Page 122 of Captured Fantasy

“My woman,” he breathed. “My wife.”

When I woke, it was almost noon and the bed was empty. I put on a silk slip and padded down the stairs to find the front door wide open. The house smelled of coffee and there was a plate of bagels and cream cheese on the table. I poured a mug of hot coffee and walked out the front door.

Cosimo sat on the porch, a cigarette in his fingers, and his eyes focused on the river. I paused in the doorway to admire him, knowing this was just the first of many mornings with him.

I didn’t think I would ever get tired of seeing his powerful body laid out like a resting cat. I’d never grow weary of tracing the line of his aquiline nose, over his perfect mouth, down his throat, and over the tattoos that decorated his torso.

All the way down to his cock.

He noticed me staring and his dark eyes lit up. He held out his arm and I went to him, allowing him to pull me onto his lap.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“Thinking,” he said.

“What about?”

He gestured out toward the river. “I used to want out of this life, but now I see how unhappy I would have been doing anything else. It’s in my blood.”

“It is,” I agreed. “You’re reckless, impulsive, cocky. And too good at what you do. The perfect combination for a made man.”

He put the cigarette to his lips. “For the first time in my life, I see the path forward. And I see it clearly.”

“Because of the position Lucien gave you?”

“No, because of you, Enza.” His fingers flexed against my back, curling around my waist. “And because if I don’t do this, then I’m nothing at all. Nothing but a man who failed his wife, his family, and wasted away his opportunity to make something of himself. A man like my father.”

“You are your own man, Cosimo,” I said.

“I am your man,” he said, and that familiar possessive burn filled his gaze.

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Are you?”

He bent, kissing my mouth and nipping my lower lip. “Do I need to remind you who you belong to, Mrs. Barone? Should I bend you over the railing and fuck your cunt until you’re begging me to stop?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir, I would like that.”

He stood up so quickly his coffee upset on the table. I gasped as he turned me around, pressing me over the railing. I heard him spit into his hand and his fingers were between my thighs, spreading his saliva over my skin. He pushed down the front of his pants and released his cock, his hot length hitting against my opening.

We gasped as one as he slid inside me.

We left that night for our honeymoon. Cosimo had balked at flying out of the country while he was so busy with work, so we’d decided on a private beach on Lake Huron. We were far enough away from civilization that we could enjoy swimming and sunbathing in private. The image of my husband rising from the glittering, blue water, fully naked and breathtakingly gorgeous, was burned into my mind forever.

On the fifth day of our honeymoon, I woke up to my timer going off to remind me to take my birth control. I sat there for a moment, the sun streaming in through the lake house window, and looked down at the box in my hand. It was the last thing left from my former life and in that moment it represented everything I wanted to leave behind.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Cosimo said, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Can I stop taking my birth control?” I asked softly.

He rolled over, blinking confusedly. “Of course. Did you want to start trying for a baby already?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but I was hoping maybe we could use condoms. Or we can just…casually prevent by pulling out. I know it’s not as reliable, but it doesn’t have to be right now.”

He took the box from my hand, tossing it across the room and into the trash can. “I never wanted you on it,” he said. “I thought you preferred preventing that way.”

A lump rose in my throat. “Gino made me take it and then I felt I needed to after…Federico started, you know.”

He flipped me onto my back, brushing my hair back. His mouth dragged over my throat, down to my breasts. Flicking his tongue over my nipples.

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