Page 88 of Choosing Hope
“Mine,” I growl, before retaking her mouth with my own, biting and licking her hard. Needing her to impart my longing for her. The power of my desire. The craving of my lust but most of all, the depth of my love.
As I repeatedly force myself inside her, she grabs hold of me seeming unwilling to let me go.
And thank fuck for that because without her, I’m nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie
Waking up alone the following morning stings. My mind raced, concerned about where my husband could be, and why after all the conversations we had yesterday, he’d leave me this morning, of all mornings.
Certain that the answers to my questions wouldn’t miraculously appear while lying in bed, I flick the covers back and wander into the bathroom.
My body aches deliciously. I had quite a workout yesterday; the corners of my mouth curl up as I remember Spencer’s possessionof me last night.
After our shower, he dried us both, taking his time with me as if I were delicate and he might hurt me. He brushed my hair and dried it, making my whole scalp tingle under his gentle caress, before laying me on the bed, to make slow passionate love to me.
With every brush of his lips over my sensitive skin, I could feel our connection slowly restoring. And afterward, he held me tight, as if I might float away if he let me go.
Hence, my surprise at waking up alone.
In the bathroom, the first thing that hits me is the absence of Spencer’s scent. Usually after he’s showered, sometimes even hours later, his cologne lingers in the air. But today, when I open the door to our ensuite, the strong familiar scent I love is noticeably missing.
After fulfilling my most pressing early morning needs, I dress in another satin nightdress—with a pang of regret that he destroyed my favorite pink one. Though I don’t regret seeing him so overcome with his yearning for me. That was seriously hot.
Wandering down the landing, I notice the guest bedroom door is ajar, suggesting Carlo’s up too. These boys have always been early risers.
As I enter the sitting room, I sense them, but can’t see them. Tiptoeing further into the grand room, I cast my eyes around but there’s no sign of either of them. Yet, the scent of fresh coffee lingers in the atmosphere.
My tired brain is confused, pondering their whereabouts until a sudden idea hits me. My suspicions were confirmed halfway down the stairs to our basement.
A loud male groan halts my progress.
Are they?
The idea of seeing these two irresistible men together is thrilling. Some of the most erotic experiences of my life have involved witnessingtheir bodies sliding together. They’re twenty percent fight versus eighty percent passion.
On the nights when I’m alone and needy, it’s the memories of Carlo and Spencer together that feature in my fantasies.
My descent slows, hoping to arrive undetected.
“Ah, Carlo,” I hear Spencer groan, and sparks of excitement detonate in my tummy.
After Carlo’s speech about not wanting to resume our previous arrangement a few days ago, I didn’t expect to witness their physical relationship again.
“You’re mine, Compagno, and you’ll do as you’re told,” Carlo’s Italian accented voice growls.
Fuck. That’s possessive, and kind of hot.
As I approach the door of the gym, I can hear panting, and there’s another noise that I can’t quite distinguish. My hand hovers on the doorknob, unsure whether to push inside. It feels wrong to invade their privacy but the temptation to see the men I love in the throes of passion is too great.
I depress the handle, and just as the door cracks open, I realize what the noise is. It’s the sound of feet pounding on the treadmill.
They’re working out.
“What’s my reward for doing this?” Spencer gasps.
Still unaware of my presence.
