Page 99

Sistine

W e could have been on the island for a day or for an entire month. I was not sure. The weather continued to be fierce, but it was a dull note in the background.

All I could feel was my husband.

All I could see was my husband.

All I could smell was my husband.

All I could taste was my husband.

I had escaped to a magical place where only he and I existed, no barriers, no interruptions, and time was as mysterious as he was. If time ever began to make sense to me again, I knew it would feel as though it was made of chains, pulling us back to reality.

I wanted to live on the island forever.

With him.

My husband.

It felt as if time had gotten caught up in the slow breezes I had felt when we first arrived, in the stormy winds rustling the palm fronds. They seemed almost ready to take flight from the roof.

Tempo was lost to this island. We could not find it.

Therefore, it could not find us.

In the not finding, we only found each other.

No interruptions.

All we did was eat, make love, and sleep.

Or, rather, I slept. If Mariano was not using my body in every delicious way possible, he was holding me close, breathing me in, running his calloused hands along my skin, singing softly to me when I asked him to.

It was as if he was lost to me, and he could not stop.

He called it obsessed, possessed, completely his— mine.

We bathed, but not often, and when we did…we made love again before we were fully clean.

I was obsessed, possessed, completely his .

The thought of it felt so good, a moan came from the hidden, deep cave that seemed to exist inside of me.

I had no idea it existed until Mariano found it.

This time, the thought of no interruptions went even deeper, and the sound from my mouth reflected that.

It felt as if it rattled my lungs and burned through my chest.

“Fuck,” he said, and he went so deep inside of me, I made the same noise, but it was even more intense.

Louder.

Deeper.

My heart was about to beat out of my chest.

My lungs burned.

My thighs and legs trembled and ached.

The pulse between them beat as hard as my heart.

The tide of pleasure inside of me was rising, rising, rising, until it washed through me.

He stilled inside of me, his face not a mask of pleasure, but true pleasure that made me almost lose control. His truth was stronger than any storm, and it swept me up, away, and I was as lost to it as time was.

“ Marito mio ,” I barely got out.

He was over me, his arms on each side of me, and his muscles strained against his taut skin. In the moody darkness, he came to life, even without all the soft lights flickering around us. The sparks danced in his eyes, behind the sea glass color, and I could see the treasure behind them.

My right only.

What is his is mine.

He was giving me all of him, even his vulnerabilities. I could easily hurt him in this moment—he was so trusting of me.

I pushed against his chest some, and his eyes fully opened to mine. The room lit up with a strike of lightning at the same time. I sucked in a breath, feeling the connection, the same as if that lightning had coursed through him and then me. I pushed even harder, and he turned us, me on top.

“Is this what you want, my wife?” he asked in Italian, rolling his teeth over his bottom lip.

His hair was wild, his body slick with sweat, and his eyes…

dilated. A bead of cool sweat ran down my throat, and he lifted, making our positions more intense, and licked it up, all the way to my mouth.

Our tongues danced, before I pulled away, attempting to catch my breath.

He could not stop. He was an animal this way.

He licked my lips, his hands squeezing my ass, and I reached my tongue out, touching his.

My breath caught, and I leaned down, palms against his chest, my hips taking over and circling around his engorged cock. It was a pleasure monster with a mind of its own. It never tired. Even after time and time again…it still rose to the occasion.

I swirled my hips even faster, sweat pouring from my body, dripping down to his, as fast as the rain coming down outside. Our breaths were coming in pants, and when a deep groan came from his chest, I had to stop, close my eyes, slow my breathing, allow my body a chance to keep my orgasm pinned.

He came up with a thrust that ejected it.

I screamed and my head went down, my arms bracing against him as I trembled all over.

I felt boneless, spineless, mindless.

My eyes slowly opened to his.

He quirked up a challenging eyebrow. That all you have, my wife?

My eyes narrowed as I slowly lowered onto him, and we kissed again, kissed until he flipped me over. This time I was on my knees on the bed, and he was behind me, pounding into me while he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled some.

He came in closer, his mouth close to my ear. “I didn’t fucking think so.” His breath was warm, but almost cool compared to the temperature of the bure .

I snapped my teeth at him and he groaned, then rammed into me.

I bent forward, my breasts sliding against the cool sheets, rubbing against my aching nipples, and he hissed out a breath when I was fully parted and exposed to him.

He took my ass cheeks in his hands, kneading them, pulling them apart, watching as he slid in and out of me.

I could feel his balls slap against me. Even that motion was adding pressure to what was already sensitive.

“So fucking beautiful. Mine .” I could hear the intense possession in the one word. As if he would fight the entire world for even attempting to touch what was his. As if he would fight a pride of lions if they ever dared to come too close to me.

My body reacted to the possession and came back against his, answering, yours in all ways.

“Fuck!” he roared. He began to pump into me, and I shattered around his cock again, so sensitive from the last time.

It tore through me, and an animalistic sound came from my mouth.

It was not until this moment that I realized I had been biting the bed.

He exploded inside of me, a guttural noise from his throat.

I could smell his seed—wild. I could not stop breathing it in, along with his natural scent.

I did not ever think perspiration could be an aphrodisiac, but his could get me high with one whiff.

It circulated around the room, mixing with mine, that coconut smell from the glass bottles, and it made me relax, take a deep breath, sigh…

“Hah?” I said when Mariano was over me again. I had somehow gone from my ass pointed in the air to all cuddled up next to him. Goosebumps puckered my arms from the overhead fan. It was not cold, but compared to the humid heat in the room, the man burning up next to me, it made a clashing contrast.

“Time to eat, Annie,” my husband said, kissing my temple.

I waved a dismissive hand—pasta bones again.

“Another time.” The most…not scary…but something close to it part about all of this was: he was going easy on me because of the baby.

Perhaps if I was not pregnant, I would be able to keep up with the pace.

I had always had a lot of energy. It felt as though a vampire had sucked me dry of most of my get up and go.

He chuckled lightly. The mattress did not even move when he got out of it; this was how light he was on his feet.

I did not even know he had gotten out of the bed until he woke me up again.

He had brought food to me. He fed me, giving me sips of cool cranberry juice between bites.

We said nothing, our eyes whispering. I was not sure if it was day or night, but it did not matter to me.

After the last bite, I set the dishes aside on the table next to the bed and, pulling him in around the neck, touched my lips to his. “ Grazie mille, Marito mio ,” I breathed.

His tongue came out to touch mine. It was a soft, tentative search, and with his scent, the smell of the rain, his body honoring mine, we made love—love strong enough to bring tears to my eyes.

It overflowed from my heart.

His eyes were intense, healing mine, the best sort of medicine.

We did not crash this time, but come together slowly, holding each other’s pieces together during the moment of surrender.

I shook into him, and he trembled into me.

He kissed me softly after, turning my body toward the windows.

He held me as though he was my armor, his arm around me, my fingers stroking his skin.

He shivered, moving a piece of hair stuck to my neck aside.

He kissed over my pulse, whispering “ mine ” over and over in Italian, in English, in our secret shared language—only his lips to the source of my life allowing his vow to penetrate my blood, rushing through my veins, ending in my heart—where it would stay for always.

Lightning lit up our room, thunder rattled our entire shelter, and it sounded as if the rain was coming down hard enough to fall through the roof. The ocean outside our door seethed, the palms bowing to the insane wind, and I took an easy breath, relaxing in my husband’s protective arms.

We were together.

No interruptions.

No time.

Only us .

All was right in the world.

“ Whoa, Nelly! ”

My husband wrapped his arms around me tighter. His breath fanned over my shoulder as he chuckled.

“This woman—” I used my chin to point at myself in the mirror “—is not me.” I cleared my throat. It was scratchy, as if I had been screaming for weeks straight. Perhaps I had.

It went with the woman who stared back at me in the mirror, the man behind her too gorgeous for words, although he was next to me all this time in the bedroom. In the, er, bathroom as well. Also the kitchen, and the porch during the storm.

Mariano took a step back, holding his hands up. “Who are you?” He narrowed his eyes. “I was under the impression you were my wife!”