Page 141 of Unholy Union
I close my eyes, tingling pleasure radiating through me. I slide my fingers back into his hair and drag him into another kiss, this one deeper and more desperate as we reach the final stretch.
My second orgasm arrives from the friction of our bodies locked together. My nails rake down his back as the tension rises, and when it finally hits, I cry out against his mouth.
It rolls through me even harder than the first.
All air leaves my lungs, and my pussy grips Cato tighter than ever.
His hips stutter as he feels my walls flutter around him. His breathing turns ragged, and then he’s letting go too—spreading my thighs wider and pounding into me deeper, harder, losing himself until he’s joining me.
His jaw clenches as he grunts and buries himself deep in my pussy. I pull him down toward me for another kiss, savoring how wet and warm he’s made me from the inside.
We lay still for a while, fingers linked together in the aftermath of the mess we’ve made.
He brings the back of my hand to his lips. “We did good,” he says. “Celebrating tonight.”
“You did good surprising me.”
“Better than the surprises you’ve had for me.”
“Such as?”
He cocks a brow at me. “Do I have to remind you, principessa? The knife on our wedding night? The cyanide?”
“You know, you really have to let that go,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It wasonlytwo times.”
“Only two times. You mean more like I have to spend the rest of my life being paranoid every time I drink the scotch in my office.”
I can’t help the small snicker that slips out of me. “My dear husband, give me credit. I’d be more creative than doing the same thing twice. I’ve already told you. I’d put it in your coffee or orange juice next time. Maybe if I really wanted to get creative, there’s the brakes in your car.”
He grabs my face by the cheeks and drags it toward his, suddenly the formidable Cato Valente most men cower from. “You go ahead and try it, principessa,” he challenges. “You know I always love it when you misbehave. I love making that little plump ass of yours sore for days.”
I shudder against him as memories of times together come to mind. Times that I crave and enjoy just as much as he does. It’s a truth we’ve both discovered about ourselves from that very first time we were together on our wedding night.
Instead of denying it, we’ve embraced that aspect of our relationship.
We eventually stop stalling and get up to clean the mess we’ve made. We manage to keep our hands off each other long enough for hot showers and a change into what we’ll be wearing to bed. I’m in a nightie while Cato has opted for his usual sweatpants.
Once we’re settled again, our conversation turns back to tonight. Our special night, which officially marks six months together and how much things have changed since our first night together at the Aman Hotel.
A question comes to mind that I can’t help but ask Cato.
“What did you first think when you found out?” I ask curiously.
“When I found out what?”
“That you would have to marry me…” I roll onto my side and run my fingers along the Valente family crest tattooed on his bicep. It’s one of two tattoos Cato has. The other being a cross that’s inked over his heart. One symbolizing his family. The other, his faith.
Together, they tell the story of him: dutiful son and heir to a mafia family he’s now taken over.
Cato considers my question in silence for a couple seconds.
“Honestly? I thought it was my duty,” he says. “I was willing to do anything to fulfill it. If marrying my enemy’s daughter was necessary to protect the family… then that’s what I’d do.”
My lips twitch. “So when you came up with the plan, you knew what it would entail?”
“When I first devised it, I didn’t know my father would take it as far as marriage. I thought we’d be bribing board members. Buying loyalty. Forcing a few signatures.”
I hum thoughtfully. “And yet, here we are.”
