Page 45

SOPHIE

It’s been seven and a half months since I screamed through childbirth, swore I’d never touch Alessio again, and then promptly fell in love with him all over again the moment our daughter wailed into the world.

Today, for the first time since, it’s just the two of us. Gloriously, deliciously alone. And God, it feels like breathing again.

No diapers. No late-night feedings. No lullabies on repeat.

Just us.

My father, who’s somehow become the baby whisperer, has taken Ariella for the afternoon.

I didn’t ask questions. I just handed her over, kissed her chubby cheeks, and practically shoved him out the door.

Now I’m sprawled on the couch in a T-shirt that used to be Alessio’s, legs tangled with his, the afternoon light spilling through the windows.

His lips trail down my neck. “I don’t know what magic spell your dad learned, but I’m not wasting it.”

Pregnancy sex had its moments, sweet, sometimes spontaneous, sometimes awkward. But this? This feels like rediscovering a part of myself I’d tucked away. And nothing compares to it.

I arch beneath him, every nerve sparking back to life, every inch of my body remembering what it feels like to be worshipped, not as a mother, but as a woman.

We move together like we’ve missed each other. Like we’re reminding ourselves what we are without spit-up on our shirts and a baby monitor buzzing between us.

He kisses me like he’s starving for me, like the months of stolen touches and whispered goodnights were just enough to keep him breathing.

His tongue slides against mine, and I moan, arching into him, desperate for skin.

Our clothes vanish fast, his shirt over his head, and my panties pulled down and tossed somewhere I won’t find until next week.

He lifts me, lays me out across the couch, then kneels between my thighs, spreading me open with reverence.

“Missed this pussy,” he growls, and then his mouth is on me. Teasing me as his tongue traces my folds.

He gently plants kisses up my lower lips until reaching my clit. He laps my juices relentlessly, careful not to let a drip go to waste.

I fist the throw pillow behind my head, crying out as he drags his tongue up my center, sucking my clit with filthy precision. When he slides two fingers inside me and curls them just right, I nearly scream.

“Alessio…God, yes…don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He devours me. Until I’m shaking and begging and coming all over his mouth, hips jerking helplessly against his face.

Before I can catch my breath, he pulls me down to the floor with him, onto the plush rug, and slides under me.

“Ride my face, dolcezza .”

I hesitate for half a second. Then I straddle him, facing his feet, and lower myself onto his tongue again.

He groans into me, like my pussy is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted .

And I return the favor, taking his cock in my hand, and pumping him before taking him into my mouth.

I take his swollen balls into my mouth, sucking each one while I stroke his hard length.

As his precum oozes from the tip, I place my thumb on his slit and playfully massage circles on it.

"Fuck, dolcezza , you know exactly how to stroke my cock."

We fall into rhythm. The perfect, desperate sixty-nine position, slick and sinful, so good I lose focus more than once, moaning around him as he eats me like I’m dessert.

When I finally pull off with a gasp, he flips me easily onto all fours.

“Hold on to something.”

I do.

He teases me by rubbing his head onto my clit.

When I'm soaking with arousal, he thrusts into me from behind, thick and deep, one hand gripping my hip while the other slides up to squeeze my breast.

The angle is brutal and perfect, he knows exactly what I need. Each stroke hits that sweet, aching place inside me, and I can’t hold back the sounds spilling from my lips.

“Oh god,” I whimper.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “So perfect.”

The room is filled with our bodies slapping together, with the sounds of our juices echoing as we collide.

My second orgasm crashes into me like a wave, leaving me shaking, breathless, clawing at the floor.

But he’s not done.

"Fuck, baby," I cry.

He flips me onto my back and slides his cock between my breasts, slick with sweat and my come.

“Hold them together,” he pants.

I do. And watch his face twist in pleasure as he thrusts between them, cock swollen and leaking at the tip.

I stick my tongue out to meet the tip of his head, once he reaches the peak at every stroke.

When he groans my name and spills across my chest, I feel drunk on him.

We’re panting, tangled, wrecked.

He leans down, kisses me slow, and I taste myself on his tongue.

Then I wrap my lips around him while his cum trails off my chest.

I take him into my mouth again, soft, sensitive, twitching with aftershocks. My tongue fluttering on the underside of his cock.

He shudders, hands fisting in my hair, voice breaking as he whispers, “You’re going to kill me.”

I smile up at him.

“Not yet.”

But Alessio isn’t finished, not until I’m completely undone.

And his cock is already oh so very hard in my mouth again.

My lips release the hold I have on him, sounding with a pop.

He gently lays me back, then shifts my legs to the side and crosses them at the ankles, propping them high on his chest. The new angle makes everything feel tighter, deeper, more intense.

He lines up his cock between my thighs, eyes locked on mine, and pushes into my soaking core with a groan.

He rocks into me slow at first. “Fuck, Soph. You feel so good like this. So. Fucking. Tight.”

My breath catches, hands scrabbling for grip against his thighs.

The stretch. The pressure. The way his hips grind into mine, it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Look at me,” he growls, thrusting deeper. “Look at me while you’re coming on my cock. Let me feel how much you love it when I’m fucking you senseless.”

His filthy words push me over the edge. I cry out, thighs quaking, clenching around him as the orgasm tears through me.

“Alessio, oh my God…”

He groans, slamming into me over and over, in and out.

My pussy feels blissfully raw as his dick hammers and spears through me.

Once the waves of pleasure wash over me, he spills inside me, clutching me tight as if he could fuse us together.

We both lie there afterward, trembling, breathless, utterly wrecked, as we both come down from our marathon of pleasure.

When I finally manage to speak, I laugh through the haze. “God, I forgot how good that feels.”

It’s a breathless, full-body surrender that leaves me clinging to him, laughing between gasps.

He grins, his face flushed and gloriously smug. “I’ve been counting the days.”

After we’ve cleaned up, we lay still wrapped in each other and the warmth of the sheets.

Alessio rolls onto his side and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’ve got to head out soon.” The reluctance in his voice is soft but real. “Wine tasting at the Hotel Plaza. Valentina's Vineyard is killing it.”

I kiss his jaw, smiling. “My husband. Brand ambassador. Domestic sex god.”

He laughs low and smug. “I try.”

This is our life now, messy and real, built from chaos and held together by choice. Grounded in everything we fought for.

He still travels. Still has late-night phone calls with Enzo and Valentino. Still gets pulled into strategy meetings that run longer than they should.

But he always comes home.

To me.

And while he builds the vineyard’s future, I built mine too.

With Dad officially retired and Denver stepping into his own, I’ve taken on a senior partner role at Prestige.

It’s not always glamorous, balancing motherhood, mergers, and client crises, but it’s my life. And I’m damn proud of it.

As he pulls on his shirt, I pad into the room with a stick clutched in my hand and my heart pounding.

“I was going to wait until dinner, but I’m impatient.”

I hold my hand up to him.

He freezes mid-button at the t clearly on display

“Wait… Are you…?”

I nod, lips curling into a grin I can’t contain.

He drops his shirt. “Again?”

I laugh, eyes stinging with happy tears. “Baby number two. On the way.”

He grabs me, lifting me off the floor like I weigh nothing.

My breath catches, a rush of joy and disbelief hitting all at once as my arms fly around his neck.

He spins me once before pulling me close. “I’m going to need a minute. Or five. Or a lifetime.”

I’m laughing and crying and swearing he can’t pick me up like that when I’m pregnant, but he doesn’t let go.

“I love you, Mrs. Sophie Marchetti,” he whispers against my mouth. “Now and forever. More and more each day.”

The End.

If you enjoyed this book, don't forget to leave me a review on lokepub.

(Click Here to leave a review)

Also if you loved Layla and Valentino's story, then you'll want to read, Baby for my Daddy's Best Friend.