Page 169 of The Temptation

“We’re married. What’s yours is mine, remember?”

“And what’s yours is yours?”

“Never. I’d give you all my gazillions if you’d let me, but you won’t take them.”

“I don’t need your money, Lucia.”

As the underboss of theFamiglia, I know my husband makes a substantial amount of money, but probably not as much as I do, considering I receive half the profits from the Rossi Cosa Nostra in Italy.

That knowledge did nothing to stop him from secretly buying this large parcel of land near Dante and Arabella’s and building me my dream house from the ground up.

This beautiful man loves taking care of me, and I’m not about to argue with him on that. I can see how much it means to him. He’s always been a nurturer at heart. I saw the things he did for his mother when she was alive, but unlike her, I’d never take advantage of his kindness the way she did.

Four months ago, when he started disappearing for long bouts at a time, I became suspicious. I was heavily pregnant,the size of a small whale, and my hormones were running rampant, so when I threatened to cut any bitch who dared to look sideways at him, he eventually had to confess where he was going and what he’d been doing.

I felt like a completestronzofor ruining his surprise, but I love this place. He told me he got the inspiration from a dream he had in the hospital after he was stabbed, which made the sentiment behind his actions even more special.

Technically, our marriage was still a sham back then, but I took it as a sign. Even if he was still pretending to fight the inevitable—fight me—deep down his subconscious already knew he was mine. He just hadn’t caught up yet.

I missed our little three-bedder in the suburbs at first, but that didn’t last long. It’s so majestic here. The house Romeo built is a grand white weatherboard home, perched on the highest part of the land with sweeping views of the surrounding hills.

This place has eight spacious bedrooms, and at its heart, my dream kitchen, but it’s more than just a house. It was built with care and intention. He may have laid the foundation with his own hands, but it was his love, fierce and constant, that filled every room with warmth and made it our home. Every tiny detail shows he had me in mind the entire time.

An expansive wraparound veranda frames the exterior, with crisp white railings and tall, black-shuttered windows that let in just enough sunlight to keep the interior feeling light and airy. The charcoal roof adds a bold contrast, giving the house a classic, timeless charm that stands out against the soft, rolling countryside.

In the mornings, mist clings to the valleys, and the sunsets are like something out of a dream. It’s the kind of view that quiets the noise in your head. The kind that makes you breathe a little deeper.

Ki-Ki loves all the extra space he has to run around in, and Romeo is already talking about buying Gabe a dirt bike once he’s old enough to ride.

When the time comes, I’m going to push for a pony instead.

Romeo has never ridden the motorbike he inherited from his father, which I’m secretly thankful for, but I’ve caught him sitting on it more than once, his fingers resting on the handlebars, quiet and thoughtful, like he’s holding on to a memory instead of a piece of metal.

“Would you settle for a quickie then?” I ask, hopefully.

When a smirk curves his lips, I know I’ve won. He turns me back around to face the yard, flips up the hem of my nightgown and pushes my underwear to the side, as his fingers move between my legs.

“We’re going to do it out here?” I ask. “The workmen?—”

“Are a good fifty metres away,” he replies, cutting me off. “As long as you keep those moans of yours to a minimum, they won’t even know.”

Moisture floods me at the thought. Romeo once admitted that public displays of affection weren’t his thing, but he doesn’t seem to mind doing it with me. He’s gotten me off in public more times than I can count, and those moments are up there with some of my favourites. The thrill of getting caught only seems to amplify the intensity of my orgasms.

When his fingers disappear from between my thighs, my hands grasp the railing in anticipation of what’s to come.

He frees his erection from his sweatpants, running the crown of his dick through my arousal. “So fucking wet for me, baby,” he breathes.

I lean my head back on his shoulder when he slips the tip inside.

“I’m going to fuck this sweet pussy right here, with allthose men only metres away,” he whispers in my ear. “And not only are you going to take every hard inch, you’re going to love it.”

My hand moves up to grip the back of his head. “I love …” The ‘you’ gets caught in my throat and is replaced with a breathy, “Ahhhhh,” as soon as he slides all the way home. Filling me … stretching me.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, Mrs De Luca.”

He draws out to the very tip, and when he slowly slides back in, my entire body ignites with a fire only he can bring.

I shove my hips backwards, grinding into him, greedy for more. He grips my sides, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, as he holds me in place and begins to thrust into me in short, sporadic spurts.