Page 59 of Descent into Madness

I’m going to hell. Slowly roasting in the deepest fires beside the devil himself for the way my pussy is leaking down my inner thigh at what the smack does to me. I swear I feel it to my clit. “One.”

“Good girl.” Is smoke and fire sliding down my spine as he spanks my other cheek.

“Two,” I moan.

“Ah, my kinky little wife loves her spanking.” The next time his huge hand meets my flesh, it isn’t on my ass, it’s on my swollen mons.

It pulls a shriek from me, and holy fuck did I come? No. So fucking close. “Three.”

Another smack to my mons. “Four.” I’m desperate for his cock. For him to fuck me as rough and hard as his smack to my mons.

This time his smack is to my ass, and I miss the hell out of it on my mons. But he gives me another before I get to ten.

Two seconds after I sigh ten, he’s slamming into me as I cling to the edge of the counter. Our eyes are fucking in the mirror the same way our bodies are. I swear it’s only minutes before I hit my climax and shatter around his demanding cock. Thank god, he’s coming with me.

We’re both slumped over, fighting for air. His arms tighten around my waist. “Mine.” Is a growl from low in chest.

“Mine.” I nod, sliding my hands up his arms.

* * *

Nicolette

It’s surreal to be back in the house I grew up in. The house has been redone completely. I love it. When I asked Manuel if he bought it from my father in the marriage contract, he shook his head and said he purchased it from the bank—it was already in default.

I’m hoping my mom won’t want to change it again. My mother went for a French Rococo vibe. Everything was gilded with vines and leaves swirling over everything.

Manuel paid attention to the changes I made in our home in Medellin. I hadn’t realized how much I channeled the way I wanted this home to look.

The reason and stress behind the trip back to Chicago might have been awful, but it’s the second-best week of our time together. For me, number one will always be our honeymoon.

I worried the children would be overwhelmed by the city—they love it. Even baby Elias gurgles happily from his stroller with a big gummy smile. During the day we do the family things of visiting The Shedd Aquarium, The Art Institute, the Planetarium, and a picnic at the zoo.

At night, Tessa looks after the kids, and we go out to the places I’ve missed going with my mother, like the symphony and the opera with dinner at places I’ve wanted to try in the city. Although, one night it was a movie date with burgers and fries after. I didn’t care where we went, as long as I got to spend time with him all to myself.

I’m a little sad when we board the plane to go back to Medellin. I take Elias to put him down for a nap while Tessa handles getting the girls down. Elias is cranky, he’d managed to fall asleep on the drive and was pissed when we woke him to get him on the plane. It becomes an actual fight with the freakishly strong six-month-old. He’s got a hold of my hair, and he’s not letting go. Since I left my long hair loose, he’s tangling his little hands in it and pulling.

Manuel appears with a chuckle and helps free me from the baby. I’m trying to smooth my hair, and my ring gets caught. I have to take it off because it’s only getting more tangled. The ring falls from my hands as I work my hands through my hair.

I watch Manuel bend down to retrieve my ring. I’m picked up and taken into the lounge area. It’s a big plane, not the 747, but pretty damn big with a bedroom area large enough for a king bed and the travel crib.

Sitting down, he puts me in his lap. He grasps my left hand and slides the ring back on. “Back where it belongs.”

“The ring you picked out just for me.” I tease him. “Your poor next wife—”

He goes stiff. “Don’t say that. I will never marry again.”

“It was a joke.” I don’t understand why he looks so angry. “For the kids. You wouldn’t marry again?”

“It’s not something to joke about. Quit talking about it. It’s bad luck. I will never marry again. No other woman will be my wife. I refuse to give another minute of breath to this.”

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.” I run my hand over his cheek to soothe his clear agitation. It’s not anger. I’m reminded again how superstitious Latinos can be. “I’m not going anywhere. No one will take me from you.”

His arms are too tight around me, but I don’t dare complain. Not when I caused his upset. Instead, I bury my face in his neck. This is it; hell is waiting for me in the afterlife for the glow in my chest at how he clings to me. He might not be able to feel love—but this is better than any love I’ve ever seen in my life.

CHAPTER21

Nicolette

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