Page 79 of DeLucas After Dark

“Baby,” I say when he doesn’t move.

“Shhh…just want to stay like this for a minute. Buried deep in your heat. Your wetness all around me, your soft folds covering me, your walls quivering against me. Fuck!” Marco groans as his words torment us.

Marco shifts forward, digging deeper inside of me, rocking side to side. Large hands palm my breasts, mimicking the loving, tender strokes that I give his chest, twisting my nipples the same as I do his.

Rolling my hands up, I lock my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. My fingers pull on the ends of his hair as he leans into our heated kiss. Our bodies are connected at almost every point.

It feels good being solid with him the way we are. Our lips meshed, our chests melded, abs flattened against one another, hips rocking into each other, his dick thrashing my pussy, our legs locked in a deep intimate promise, and our feet sliding against each other walking through this passionate crescendo together.

Marco and I are one. In every way, that matters. Heart, body, soul, and name.

Being Mrs. Marco DeLuca is the best Christmas present I could receive.

When our orgasm crashes over us, his is a deep-seated growl emanating from his belly and tumbling up and out of his throat. Mine is a soft whimper and plea for mercy that begins in my core and spirals up and softly pours from my closed lips.

“You make loving you so easy,” he whispers against my lips.

“Loving you ain’t been bad at all either,” I reply, thinking about the two years we were together, the subsequent eight-year separation, and reunification for the last year and a half.

“Think you’re gonna want a baby sometime soon?”

“Whoa! Slow down, Mr. DeLuca!” I laugh, pulling my fingers through his hair.

He’s still lying on top of me, kissing my shoulders and neck. “We’re not getting any younger, Mrs. DeLuca.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’d like to enjoy married life for at least a year. Then we can try after my thirty-sixth birthday.”

“Works for me,” he growls, nipping at my bottom lip.

A knock sounds at our door.

“Who is it?” he growls.

“It’s me, Uncle Marco! Time to open the presents!” Bianca shouts through the door.

He groans. I laugh.

“Yep, that’s what you’re asking for when you ask for a family,” I smirk.

He hops up and smacks me on the ass as I roll over onto my side.

“Get dressed,” he grumbles as he gets up and grabs his underwear.

* * *

The house is redolent with the sugary and citrusy aroma of the chocolate panettone and pandoro from last night that’s being served this morning for breakfast, along with the rich aroma of the crab and artichoke frittata and the olive biscuits.

We ate the breakfast that my mother and father-in-law prepared prior to opening gifts, to my niece’s chagrin. It was delicious. There will be more baking this evening, skiing this afternoon, and a big traditional American Christmas dinner this evening, prepared by Paula, Mila, and myself with a little assistance from the other women.

We’re all still in our pajamas, mugs of coffee in our hands as we watch the kids open their presents in delight. They squeal and scream and run around, giving hugs and kisses to all of us as they discover what they have and who gave it to them.

My heart bursts, and I can’t help but think that, yes, I definitely want in. I want all the joy, excitement, and craziness that being in the DeLuca clan brings.

“Oh, look! Here’s a gift for you and Marco, Piper,” Mamma DeLuca says, pulling a large box from underneath the tree.

“It’s from Enzo,” I say, carefully taking the box from his mother.

My father-in-law says, “The don sends Christmas greetings and best wishes on your nuptials.”

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