1
one year later
Ryan
This wasn't my plan.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
We had a private tour guide taking us to the best spots in Rome for the vacation we’d taken to calling our annual honeymoon, opening doors otherwise closed to the general public.
But that was the thing about a little fame, a little money. Those doors were never shut to me.
And that meant we were here, on this amazing tour with a history-book's-worth of information pouring out of the guide about every door knob and candlestick, and I couldn't retain a single word of it. Not when my wife was busy corrupting me.
That's what she was doing. Corruption. Plain and simple. The woman didn't wear a short beige raincoat without intent, and her intent was devious. Scandalous, even. She knew what she was doing, and she confirmed it every time she shot a smirk at me.
That raincoat…holy mother, that raincoat. It was extraordinary in its ability to take boring and unremarkable, and make it the hottest scrap of fabric to grace her body. Corruption, that was what she wanted. It was a good thing I was prepared to give it to her.
She was wearing a dress underneath the coat but I allowed myself to believe she wasn't. I wandered down a dreamy path, imagining her unknotting the belt at her waist and peeling back the twill to reveal a lacy black bra and matching panties.
No, white. Maybe pale pink. Or black.
Not that it mattered. Every version was a different form of perfect. Pure perfect. Sweet perfect. Dirty perfect. I wanted every one of them.
"Let's take a pic," she said, gesturing to a large mural. I tried to focus on it, but I couldn't. I was certain it was artistically pleasing but I couldn't drag my eyes away from her. I didn't know where we were, why any of it was historically significant, or what I was supposed to get from this adventure beyond an erection I wasn't even trying to conceal.
"Another photo?" I asked, searching her face for some hint of sarcasm. That was only one of the ways Emmeline challenged me..
"Yeah," she replied, her hands shoved deep in her pockets and her shoulders jerking up as she spoke. "Let's keep this one for us, though. Okay?"
In the past few days, we'd taken a fuckton of photos. Some of them found a home on my social media pages. Many more did not.
"Anything you want, my love." I unlocked my phone and opened the camera app before handing it to our tour guide. "Would you?"
He glanced at the device and my outstretched hand, frozen in place with his eyes wide before snapping to attention. "Of course, sir," he said, taking the phone and holding it with both hands as if it was a tiny, photo-snapping dragon.
"Come to me, wife," I said, beckoning her to my side.
That earned me another half smile, half smirk, the grin glowing from her eyes as much as from her lips. She had a way of looking at me, her gaze hooded, her lashes impossibly thick, her dark eyes piercing straight through me. I was certain she lacerated my skin with those gazes, and I was thankful for every wound. I wanted more of them. All of them.
"Since you asked nicely," she said, taking my hand. She allowed me to tug her against me, curl my arm around her body, and I sighed with contentment when she dropped her head to my chest.
The tour guide tapped the screen repeatedly, smiling apologetically as he murmured, "Just one more."
As if there could be too many photos of my wife pressed against me. No such thing.
I patted her fantasy-raincoat-covered rear end quickly, refusing myself the indulgence of squeezing her the way I wanted. "I want you here," I said, positioning her in front of me. Her soft met my hard, and this time, the sigh of contentment was a growl of need. "Just like this."
I brought one hand to her waist and allowed my fingers the pleasure of spreading over the jut of her hipbone. Through the layers of clothing, my pinkie was a breath away from her panties, I was certain, and the hitch in her breath told me she knew it too.
"Is that all you want?" she whispered, angling her face just enough to keep her words from hitting the tour guide's ears.
"Not even close," I replied. I stared at the guide, and my phone in his hands. I wasn't smiling anymore, just subtly stroking the tender space between Emme's belly button and her mound while I devised a plan to get rid of this guy. "Do you think that little couch will hold us, my love?"
She followed my gaze across the room, and then did nothing to conceal a snort. "That's a three-hundred-year-old loveseat, Ryan," she said, pivoting in my arms. She looked up at me, that gaze slicing me up and sewing me back together with one glance. "Don't get any ideas."
"Too late," I mouthed as I held my hand out for my phone. "Any chance we could get some time to explore this room…alone?" I asked the tour guide.
"Oh, well, that's," the guide started, bringing his hand to his forehead like I'd asked him to perform trigonometry on the spot. "I'm not sure?—"
I took my phone from him and replaced it with a wad of cash. "Take a break," I said, leaving no room for argument. "Get an espresso." I glanced down at Emmeline. "We'll be good."
"Unlikely," she said under her breath.
The guide studied the money, his eyes wide and confused, but he eventually nodded. "We'll reconvene in a bit," he said, reluctant.
Once we were alone, I ran my hand down Emmeline's back and over her ass. I hesitated when I reached the bare skin at the back of her leg but then slipped my hand under the raincoat. I traced the line of her panties from her hip to her center and back again.
"Loveseat," I ordered, squeezing her ass to punctuate my demand.
"You mean the historically significant three-hundred-year-old artifact?”
"Loveseat," I repeated, squeezing again. Harder.
"Money can't replace history," she warned. She sounded serious but her eyes crinkled with playful snark. As always.
I spun her around and walked us toward the fireplace on the other side of the room. When we reached it, I brought her hands to the mantel. "Hold on," I said. I flipped up her raincoat and skirt, and groaned at the sight of lacy white panties. "Won't be needing these."
Her panties hit the rug—something beautiful and certainly historic—and I unbuckled my belt.