Page 39 of The Hitch
"Of course."
We load our emptied plates into the dishwasher and head up the stairs, both of our arms full with the bags of clothing and shoes. She helps me hang them in the walk-in closet and tuck the shoes into the organizer. I select a floor-length crimson maxi dress and quickly get changed, patting my hair back into place. I don't want to be some eye candy housewife, and I don't think Dante wants that either, but spending his money put me in anexceptionalmood.
I hear the door open downstairs, and Helena nods to me before exiting the room. After waiting a few seconds, I follow and find the three quietly chatting in the living room. All eyes snap to me as I descend the staircase. Dante doesn't say a word, but the look on his face could be either murderous or lust. Maybe both.
Roman clears his throat. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lyons."
"You, too," I say, still locked in a stare with my husband. Roman and Helena quietly leave, and Dante closes the distance between us.
Before I can say another word, his mouth is plastered over mine, invading my lips. I swear he has more than two hands—he feels like a dozen people as he grabs me, squeezes me, keeping me pressed against him in a vice grip.
He breaks the kiss long enough to graze the shell of my ear, making shivers and tingles race down my spine. "You look phenomenal, Melody."
I can feel his cock press against my stomach, still restrained by his pants. For some reason, that sends a thrill into the base of my skull.
"I got this dress in black, too." I smirk into his kisses. "Do you like it as much as the purple?"
"Hmm." He steps back and sweeps his gaze from head to toe. "Could be better."
"Tell me." I shrug. "I think it's pretty good."
"Well, for starters, the neckline is much too high." He snags my arm and pulls me close again. With his free hand, he grabs at the neckline of the dress and yanks. The fabric snaps and frays, sending a deep tear down the front. "Much better."
"You fucking animal," I growl. "Ilikedthis dress. You want me to just have my tits on display at all times?"
"It certainly wouldn't hurt." Dante nuzzles his lips into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. "Fuck, you smell divine."
"That's what happens when you have a happy wife." I lean into his touch. "You get a happy life."
"Is that so?" He guides me to the overstuffed sofa and sits down, taking me into his lap. "In such a case, I think I'd like to make my wifeveryhappy."
His hand trails a ghost of a touch up my thigh, pushing the dress out of the way, and I swing out my leg with barely any thought. I didn't even realize it until this very moment, but I'm fuckingthrobbingwith need. My breath catches in my throat as his fingertips inch closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.
"Would this make you happy, love?" Dante whispers, sending shivers down my spine.
I can't speak. I just nod, looking up at him with my deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Heat pools between my legs, and I fucking need it. I need his touch. I need everything.
Leaning back into the throw pillows, I let out a whimper and will him to read my mind.Touch me. Fuck me. Use me.
"What about this?" He smirks and repositions himself between my legs. The heat of his breath on my thighs has me clutching the cushion seams. Dante hooks my panties to the side with one finger and lets out a low groan. "Fuck, Melody. You're absolutely dripping."
He lowers his head and licks a devastatingly slow swipe with his flattened tongue. My eyes roll back in my head, and I can't stop the purr that rumbles in my throat. The man is disastrously good with his tongue. My hands clench around the sofa cushion with such force, I'm half afraid I might tear the damn thing to pieces.
But notthatafraid. My logical mind isn't home right now. No, all I can think—all I can feel—is how goddamngoodDante is at eating pussy. He's a fucking master. He should teach classes. Or maybe not, because then his attention would be pulled away from me.
He looks up at me over the swell of my belly, with his piercing green eyes laser-focused on me. Wrapping his lips around my clit, he flicks the sensitive nub with his tongue and expertly slides a finger in my pussy. The orgasm hits me like a freight train—my whole body tenses, and I can't control the noises coming out of my mouth.
Once the fluttering aftershocks abate, he gently removes the finger and smiles up at me, face glistening with my slick.
"Happy, love?"
I nod breathlessly and muster all of my strength to reply. "Extremely."
The week blew by in a flurry of all the things I've ever wanted to do. Manicure, pedicure, another visit to the spa, a massage therapist appointment. All of these luxuries I've dreamed of, right at my fingertips. Sitting in the paper gown on the examination table feels like a stark contrast.
Dante stands next to me, his hand possessively on my thigh. We don't wait very long for the doctor. He's an older man who bustles into the room, staring at a clipboard before typing into a computer.
"Name and date of birth?" he asks, all business. I tell him, and he finally turns to face us. "Lovely, thank you. I'm Doctor Hamish. So! I hear we want to make a baby!"
