Page 49

He positioned us so I could watch what he was doing to me.

Sliding in and out. Out and in. His cock glistened with my want.

My moans were not loud, but so uncontrolled.

Nothing had ever turned me on so much. Watching what he was doing to me…

I could not look away. My eyes were heavy, so heavy, and they were warring with my curiosity to watch.

To see how far he could disappear inside of me before pulling out.

His hips were working. He was sweating. My hips were working with his. I was sweating.

“Fuck,” he said. “Just like that, my wife.” His eyes seemed to roll back, and he hissed when I started to meet him thrust for thrust. He positioned us differently. He fit between my thighs as though he was made to be there.

His eyes looked so deep, and so far, into mine, he was home. He was with me wherever I would go. I could not escape him. He was inside of me—in all ways. I could not shrink, hide, preserve a part of myself that he could not know of or touch.

I was his.

He had showed me this when we were first together.

There was no running. No place far enough. Hidden enough. To ever be apart from him. He knew it the moment he saw me. I knew it the moment our eyes met.

This.

What we were doing.

This was only a formal way of sealing our vows.

“ Ah .” My mouth was slightly open, his was over mine, and I sucked in a breath, his breath, when he moved inside of me, still stretching me, going deeper and deeper, then he pulled out and came back harder. My back arched and my legs wrapped around him, bringing him even closer.

“Fuck,” he barely got out. He growled after. Then his spectacular eyes came to mine. They were dilated, the light run out, the wildness at his surface, making him seem like the hunter he was. “Fuck.” He stilled, his neck arching back, his throat vulnerable to me.

I set my trembling hand over it, feeling his cords, every vibration. I moaned, and my delicate sounds met his groans, and we started to move faster together. Harder. Our eyes were locked. It was the most intense moment of my life. He was inside of me, and I was inside of him.

Neither of us had a place to run, to hide.

Perhaps this was what made us crash in the first place.

We had always been running toward each other.

A noise tore through me as my orgasm ripped through my body, and he growled as his ripped through him, and our mouths came together at the same time.

I trembled.

He shook.

The pleasure ran through us as though it was a connected lightning strike, and we could not stop the fire it caused. Our mouths continued to come back for more. Our hands refused to stop touching. My heart. His. Raced toward each other, demanding to meet in some place only lovers could.

We could not stop.

I knew we would never be able to.

Not as long as we lived.

Suddenly, or perhaps not, it was the only way we knew.

Inside of each other—we created a path home.

My husband rested behind me, stroking my shoulders and back with his fingertips. The motion felt so good. It was making my eyes droop, although I kept opening them, watching for any wild animals to roam in front of the gazing window.

“You have the sexiest fucking arch to your back,” he whispered, his voice raspy and low.

He took the route he was just speaking of. Between my shoulder blades, down each knob of my spine, to the deep dip of my lower back before it filled out and became my culo . He took a handful of one cheek, squeezing, before he went for the other one, doing the same.

My eyes shut tight and I groaned, pushing into his grip.

He flipped me over. Our faces were a breath away. His eyes were looking deep into mine.

“Too far from me,” he whispered, his voice rough.

I closed my eyes, my head already high off the mint and whiskey on his breath, the woodsy and spicy scent of him, the heat from his body, the way his hands explored my skin as though he were creating a map of it in his mind.

My mind formed a scenario where his hands were no longer here to touch me, to protect me, or…what if someday he decided he had found all my routes and grew bored with them? The same old roads leading to the same old home?

“Will it be this way for us forever?” I whispered, and to my surprise, a tear fell from my eye, running over my nose. Before it could reach the pillow, he leaned forward and kissed it away.

“We won’t be making a habit of collecting those,” he said, taking my left hand in his left, our bands clanking.

Atta had taken me to a man in town who allowed me to use his shop for a sum and whatever the cost was for the white gold he had in stock. I had created Mariano’s band myself.

It wasn’t gaudy or showy, more…simple. Which took me by surprise when I was deciding on the design.

In many ways, what he was passionate about, being a buttero, was not the most glamourous life, but he was a Fausti, and one of the most gorgeous in my eyes.

Nothing, not even jewelry, could stand up to his looks or his persona.

This was why I went with simple, but as some women claim when they cook, all my love went into the creating of it.

I hope he felt it against his skin every second of every day.

It was my own form of magic weaved into the band.

I had never done that before him. Offer such a vital part of myself to my art.

“Yeah, without a fucking doubt, it will be.” He became quiet, his breath coming a little faster, but his eyes were steady on mine.

“My parents. My old man grows more in love with mamma as the years go on. I’ve watched it.

Seen it with my own eyes. How he watches her.

How he keeps falling for her.” He set his right hand over his heart.

“That’s what he does, with his hand, when he falls harder.

He keeps it there. He keeps her there. He refuses to allow anyone close to what they share.

He’d protect it with his last breath. She would too.

She has, as ferociously as he has. Even though he refuses to hear it, to acknowledge it, and I understand it more than I ever fucking did, him refusing to draw the thought closer, she would die for him too. One cannot exist without the other.”

“Wherever you go, I go,” I breathed out.

He gave one hard nod. “Wherever you go, I go. My heart, my entire body, is not programmed to stray when we’re all in agreement. You’re the only way my heart knows. The only fucking way. Where you go, I go.” He paused. “I’ve never repeated myself for anyone before. Only you.”

“Wherever we go, we go together,” I repeated one of his vows from our ceremony.

“We go together,” he repeated, bringing our left hands to his mouth, my side against his lips. “Tell me why you love this cabin so much.”

I shrugged. “I do not have the exact words for it. The feeling exists too deep. It just…feels like…home. Perhaps, ah…I love what happens during each season from the windows. Time stops here, yet it still revolves around us. The cold, hard winters, when the bison are covered in ice, but they still find it in themselves to be frisky. The wildflowers running rampant during spring, carpeting the earth, reminding us that winter is over, and life has just begun. The heat of the summers when the creeks are cold, and the temperature is hot. I loved fall because of the change of leaves, the bonfires crackling in the air, adding to the smoky tinge. Now, I love fall because of us. Because of our fall. Because it is when my life was connected to yours in a way that cannot be undone, Mariano Leone Fausti.”

“You bled for me here.”

I nodded.

“You promised your life to me here.”

I nodded.

“This is our home.”

I nodded but tilted my head.

He cleared his throat. “This is your safe space, therefore it’s mine too. Wherever your heart calls home, mine does too. This is ours, Annie. Hannah sold it to us.”

My eyes searched his. “This is why you purchased the mattress.” This was all I could think to say in the moment.

He laughed, and it was warm and raspy. He kissed my knuckles. “Yeah, Annie, this is why I bought the mattress.”

I was so deep in thought, attempting to process what he had just said to me, I did not realize he was about to walk away until he was about to stand. I popped up, just short of grabbing one of his ass cheeks.

My breath caught.

He was extremely…masculine. A physical representation of the word “virile.”

Even from the back he was visually stunning. His shoulders were wide, and they tapered into a thin waist. His back was cut and full of muscles. His ass was round and firm. His legs long and muscular, as well, but again, not overdone.

Tutto naturale.

He was the kind of man who would inspire a woman to take up sculpting.

I am this woman.

“Ah,” I breathed out, then shook my head, attempting to bring sense back to my brain. “Where are you going?”

“Not far, Annie. Just to the kitchen.”

He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and left the room. I plopped back on my pillow, my hair fanning around me, sending my scent and his swirling around me.

He bought this place for us.

I would always have a home here with him.

How did he know I loved this cabin?

My eyes were stuck on the ceiling, my mind lost to the questions, my heart overwhelmed by the day. Something dropped down, and my eyes crossed before I realized it was a spider. I pulled the covers up to my chest and eased out of the bed.

“All right, Charlotte,” I whispered. Whatever species of spider it was, it looked identical to the one from the children’s book.

I was not sure if it was poisonous or not, but either way, I was not a bug crusher.

I felt she was here before me, therefore she had a place on this property, even if not in my room.