Page 136 of King of Obsession

“The bike is still my favorite present.”

As if my engagement ring, his love declaration, and a future together weren’t gift enough once we returned to the compound, a black beauty waited for me next to his Lambo.

Looking back, the corners of my mouth arch up. As he was sure of me not being able to kill him, so was I that beneath the hurt, he still loved me. I wouldn’t call it endured, but what matters is we overcome the past. If the road doesn’t get bumpy, how will you learn to navigate life?

We make quite a pair at the traffic lights, me in all black on my beast of motorcycle and he in his black Lambo.

“All I have is yours. Not half, but all.”

I know. My husband doesn’t do half measured things.

“We should join the other guests. We’re poor hosts.”

“We should be on our way to our honeymoon,” he grumbles, sweeping me into another kiss and dance.

He doesn’t like to share me at all, and I love it.

One hour, that’s all the time my husband is willing to spend with our guests before he stands up, extending his hand to me. I take it and follow him to the limousine while the guests’ good wishes, cheers, and innuendo of returning as three explode behind us.

Tomaso dips his head, congratulates us, and opens the door.

The back of this car has witnessed some heavy sex scenes. The visual alone heats my blood and coupled with that sinfulvibe Enzo emanates, I swear it’s like my husband drips sex appeal and eroticism, placing a horny spell on me.

The driver puts up the partition before we even have to tell him. My husband drags me onto his lap, his palms cupping each ass cheek. He crushes his mouth on mine, feeding me his passion and promises of sinful carnality.

I am breathless by the time the kiss ends, and he brings his forehead down on mine. “I am barely holding on here and once I start…”

I know, but the wait is killing me while only stoking our desire until we’re burning up for each other.

Luckily, the driver brings us to the private hangar housing our private jet. An hour later, the plane lands on Catalina Island. We’re picked up at the airport and taken to the port where a sleek white yacht waits for us. The four-person crew, after greeting us and letting us know we would be underway to Hawaii in the next few minutes, disappears stealthily, giving us coveted privacy.

Leaving the upper deck, he brings me inside. Down the stairs, he opens the door to a spacious stateroom with a king-sized bed, a shiny closet with a big mirror, and a sleek floor with a marble shower stall in the corner.

Gathering me in his arms, I squeal as he carries me over the threshold, grinning. Then he places me down with utter gentleness. Turning me around, he slowly unbuttons the back of my dress.

His fingertips leave goose bumps behind while heating me up at the same time. The anticipation makes me a nervous and eager wanton mess.

He slides the straps off my shoulder. And since I didn’t wear a bra, I am left in only a white thong and stockings.

My husband grips the tattooed cheek, trailing kisses from my neck, down my back to biting into my ass.

“You’re cruel,” I whine, wanting him inside of me already.

“Let me worship the body I made mine and only mine. Branded, marked, tattooed…”

“You madman.”

“You turned me into one.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all, which only amps up my desire for him to take me, own my body and propel me straight in the arms of ecstasy.

I giggle. “No complaints, amore.”

“It would be too late, anyway.”

I love that slight threat, as if regardless of my wish, he would never let me go. And then both his hands and mouth are gone, leaving me hungry for more.

“What are you—” But I get my answer as he moves to the counter and returns with a sharpie. Pulling the lid off with his teeth, he completes his tattoo with wife, making me so emotional for the second time today. Tears gather in my eyes. I think I like it a tad better than woman.

I move to unbutton his shirt, but when I slip it off him, my movement comes to a halt. I look up into his eyes brimming with adoration. The tears I tried to fight off roll down my cheeks as I see the tattoo on his chest—Calla’s.

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