Page 131 of Wounded King

"Yours," I nod. "Fill me."

"With abso-fucking-lute pleasure," he promises.

I stretch against him, waiting for him to fill my aching pussy. The moment I feel his thick head teasing my entrance, I nearly implode with anticipation. He presses into me. Inch by torturous inch, until he is fully sheathed, and only then do I take a breath, enjoying the sense of fullness he delivers. He stretches me to the brink of pain, destroying the vacuum that had been so lonely and empty inside me.

"Your pussy is a gift of the gods," he groans, slowly pulling back, just to ram back into me.

"More," I moan. "More."

He raises my hips, takes my legs, and places them on his left shoulder, then he pushes back into me, and my eyes roll back. His arm holds my legs tightly. He rolls his hips exquisitely, hitting that sweet spot deep inside me that makes my eyes roll back and presses tiny mewls from my lips.

"Ah, like you were molded for me," he praises.

My hands search for purchase but only grab satin sheets that give while he thrusts into me with abundance, moving me up on the bed, before he pulls me back down. His free hand reaches for one of my tits, grabs it, and squeezes, as tears run down my face. The pleasure he's bringing to my body is building in intensity, nearly becoming too much.

"Ah shit, tesoro," he grunts, and I feel him impossibly swell inside me. That pushes me over the edge. With a scream, I come, followed by his bellow, "Violet!"

Both of us jerk under the onslaught of pleasure raging through our bodies. The only thing I hear is my panting and the rapid beat of my heart. Everything else is consumed by sensations of burning, pulsing bliss.

The next day…

I sleep through our fuel stop in Dubai. I sleep until it's almost time to land. Marcello wakes me with kisses and asks me if I want to take a shower and have lunch before the plane sets down in Malé, the capital of Hulhulé island, from where a yacht will take us toourisland.

I start with the shower, surprised to find the bathroom as luxurious as the rest of the plane, putting any bathroom in any apartment I've ever visited to shame. The water pressure is heavenly when it pelts down my body. My skin is still humming and super sensitive from last night's orgasm. Just thinking about it curls my toes.

In a small cabinet, I find a brand-new toothbrush and paste as well as large towels. Feeling somewhat myself again, I return to the bedroom, where Marcello has already put my overnight bag on the bed and opened my cosmetic bag for me.

"You, Marcello Orsi," I say, walking over and kissing him, "are the perfect man."

"That's what I've been telling you the entire time," he grins, but I can tell my compliment pleases him. I don't think he has received many in a long time, other than maybe anatta boyfrom Luciano for killing someone. That thought alone should strike me dead, but it's my way of coming to grips with who he is, whom I'm about to pledge to spend the rest of my life with.

Stacy enters with a rolling cart filled with steaming coffee and a brunch assortment that would put a five-star restaurant to shame. She avoids looking in my direction, but flutters her eyelashes at him. This is probably something else I'll need to get used to. The fact that Marcello is engrossed in looking through my overnight bag and ignoring her is somewhat soothing.

"Are you picking my clothes for me now?" I ask teasingly, while I reach for a fluffy-looking pastry and dip it into a small bowl filled with cherry jam.

"You don't have any jewelry," he turns. "Or did you put that into another bag?"

I take a bite and realize I'm starving. My stomach makes a sound that could be either happy or angry while I walk over to my makeup bag, from where I retrieve myjewelry, fancily packed in a zipper bag. "It's right here. What are you looking for?"

His brows draw together. "This won't do. None of this is real."

I laugh. Buying jewelry has never been high on my priority list. Not when it's always come down to deciding if I want to shorten the student loan or have electricity.

His frown remains. I wiggle my finger with the large diamond ring he gave me. "This is very real."

"We'll stop in Malé and get you started on a real collection."

My stomach gargles for more food, but I ignore it, stepping in front of my fiancé—I still love saying and thinking that word—to give him a kiss. "I just need you. Nothing else."

He kisses me back with a surprising intensity. "I know, which is why you mean so damn much to me."

He still hasn't said those three words to me, not specifically, but in moments like this, I don't need to hear them; I feel his deep affection for me.

A few days later…

The following days are like a dream—a dream I never want to wake up from. A series of bungalows is arranged right on top of the calm, crystal clear ocean. Wooden bridges interconnect them like the most fantastical streets. There are ten bungalows in all, all empty for the time being, with a palatial-looking one situated at the end, that, as Marcello explains, is reserved for the bride and groom. He offers that we can move in until they get here.

As nice as it is, I prefer ours. It's smaller, yes, but still a good three thousand square feet with any amenity you can possibly think of or want. There is a veranda, right out into the ocean, offering an infinity pool and spa, and another spa inside the generous living room. It has outside and inside showers, and a staircase that leads down toward the ocean, with another small platform to sit on and watch the fish swim.