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My wife is fucking perfect.
“Very well, then. I guess we can start drawing up a contract,” Gustavo says, and Camila claps, animatedly.
“To be completely honest, Vicente, I’m glad your wife is the one I’ll be dealing with.”
This stops me in my tracks.
I give Gustavo a murderous look, and he immediately lifts his hands.
“No, no. I don’t mean it in a bad way.” He chuckles nervously. “It’s just…I feel Camila...”
“Mrs. Godoy,” I correct him.
“Mrs. Godoy,” he says as he swallows and continues, “has true passion and definitely more time to devote to this project. As you said, your time will be consumed by the vineyard and you’re already hard to reach as it is,” Gustavo explains.
Camila squeezes my hand, and when I look at her, the heated look in her gaze makes me calm down a little bit.
“I’m yours, Vicente. He didn’t mean anything by what he said,” she whispers in my ear.
I release a deep breath and nod a couple of times, letting her words sink in.
She’s mine. She wants to be part of my world. She’s going to be in charge of this project, and I have nothing to worry about.
We head back to the car in silence, enjoying what’s probably our last walk in this area before we head to London tomorrow.
“Are you ready, wife?” I ask Camila through the bathroom door.
It’s been almost an hour since we put Ava to bed, and Camila has been getting ready ever since. I’ve never been a patient man, and now that I can’t get enough of her, I’m even less so.
“Ready,” she says as she opens the door.
The air leaves my lungs. My wife looks delectable in a tiny black dress, just as I had envisioned.
“Camila,” I whisper, holding her hand and pulling her flush against me. “Fuck, wife. You look exquisite,” I say, placing a kiss on her shoulder blade.
The spaghetti straps are pearls instead of fabric, and the neckline is a deep V, which gives me a peek of her perfect tits.
The dress hugs her waist before flowing into an elegant skirt, and her black strappy heels added the perfect touch.
She’s perfect.
She kisses my jaw, then bites me gently, and my dick jerks in reaction.
“Are you sure you want to wear a suit?” she asks, her gaze curious.
I look at her, confused.
“Vicente, we’re going dancing in a town of two hundred people. Unless you want to look out of place, I’d suggest you wear jeans.”
I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. I rarely dress down these days. I guess if we’re moving to a small town, I have to start wearing casual clothes more often. I don’t want all eyes on us—on her. And she’s looking gorgeous enough to draw enough attention already.
I quickly lose my suit jacket and change my pants for a pair of jeans.
Once I’m ready, I ask my wife for approval. “Better?”
She gives me a once over, and when our eyes meet, hers are shining like two embers ready to be fired up again.
I smirk at her, silently praying that she doesn’t want to stay out for too long—because I can’t wait to bury myself deep inside her.