Page 46 of The Proposal

“Dante,” she whimpers as the tips of her fingers begin to circle her clit.

“That’s so fucking hot.”

My eyes move down to her pussy as I coat the tip of my cock in her juices. I tilt back my head and groan as I slip the entire crown inside her this time. “Is this okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she breathes as her fingers move frantically and her eyelids flutter shut.

“Open your eyes, Arabella. I want you to watch me watch you.” She’s got an inch of me inside her, and is still very much a virgin at this stage, but one day I’m going to break through that barrier and what a glorious moment that will be. “Tu senti come paradiso, angelo(You feel like heaven, Angel),” I murmur as I begin to stroke my cock.

It doesn’t take long before I feel her inner muscles beginto contract around the tip of my dick. I’ve never been bareback inside anyone before.

“I’m … I’m?—”

“I know, I feel it.”

It’s so fucking good, and I can’t wait for the day when I get to feel that while I’m buried balls deep inside that snug pussy of hers.

My hand movements quicken. I’m right on the edge. I throw my head back and groan when my balls draw up. I’m going to blow my load inside her. There’s no way I’m pulling out.

She’s my wife.

Chapter 12

Arabella

Iflop back onto the couch, snatch up one of the home decor magazines I bought earlier this week, and aimlessly flip through the pages, looking for inspiration … for something.

I’m officially bored out of my brain. I have so much to do here, but my heart is not in it today. I’ve been on the verge of tears ever since I woke.

Today is my little sister’s birthday, and I can’t call her. I don’t know my father’s number, and Dante has been MIA all day, which is unusual for him. He leaves the house often, but never for this long.

I could text him and ask him to send me Papa’s number. I’ve become quite good at texting. My husband has been giving me lessons by sending me flirty and sometimes dirty messages throughout the day and prompting a reply. Externally, I am shocked by these, but internally, they thrill me.

We still haven’t gone all the way yet, but we continue to push the boundaries whenever we are together in that way. Dante seems reluctant to take things further, or maybe I’m just seeing things that aren’t there.

I think I’m ready. Nothing my husband has done so far hashurt—quite the opposite, in fact—but I’m still a little scared of the pain that losing my virginity might bring.

I’m not naive enough to think I’m his first. I’m sure there have been plenty of others before me, but I want to be everything they once were to him, and so much more.

I toss the magazine aside and stand, heading into the bedroom to retrieve my phone.

Me: Hi. What time can I expect you home?

Dante: Not sure. I’ve got a lot on today. Is something wrong?

Me: I’m just bored.

Dante: Don’t you have an entire house to decorate?

Me: I’m just not feeling it today.

I blow out a puff of air while waiting for his reply, but one never comes.

It’s late afternoon, and my husband still isn’t home. There’s been no reply to my last text message. I’m hurt by that, a touch angry, but also worried.

I’ve moved into the kitchen, and I’m now taking my frustrations out on some dough as I pound it into oblivion. I’m so deep in my thoughts that I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone suddenly rings, its shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife.

I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron and answer the call.

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