Page 57

I run back to my room, grab the blanket off my bed, and then grab hers from the floor, throwing them over her, hoping it adds some kind of weight. But she doesn't relent – only her fingers twitch. I slip into bed with her, under the covers and yank her to me. The scent of her shampoo has changed, but I press my front to her back, and throw one arm over her, the other under her pillow so I could grasp her by the back of her neck. "It's okay, Duchess, you're okay. Come back to me."
She breathes deeply, the inhale so loud as though she hadn't taken a breath the entire time she was locked up.
So I hold her, remembering the day before - our wedding, the flight when she seemed to have oddly put me calling her useless to the side so I could give her the rundown on the families here, the chapters, their wives. I didn't tell her what they did, only which city-states they were over. Then, during the limousine ride here, I could see her anxiety getting the best of her. A blush crawled quickly up her chest, past her cheeks, to the tips of her ears, and slowly, it receded like waves on ashore. Whatever she was saying in her mind had gotten her through it all as I held her hand.
I'd like to believe I had helped with that, but I wasn't foolish. Then, as soon as she stepped out of the limousine, it was like nothing had bothered her at all. She surprised me by speaking perfect, ultra-fluent Italianwithouta fucking accent like she had on the flight – which I realize she did on purpose to get a rise out of me. I feel like I have to stop underestimating this enigma of a woman.
What does she say in her head? What words calm her? Soothe her? What is it that makes her go from looking like she’s going to collapse to being able to take on an entire village of Italian children pulling her every which way? And she laughed with them and played with them, never once getting upset at the dirt on the train of her dress. It was like watching a queen being accepted by her people. She ate everything they handed to her, tried to speak to everyone, answered every question…. She wasperfect. Down to letting me tug her close in front of others, melting into my frame… like she belonged at my side.
The best performance I’ve seen so far.
Sabrina begins to go rigid in my arms again, nothing fake about what’s going on behind her closed lids. Her eyeballs dart sides to side as her lids flutter. But then they shut even tighter, a small whimper escapes her lips, and I need to help. I need to get rid of it. I need to do something.
"Duchess," I rasp just below her ear. A cold hand comes up to mine, grasping until I flatten it against that soft little pooch of her stomach, commanding me to press her closer so that her supple ass is against my cock, now swelling, and I feel every bit of her warmth. A moan is caught in her throat, but my name barely audibly leaves her lips, and I swear I go cross-eyed from howsweetit sounds. Unable to stop myself even if I tried, my hand goes in search of the waistband of her silk sleep shorts, my lips kissing along the silk-smooth skin of her shoulder, and she moans my name again.
"Christ, Sabrina, stop me."
My fingers slip under the waistband, finding a small patch of hair, and when her thighs spread just a little bit, I find her pussy lips bare and damp. A little further, and I find her clit engorged and waiting for me to play with. I lick along her shoulder, back to her neck, peppering small kisses as she starts to grind against my hand, her ass against my cock.
My experience is limited, so fucking limited, but this isinstinctual. To cause her pleasure instead of pain, to make her moan instead of snap at me, feels so fucking natural. I circle my fingers around that little bundle, pressing down until my fingers find her entrance. Hot. Wet. I groan, and the hand I have on her neck reaches down and aroundto hold onto her breast, spilling into my hand so fucking perfectly as I test the weight of it, and soon I'm teasing her nipple as well, which causes her to gasp and arch her back.
"Sabrina, wake up and stop me, Duchess. Tell me you hate my touch."
“Don’t… stop…” Her brows furrow, but her legs spread just a little further, and I shove one finger in, testing the waters, keeping my palm against her clit. When she doesn't open her eyes, only chases my hand, seeking her pleasure, I shove another finger inside, groaning at the sight of her plump bottom lip raking between her teeth, eyes closed.
"Chase it, Sabrina. Come for your husband."
Her ass is grinding so hard against me, my balls are drawing up, my fingers busy with the feel of my wife, but I'm so invested. I need to see her come for me. Her pussy begins to flutter around my fingers, squeezing tight, and I'm so close myself. "That's my pretty little wife. Make a mess on my fingers. Give in to me."
She goes rigid, tightening around me, her breathy sighs a song for me. The need to latch on and bite her is so severe, I bite my lip to stifle my groan, waiting for the ripples of her fading orgasm to stop. Then I withdraw from her, going to the bathroom to fist my cock, while I suck off the ambrosia still on my fingers, and come so fucking hard my toes curl. I spray the low counter, the mirror, the porcelain sink.
I clean up the mess with a tissue and throw it away. Then, I climb back into bed with my wife, holding her even closer, with the taste of her pussy still on my tongue, and the image of her letting go dancing behind my eyelids.
I wake up to the sounds of chattering coming from the kitchen, and pots and pans banging around. For a second, I forget I slept with my wife, and that I made her come around my fingers. But it's only for a second as I take in my surroundings, and I let myself remember what transpired earlier in this bed.
I make my way to my room across the hall and shower quickly, then get dressed casually in jeans and a black V-neck, socks, and shoes. Closing her bedroom door behind me, I step out into the hallway and head to where all the noise is coming from to be confronted with all the old wives and Sabrina, filling a cannoli with ricotta, using a piping bag.
“Buongiorno,” I greet, hesitantly.
“Ah! Maksimo!” They come, one by one to kiss my cheeks, and point to Sabrina, whose tongue is sticking out in the most adorable way. One side of her nose scrunched as she holds up a cannoli and fills it. Her hair is up in a messy golden knot above her head, powdered sugar or flour on her cheek. She looks over at me and grins.
Grinsatme.
Every nerve ending in my body halts as I take it in for myself.
Fuck, I married the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Che cos'è questo?”What's this?I ask, rounding the counter and plant a kiss on her lips. I rub off the sugar with my thumb then lick it off. She watches me, a blush topping her cheeks.
“You told them I bake, husband. Remember? So they… brought it upon themselves to teach me how to make your favorite desserts… atseven this morning.” The annoyance in her English cadence is low but still there, and if the wives detect it, they don't say a damn thing, only come around and begin to talk over each other.
I look at the wives. “My wife already makes my favorite desserts, ladies. Whatever she decides to makeismy favorite.” I say firmly in Italian, capturing their attention. “Surely, this could have waited untilafterwe had at least one day to ourselves asnewlyweds,seeing as we traveled right after our wedding?” It comes out as more of a low growl.
They step back and look at my paler than usual wife, who has dark circles under her eyes and covers her mouth to yawn before replying, “It's fine. Just a little jet lag. Besides, when will I get the opportunity to learn from some of thebest pastry chefsin Verona? Hmm?”
Then she does the cutest thing.
She turns her head into her elbow and sneezes a little “tew” sound, causing a bit of powdered sugar to fly up and it makes another “tew”happen. Followed by another.