Page 62 of His to Wed

“Such a good girl, taking my cock.”

He withdraws a couple of inches and then thrusts back inside. I cry out and he starts to move more purposefully. He fucks me with long, smooth strokes and, unbelievably, my pussy clenches.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Alessandro moans. “So fucking perfect.”

I shove my hips back against him.

“Play with yourself,” he commands. “Make yourself come while your husband fucks your ass.”

Why is it so hot when he refers to himself like that? I slide a hand beneath myself and stroke my swollen clit with the pad of my thumb. The sensitive bud pulses wildly. Alessandro wraps his fist in my hair and tugs sharply. I feel his cock jerk inside me as I too reach my climax.

“Alessandro!” I scream his name as I come, my hips bucking off the bed.

Black spots float before my eyes. My ears ring and for a moment, I pass out. When I come to my senses, I’m on my back and Alessandro is lying next to me.

“You’re back with me,” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you okay?”

“With you, always.” As I speak the words, I realize just how true they are. “I love you, Alessandro.”

He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow.

“And I love you.” He leans down and kisses my lips, the tenderness conveying every ounce of what he feels for me.

I reach over and trace the black outline of the winged horse on his shoulder. “Tell me about this tattoo.”

“You want to talk about my tattoo?”

I nod, practically holding my breath as I wait for him to share with me its significance, to reveal something deep and meaningful about himself.

“Well.” He takes my hand, linking his fingers with mine. “One night when I was eighteen, Matteo and I got very, very drunk…”

EPILOGUE

Alessandro

I’ve never felt so much pride as I do right now, looking around the room at what my wife has achieved. When she told me six months ago that she wanted to run a hotel, I immediately started looking for a property to buy. After all she’d been through, she needed a project to distract her from the guilt and sorrow she felt, particularly over the loss of her uncle.

We found a small hotel in downtown Manhattan that suited her perfectly. She insisted on financing the purchase and renovations using money from her grandfather’s legitimate businesses. The cash that flows in from his less savory enterprises goes largely to my cousin Damiano, who now heads the Mafia in Northern Italy. The percentage Emilia receives, we funnel into good causes. As her husband, I technically control how she spends the money, thanks to her grandfather’s ironclad will, but I would never refuse my wife anything that brings a smile to her beautiful face.

My eyes go to her now, resplendent in a dark blue gown that swishes around her ankles when she walks. She’s across the room showing Livvy and Gio one of the photos she commissioned of San Vicente to enhance the Italian vibe of the place. I’m amazed my youngest brother showed up for this. He’s been increasingly absent from our lives, but he seems to have a real soft spot for my wife and never lets her down.

Dozens of invited guests mill about, admiring the floral displays and sipping champagne while others lounge on the velvet sofas and soak up the atmosphere.

I stand with my brothers at the side of the room, drinking Scotch. Since the night we killed Gianni Conti, things have been almost eerily peaceful. Before Piotr Reznov slit his throat, Grigori Balogh confirmed that Carlo Bianchi helped Gianni in exchange for a promise of a percentage of his father’s estate. We’ve been waiting for Bianchi’s next move, but nothing has happened. Rumor has it the old man is at death’s door.

I shove thoughts of business to one side and focus on my wife. She and I have grown closer every day and tonight I have something special to reveal to her. She was disappointed with the story of how I got my Pegasus tattoo. I think she’d hoped it would offer her an insight into my soul, but it was simply the result of drunken folly. So I got a new tattoo, one whose meaning won’t need to be deciphered. Earlier today I got her name with a crown above it tattooed over my heart. It tells her everything she needs to know.

As Gio and Livvy excuse themselves and walk away, Emilia returns to my side. Desire thrums through me. Whenever she’s close, my body responds. Six months of marriage haven’t lessened my visceral reaction to her. I doubt a lifetime will.

“Gio’s taking Livvy home,” she announces.

My sister has been less into socializing since the night she and Emilia were attacked. She’s not exactly withdrawn, but she’s more somber than she used to be.

“This place looks great,” Matteo tells Emilia.

---