Page 45 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

He took her in long, deep strokes but at a slow pace that he thought might kill him soon. “I’m close,cara. And you squeeze me so well that I can’t stop myself. Touch yourself. Get yourself to the edge.”

Eyes wide as pools, the tip of her tongue peeking out, she ran her hand down between their bodies. The tentative graze of her fingers against the root of his shaft drove him wild, relentless heat running down his spine.

Their gazes dove down their bodies to where they were joined, and then sought each other.

Her soft cries added to the rough symphony of their bodies coming together and pulling apart. Leaning down, Renzo caught her nipple between his lips and gave a rough tug.

Instantly, she shattered around him, her muscles milking him for all he was worth.

His own release thundered down on him, and he pumped his hips wildly, eager to ride the wave, roughly using up her delicate flesh.

The intensity of it doubled when Mimi arched up and reached for his mouth. She took him on another ride with a rough, greedy, grasping kiss. Damp eyes full of wonder and trust clung to his as if she hadn’t expected it to be this good. As if she had needed this more than she needed her breath.

As if nothing existed for her except him and this feverish intimacy between them.

He was the one who wanted to own her, who had his name falling from her lips like a chant. Yet strangely, Renzo felt owned by his wife, like no one had ever owned him.

Mimi ran her hand over Renzo’s forearm, relishing the solid feel of him under her fingers. Her body was still humming from the aftershocks of their frenzy, and her heart felt like it had grown too big for her chest and was dancing a jig.

She might have guessed that sex with her husband might be a soul-wrenching experience that would change her composition, as it were. Already, she felt freer and bolder and easier in her body than she had ever felt. And more confused, more possessive and more selfish too.

She grimaced as she moved her legs to scissor through Renzo’s, and her core twitched with soreness.

With his powerful body draped over her from behind, she felt…protected. It was an alien thing to her, and she didn’t know how to feel about the emotion itself.

If she wasn’t careful, she might even end up craving it. And yet was it so wrong, so selfish, to want this intimacy with him after a round of such passionate sex?

“You’re in pain?” Renzo said, stiffening behind her. “I’ve hurt you.”

Mimi tightened her grip over him, loath to lose the cocoon of his body. She didn’t want to move from the bed or face all the feelings she’d have to process the moment they stepped out of it. “If you get out of this bed, I will be very mad, Renzo.”

She felt his tension releasing a little. His breath danced over her nape. “Tell me how you feel.”

His command would have grated on her any other time. But now she could hear the undercurrent of his uncertainty, of his dark mood still hovering over them like a black cloud. And that earlier urge to soothe him, to share whatever it was that bothered him, was magnified by a hundred times. “Like I’ve had two mind-blowing orgasms. Like I’ve satisfied my very sexy, very studly Italian husband with my body. Like I’ve been remade.” She couldn’t help giggling at the last.

“Mimi…” he said, his voice far too grave.

Mimi frowned, and as if to soothe herself, she pulled his hand up to her face and kissed the center. The shape of his fingers, the lines on his palm, the rough mound of his hand…when had he grown so familiar to her?

She couldn’t get over the plain fact that she could touch Renzo DiCarlo like this. Freely. Whenever she wanted.

“It was quite the workout, Renzo. And while I’ve been slowly getting back to walking and other forms of exercise, this was a lot of…rigor.” She laughed at her own word choice, hoping he would join in too. No such luck though. “Of course I’m sore. And no, you didn’t hurt me. At all.”

The press of his lips over her upper back made her shiver. As did his broad hand cupping her hip in a possessive grip. As did the outline of his already hard shaft pressing against her bottom. “If you want to go again, my earlier offer stands,” she said, making a popping sound with her mouth.

“No more tonight,cara,” he said, nudging closer to her.

“Let me turn,” she said sharply, having had enough. With a sigh, he loosened the fortress he made around her with his arms and legs.

A buffet of tiny twitches and pains greeted her as she turned to face him. His arm came to rest on her waist loosely as he studied her. She studied him in return, awed yet again that this…wonderful man was hers, in that moment at least.

His stylishly cut hair stood in all directions, his thin lips were swollen from her nips and bites, and there were scratch marks on his shoulders and chest.

He looked like he was…hers. Only hers.

And then it swept through her, like a storm ravaging a town.

Renzo DiCarlo was more than just his wealth or his power or his arrogance. There was a wealth of goodness and caring beneath the facade he showed the world. A man capable of feeling deep emotions and deeper pain.