Defiant Vows

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

VIVIANA

“If you don’t stop that, I’ll lift your dress and fuck you for the entire club to see,” Luc growls in my ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin beneath my lobe.

I smirk and crane my neck backward to kiss his stubbled jaw. “Do you promise?”

His responding chuckle radiates from his broad chest into my back, vibrating between my shoulder blades.

A month has passed since our trip to Chicago. We departed less than twenty-four hours after arriving at the Fiorentino compound, eager to return to friendly territory. No matter that Luc’s meetings with Aldo and Massimo went well.

The alliance with the Outfit, though young, has already proven to be beneficial to the Cosa Nostra, expanding our influence to the midwest. But it’s also kept Luc busy, tucked away in his office or in the city for days at a time.

Most days, I don’t see him. Sometimes, I only feel him in the middle of the night, crawling back to our bed after many hours apart. Once or twice, he’s woken me with gentle touches that quickly bleed into needy, fervent grappling to join beneath the sheets. He’s almost always gone when I wake. I’d be lying if I said my chest didn’t ache every time I opened my eyes, rolled over, and felt cold sheets beside me.

Today, however, I asked Lex to drive me into the city to surprise Luc. He was still at the office when I arrived, so I texted him a selfie in front of my newest art purchase for our bedroom at the penthouse—two wide oil-on-canvases with impressionist renditions of Central Park—and asked what we should order for dinner tonight. He texted back half an hour later and told me to get ready for a date instead.

That’s how I ended up here, on the balcony of the VIP section of Mirage, overlooking the masses on the dance floor below. Luc presses into my back, hands braced on either side of my body, caging me between him and the railing.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he murmurs, peppering kisses down my hairline to my neck.

Goosebumps cover every inch of exposed skin down my arms, and I shiver, rubbing against his front in the process. “ Mm, thank you for the date.”

We went to an extravagant sushi restaurant, where Luc ordered every vegetarian roll on the menu for me to try each one. He’s hopeless with chopsticks, so I spent a majority of the meal trying and failing to adjust his big, thick fingers on the sticks. After we had our fill at dinner, Luc brought me to Mirage, where he had one last meeting for the day with a prospective arms supplier.

“Viviana,” Luc warns in a low voice. One of his hands strays from the railing to rest on my hip, stilling the slow rock of my hips to the beat of the music. “I haven’t been inside you in days. You’re killing me, baby.”

“There’s only one way to fix that,” I purr, placing both hands on the balcony railing and arching my back. His hard cock presses demandingly against the split of my ass.

He chuckles and fists the hem of my mini-dress, yanking it dangerously high. Thank God I’m wearing panties, otherwise I’d be bare to the entire club below us. “You’re playing with fire, cattivella.”

I hear the warning in his voice, but it doesn’t have the intended effect. My blood warms, and every fiber in my body hones in on the proximity of Luc’s fingers to my sex. Centimeters away from where I need them.

Tightening my grip on the railing, I push my hips backward, and the movement causes his fingers to brush my seam. The minuscule contact rips a moan from my lips.

“It’s been too long,” I complain, glancing over my shoulder with a taunting smirk. My breathing comes heavy now, but I manage to level a final challenge. “I’ve already forgotten what it feels like to be fucked by you, husband. ”

It works.

One second, I’m pressed tight against Luc’s front. The next, he has me bent over, my head level with the same railing I’m desperately clutching. He wraps a hand around my pony-tail, twirling my straightened locks around his knuckles twice until pain prickles my scalp. My dress rises in the back, though Luc’s hips keep me from exposing myself to the rest of the VIP section behind us.

“Freddy,” Luc barks.

When I try to look over my shoulder, his grip on my hair tightens, and I have no choice but to arch my back to accommodate it. His cellphone is propped between his shoulder and ear. “You have two fucking minutes to get everyone out.”

Luc doesn’t wait to hear his soldier’s response. He drops his shoulder, and the cellphone clatters to the ground at our feet.

“And you, wife…” He bends over my back, his words a dark promise in my ear. “You have two minutes to get ready for me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

The jingle of his belt unbuckling sends tremors of anticipation throughout my body. A cool breeze hits the bare skin of my ass when he takes a small step back, just enough to unzip his pants, then his cock presses against the scrap of lace covering my entrance.

He rubs the tip up and down the fabric once. Twice. I won’t need two minutes.

Below us, guards begin to shepherd guests out of the club. The VIP section drains fast. People scramble toward the exits, though the music and strobe lights continue to pound and pulse throughout the emptying space.

With his free hand, Luc tugs on the g-string of my thong, and it drags mercilessly against my clit. All the while, his tip presses harder and harder against my pantie-clad opening, seeking entrance despite the resistance. It only makes the friction against my clit increase.

Oh God. I asked for this.

“You’re soaked, cattivella.” He rocks his hips forward, and his cock penetrates me further until I’m certain my panties will rip from the strain. The deep timbre of his praise only heightens my arousal. Liquid evidence drips down my thighs.

He tugs the g-string again, and, this time, the fabric gives way. My panties fall to the floor, somewhere between my heels and his discarded phone. Now, when Luc runs his tip between my folds, there’s nothing between us.

I doubt two minutes have passed, and a few dozen club-goers are still filing toward the exits below, but I don’t care. My pussy clenches around nothingness, desperate to be filled and stretched by the only man who could possibly ever satisfy it. I need him. Now.

Taking control, I surge backward, taking about half of his length into my wet heat. One of his hands lands on my hip, and the other adjusts its hold on my ponytail, tearing a cry of protest from my throat.

“I need to put on a condom, sweetheart.”

Fuck.

In the haze of desperation, I forgot all about contraception. We’d used condoms every time we had sex in the last month, and, although Luc claims it still feels good for him, even I can feel the difference. It doesn’t compare to this— the raw sensation of his erection gliding between my tight walls.

His thighs tremble behind me. I feel the faint pulse of his cock, growing harder as it rests half-seated in my sex. Exhibiting far more self-control than I possess, Luc begins to gingerly withdraw from my body.

“Wait!” I protest, and he goes still again. “No condom.”

“Viviana—”

“I want to feel you.” His hold on my ponytail loosens, allowing me to look at him over my shoulder. Graphite eyes burn into mine. “I want to feel you come inside of me.”

A low, animalistic grunt leaves his lips, and, in the next beat, he sheathes himself to the hilt. Euphoria washes over me, clouding every sense at the stretch. There’s still some discomfort, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting him closer and deeper.

“Keep talking,” Luc orders, pausing at the deepest point to revel in the absolute rightness of our coupling. His eyes clamp shut before reopening and holding mine. “I fuckin’ love your voice. Every word you speak.”

“Fuck me, Luc,” I beg, twisting my hips to give us both some movement. “You promised to fuck me.”

Shockwaves flood my system as he withdraws, only to slam into me once more. His balls slap my mound, and my whole body trembles as a result. Every time we have sex, I can’t imagine he could ever make me feel better than he does in that moment, and then he proves me wrong.

He impales me again. “More, Viviana. Give me more.”

I gasp when he grabs a fistful of my hair again, yanking my head back until my spine arches. I take him even deeper. “I don’t want to remember… what it’s like… to not be filled with your… cum.”

Every word is choppy and messy, interrupted by cries of need as he drives me closer and closer to that illusive edge. I’ve tried masturbating in his absence, but it’s impossible to reach absolute euphoria without him. Now, with his help, I’m seconds away from breaking apart.

“ Oh-oh-oh,” I moan, breath leaving me in short bursts.

Another half-intelligible string of Italian rushes past his lips as he pounds. I think I hear something about ‘ heaven ’ and ‘ hell without you,’ but I can’t be sure. Then, he bends over my body, captures my chin in his hand, and kisses me. It’s claiming, brutal and hard with every thrust of his hips.

I’m vaguely aware of the fact that half of my hair has fallen from its ponytail, sticking to my sweaty brow. Heat swells throughout my whole body, a fever only remedied by the release of the mounting pressure at the base of my spine. When I come, it’s cataclysmic.

I scream as his jerky thrusts send me straight into oblivion. My pussy clamps down on him, electric pulses scattering to every corner of my body. A few pumps later, Luc follows me over the edge, emptying hot spurts of semen into my womb while whispering sweet nothings in my ear. When he pulls out, I miss him—the warmth and fullness and intimacy—almost immediately.

I love him, I think.

I’ve known for some time but never allowed myself to say it in such plain words. The realization doesn’t scare me. It simply feels like coming home.

“There’s a new exhibit at the MET that’ll only be there for another week,” I murmur, lazily tracing circles in the dusting of dark hair adorning Luc’s chest. “Lex and I are going to go today while you’re in meetings.”

Luc tilts his chin to peer down at me. “If you want to wait until this evening, I could come with you.”

We’re lounging in bed, the sun barely peeking over the city-scape beyond our penthouse window. We made it home from the club mere hours ago and finished our latest round of lovemaking at the first crack of light. Now, we’re a jumbled mess of skin and sweat and sheets, which is the only thing that makes the ungodly hour acceptable.

Pushing up onto an elbow, I shoot him a mischievous grin. “It’s an exhibit examining phallic symbolism in Roman art. Are you sure you want to come?”

His brows shoot to his hairline. “On second thought, maybe we can go out to dinner again?”

“Not interested in staring at a bunch of penises all afternoon, dear husband?” I tease, the tip of my finger circling a dark nipple. He affectionately swats my hand away before tugging my leg up and around his hip until I’m straddling him for the second time this morning. I chew on my bottom lip. “There’s actually something else we can do this afternoon.”

“I’m listening,” he hums, though he crunches up to plant a slow, thorough kiss on my lips.

My smile grows through the kiss, and I shake my head, pulling away only for his mouth to move down my jaw and to my neck. “We could go to a gallery together. Surprise each other with a painting, then we’ll rock-paper-scissors to decide which one gets to replace the Jackson Pollock atrocity in our foyer at home.”

He nips at the sensitive skin above my collarbone, and a shiver racks my body. “That’s where I was planning to hang the piece you promised to paint me.”

I groan, cursing the day that I told him I love to paint. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“Sorry, cattivella, ” he purrs, soothing the tender bit of flesh with his lips. “I’ll never forget.” He stops kissing me then, leans back, and gently tangles his fingers through my hair. “Perhaps I’ll build you an art studio in our home, then you’ll have no excuse not to fill every wall with your paintings.”

I pause. For a moment, I assume he’s joking. But those graphite eyes don’t dance with playfulness anymore. He means it. “That’s sweet of you. Sweet and ridiculous.”

He frowns. “Would it make you happy?”

“I’m not good enough for a studio.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He sweeps a lock of hair over my shoulder, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing my bare skin. “Would it make you happy?”

It’s a simple question with a simple answer, but I falter nonetheless. Yes. Yes, it would make me very happy. Too happy. The kind of happy that never lasts. The kind that you always wake up from.

My eyes drop to his lips, still pressed in a thin frown, and I feel like I’ve just tried to swallow a cotton ball. Emotion thickens my voice. “You make me happy. You know that, don’t you? I realize I haven’t told you before.”

Luc’s eyes soften. “I’d hoped, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

My mouth cracks in a small smile, though my chin still trembles with the three words I can’t quite bring myself to say. “I’ll try to say it more often.”

He smooths his thumb over my shoulder, and the smile he gives me melts my insides. “You make me happy too.”

The ridges of his abdomen scrunch together as he sits up, kisses my cheek, and sets me back on the mattress, painstakingly gentle. He rises from the bed, every glorious inch of him on display, and walks to the closet. “I need to get to the office, but I’ll see you this afternoon?”

I nod, climbing back under the sheets and pulling them up to my breasts. “I’ll send you the address of the gallery. How does four o’clock sound?”

A moment later, he emerges from the closet with a pair of slacks protecting his modesty. He winks, and, despite the obscene things we did to each other mere hours ago, my stomach somersaults like a schoolgirl. “Sounds like a date.”