Page 119 of My Dark Ever After
With a devilish smile, she moved closer, straddling my bent knees so she was in my lap, her bare, cum-filled pussy against my trousers.
“Maybe you should teach me a little more about being wicked,” she suggested before fisting her hands in my hair and fixing her mouth to mine.
“Anything you wish,” I promised against her lips before toppling her onto her back to have my way with her once more.
This time as my fiancée.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Guinevere
I could not stop staring at the six-carat black diamond surrounded by tiny white diamonds like stars around a depthless sky. It looked outrageous on my slim finger, a statement of such wealth and excess it should have been obscene.
But I loved it.
Because it was a statement of Raffa’s love and possession.
A symbol of his trust in me and my ability to endure any of life’s misfortunes that might befall me as his partner in crime.
To honor both the ring and the fact that it was the Day of the Dead in Italy, I was wearing a liquid black silk gown with a daring slit in the left side of the skirt that exposed my leg from hip to ankle. The fabric clung to my waist and breasts like an oil spill, revealing every inch of my shape even though it covered my chest completely. With my hair curled and half of it pulled back with antique gold combs studded with more black diamonds, I looked exactly like the kind of woman who might stand beside the King Below.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Raffa appeared in the bathroom mirror behind me dressed in his own finery, a black suit, shirt, and leather shoes. The starkness of the monotone outfit made his hair glowlike burnished bronze, his eyes a pale echo, shining like sunlit amber with an inner happiness that had not ebbed since I had agreed to be his wife the night before.
He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, face utterly expressionless but for the heat in his gaze as it swept over my body.
“Well?” I asked with a little smile as I finished applying the gloss over my bloodred lips. “What will your criminal colleagues think of your American fiancée?”
“I do not care what they think,” he said disdainfully, as if the very idea was ridiculous. It made my grin widen. “Not when I know without a single doubt I have the most beautiful woman in Tuscany on my arm tonight.”
“Just Tuscany?” I joked.
“The world,” he corrected, stalking over the marble tiles of the palazzo bathroom to cage me in with his arms on the counter to either side of me.
We made a striking couple in the reflection of the wide antique mirror. My hair and eyes were darker, almost black in the golden light from the sconces, but my skin was still fairly pale from my autumn in Michigan, whereas Raffa had light, almost fire-kissed brown hair and eyes and a rich tan. The harsh lines of his angular, masculine beauty complemented the delicacy of my own features and slightness.
I watched as a faint flush of arousal bloomed in my cheeks and seeped down my neck.
“We are a perfect match,” he murmured as if reading my mind, holding my gaze before pressing a warm kiss to my exposed shoulder. He moved my hair to plant another one on my neck. “Come due gocce d’acqua.”
Like two drops of water. Made of the very same substance.
“I have something more for you,” he admitted, pulling a glistening chain from his pocket.
My sister’s cross dangled from his fingers as he lifted it to fasten the necklace around my throat. My fingers trembled as I touched the intricate metalwork.
“I recovered it from the body,” he explained before I could ask. “It was your sister’s, and you should have it.”
The cross settled perfectly in the expanse of skin above the neckline of my dress, a beautiful addition to the outfit. I was not religious, but I appreciated the history of the church in this country, and it felt right to wear what was clearly a Pietra family heirloom.
“If I wear it, will people know where it came from?” Where I came from.
“Maybe,” he allowed. “You do not have to wear it tonight if it makes you uncomfortable to be associated with the Pietras. I would rather you be associated with me anyway.”
I smiled slightly. “Heathen. You know I am yours first and foremost. I would like to wear it. It would be good for yoursoldatito see the connection.”
Raffa didn’t disagree.
“I wish I knew why that man had her necklace,” I admitted. “It doesn’t add up. She may have been dating the Albanian gangster, but how did it end up in the hands of an Italian mafioso?”
