock, and I lose my rhythm. Just fuck her through it, grunting as her cunt pulses like a heartbeat.
She orders, “Come,marito.”Her nails raking down my back, drawing blood. “I want to feel it.”
My release tears through me like a tsunami, and when she clenches again, wringing every drop, I collapse with my face buried in her neck, both of us slick with sweat.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
LUNA
“Doyou have time to shower with me before you begin your day?” I ask, before my fingers glide along his back.
His smoldering gaze meets mine, and he smirks. “I should say no, but let’s be honest, when have I ever been able to resist you?”
The water is hot, just the way I like it. Steam curls around us, fogging the glass as Nico’s hands skim the curve of my stomach. His calloused palms make me burn for him. Pregnancy has turned my body into a traitorous bitch in heat. But here, under the spray, with his lips pressed to the nape of my neck, I’m just a woman. His woman.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, tilting my head to catch his gaze.
A lazy curve tugs at his lips. “You’re breathtaking.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest isn’t from the water. Breathtaking,ha. “I’m waddling like a duck and peeing every ten minutes.”
Nico hums, unfazed, his hands still tracing slow circles along my belly. “I don’t know. I think ducks are kind of cute.”
I flick water at his face. “Call me cute again and I’ll make sure our child inherits my stubbornness and my defiant tendencies.”
He chuckles, catching my wrist before I can splash him again. “Too late. She’s already doomed.”
I roll my eyes, but his fingers ghost along the curve of my stomach. “Poor kid,” I mutter. “She never stood a chance.”
We dress in silence, and while Nico is buttoning his shirt, his phone buzzes. I’m guessing Mateo. His jaw tightens; a telltale sign he’s ready to snap. I don’t ask because I’ve learned the hard way that he’ll tell me in his own time.
“Go,” I say, fastening my robe. “Before Mateo combusts.”
“You’ll rest?” His knuckles brush my cheek, waiting.
“I’ll consider it.” He catches my wrist before I can pull away, and then his mouth steals the very air from my lungs. The kiss is urgent and desperate, as if he’s trying to etch himself into my soul like he’s afraid I’ll suddenly disappear. Never.
“Try not to start any fires before lunch,” I say, twisting free of his hold. If I don’t, he’ll never leave. Mateo wouldn’t call unless it were important.
His laugh is a dark rumble. “No promises,amore mio.”
I wait until the door clicks shut behind him before my hand drifts to the sting between my thighs, still throbbing from earlier. The mirror doesn’t lie when I inspect the bite marks he left behind. I dress methodically in black slacks and a cashmere sweater that hides the swell of my belly. Soon, I’ll need to shop for maternity clothes since mine are getting too tight around the middle.
Our executive chef, Marco, blanches when I enter the kitchen. His knife stills mid-chop. I can’t wait until Laurent comes back from vacation.
“Theosso buco,” I say, leaning against the island. “You used veal from Calabria last week.”
He swallows. “Yes, was there a problem?”
I pluck a grape from the fruit bowl and roll it between my fingers. “I heard through the grapevine that their herdswere injected with antibiotics during the tariff disputes. Use Lombardy suppliers from now on.”
“But the cost.”
“Is unimportant compared to the food we put in our mouth on the daily.” I bite the grape and savor the sweetness.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Lombardy veal. Of course.”
By the time I reach the courtyard, Nico’s voice carries through his office window. “Burn the docks first,” I hear him say. I smile because lunch is hours away.
