Page 152 of The Temptation

Me: Nah. They moved out and left it in a mess. I don’t have time to clean that shit up.

Lorenzo: Fuck. I hate when cunts do that.

Me: Yeah.

Lorenzo: Consider it done, brother.

Me: Thanks.

Tomorrow, my mother’s place will be nothing but a pile of ashes.

Just like her.

Chapter 37

Romeo

Iroll over and reach for my wife, only to find her side of the bed empty and cold. I don’t like it.

Sitting up, my gaze moves around the room. “Lucia,” I call out, thinking she might be in the bathroom, but when I get no answer, I toss back the covers and go in search of her.

I no longer get up early to put distance between us, like I did at the safe house when she first started sleeping beside me. I look forward to mornings now, starting my day buried balls deep in my wife.

When I find the bathroom empty, I make my way to the kitchen. I stop in the doorway the moment I spot her at the breakfast bar. Her back is to me, so I take a second to quietly appreciate the view.

She’s wearing a tiny pair of red boy shorts that showcase her magnificent arse. The fleshy parts of her cheeks are on display, and my mouth salivates. I want to bite them.

There’s a matching red crop top on the top half of her body, but I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from her arse. My hand moves down to palm my cock, and I don’t care why she’s up early or what she’s doing; I’m taking her back to bed.

I will my legs to move as I stalk towards her. “I woke up and my wife wasn’t beside me,” I say as I slide my arms around her waist and bury my face in the crook of her neck.

Her body jolts in my arms the moment I speak, and she quickly turns around to face me.

“You can’t be in here,” she rushes out in a panic as she pushes up on her toes to try and shield whatever it is behind her.

Those words immediately have me frowning. “This is my house, and my fucking kitchen, so I can be wherever I want,” I grumble.

A nervous smile curves her lips. “It’s our house and our kitchen now,” she replies. “So, I have some say.”

A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as my hands move to her hips, effortlessly shifting her to the side.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find behind her, but it certainly isn’t a cake.

“I wanted to get this finished before you woke,” she says, wincing slightly.

“You got up early to make a cake? Why? What’s the occasion?”

“Your birthday.”

My gaze snaps from the decorated cake on the countertop to her. “What?”

“It’s your birthday today,” she says, stepping forward and slinking her arms around my middle. “Happy birthday, Romeo.”

I glance back at the cake, perfectly frosted in smooth swirls of chocolate buttercream. It looks like something out of a magazine.

I don’t move. Not right away. Something in my chest pulls tight, like the air becomes too thick, and I no longer know how to breathe.

She tilts her head, reading me in that way she does, the way no one else ever bothered to learn. “You okay?”