29. Andrea
CHAPTER 29
Andrea
U nsurprisingly, he tenses beneath my kiss. “You can’t.”
What I can’t… is be offended.
I’ve exploded into his life, shaking its foundations at its core. This is a lot. But that’s me. I’m a lot.
I don’t argue with him: “I’ve needed you for so long, and now you’re here.” I let my arms slip around his neck. “I’ll be everything you need.”
Partner - check.
Wife - check.
Accomplice - check.
At my vow, his dick hardens against my belly.
“Everything?” he rasps, looking at me like a kid who’s just learned Christmas comes with gifts.
“Yes,” I promise with all the crazy, fucked-up love I’m capable of.
His nostrils flare and he connects our mouths. God help me, it feels different.
Last night, the first time he kissed me was a revelation, but now, something’s changed for him.
Not for me.
I already knew I loved him. I’ve been feeling this way since I saw his picture on a TV screen all those years ago.
Savio kisses me like he loves me though.
I can wait for the words. He’s a man who prefers action, after all.
In response, I thrust my tongue into his mouth and I let my body melt into his even more. It’s incredible how my slenderness somehow fits all his hard planes, but it does. We’re like two pieces that have been missing from an almost complete jigsaw puzzle, and at last, we’re coming together.
I have no choice but to climb him like he’s a tree. I hook one leg around his hips then jump so I can clasp the other around him too. He grabs my ass, pulling at my butt cheeks through my jeans, and when he leans me against the kitchen counter, I envision him taking me there, but he doesn’t do that.
If anything, his hard kisses turn softer. A bit gentler.
He carts me out of the room. Before I know it, we’re climbing the stairs, and he doesn’t stop to breathe or pant, just carries on until we’re in his bedroom.
He places me on the bed, and only then does he pull back. I watch as he tears the buttons off his shirt, unfastens his fly, then steps out of the rest of his vestments to turn back into the man I love.
When his boxer briefs are out of the way too, he grabs my legs, tugs me toward him, then gets to work on my skinny jeans.
I don’t help. I just lie there, letting him do this, and then I laugh when he grumbles, “What the hell are these torture devices?”
My lips curve. “The last time you had sex, was everyone wearing flares?”
His eyes narrow, and forcing a bubble of laughter out of me, he nips my calf through the denim. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Ancient?”
“Flares were out of fashion when I was born, so that should reassure you.”
My grin is sassy, but I squeak when he works off my jeans, revealing my thighs, then surprises the hell out of me—four slaps to one thigh, five to another, nine total. Again. Nine.
What’s with the nine?
But before I can say a word or ask a question, he pushes my legs back so they’re against my stomach. He holds my ankles even as he leans down, swipes his tongue through my folds, which are smushed together, and then moans. “Why do you taste like raspberries?”
Delirious, I groan. “Do I?”
“Yes,” he hisses.
“I have a very good sense of smell and I can’t smell raspberries.”
“You don’t shove your nose in your cunt though, do you?”
Oh, Lord, he did not just say that word.
I have no idea why, but it sends molten heat soaring through me. It’s rude. It’s crude. It’s everything Savio isn’t, and I think that’s why I love it.
He can be dark with me.
I want that.
I want to bathe in his darkness.
He must see what that does to me because he lets out a growl, swipes his tongue over my clit, and thrusts into me once before he gets to his feet and uses the new position to press a finger into me.
“How are you feeling?” he demands, but the harsh tone is in direct contrast to his gentle exploration. “Sore?”
“H-Huh?”
“Are you in pain?”
Mouth watering, I shake my head. If this is pain, then I want to feel it often.
His lips hitch up on one side, and at that moment, the shadow of grief, the horrors of the past, and the torment in his soul have lightened.
He only sees me. And I’ve never wanted to be seen as much in my life.
My ankles are bound together by my jeans, so I can’t move, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with all of this.
He leans over me and pushes my legs harder into my stomach until my shackled feet are resting by the right side of my head. His dick settles in the join between my thighs.
His mouth collides with mine as his fingers unerringly find my center. He plays with me, teasing and taunting, titillating me with each caress until I’m wriggling underneath him, my arms digging into his back, the nails arcing into claws that grow slick with his blood as I fight the desire to scream with delight.
When he lifts slightly, a rictus of pain from my touch twisting his features into an expression of outright bliss, I moan as he rubs his cock over my clit until I’m writhing beneath him, and gradually, finally, he pushes inside me.
I see stars because the decadently slow thrust is nothing like I expected. There’s no rush, no pressure. Not because the urgency isn’t there, but because he’s showing me something important—that he loves me.
He’s making love to me.
Savio-style.
I shudder into his kiss when his tongue teases mine, and slowly, he takes me how he needs me, how I need him to take me.
It’s gentle and soft, tender . But also deep and hot and so arousing that I can’t seem to catch my breath.
I know he’ll want me to be quiet, but he swallows any sounds before I can even form them. I much prefer that to a gag. Maybe he does, too, because as he thrusts into me, filling me to the hilt, his mouth never leaves mine and he makes love to me there too.
This isn’t a fuck.
This is a communion.
My eyes ache with tears that begin to fall because this is more than I ever expected to have with him.
I feel cherished.
Adored.
I never expected that. Never expected to need that.
The orgasm isn’t like last night’s, either. Instead, it’s more of a slowly building mushroom cloud. But once it overtakes me, it’s as explosive as a summer storm.
My body strains while I experience a need so pure that I want to shout out hosannas, but I can’t.
So I don’t.
Instead, I internalize it, and that only makes it ten times hotter.
When he comes inside me, he rests his forehead on mine, but our lips remain glued together as he continues stroking me through the never-ending implosion. Because this welter of feeling has nowhere to go—I’m not even permitted a scream—it just keeps building, building, building until I black out .
The haziness reminds me of the times I get dizzy, but this is so much better. I never want to leave this darkness. Here, I’m cocooned. Safe. With him.
Eventually, I have to wake up though.
Eyes drifting open, I stare at him, watching him watch me as he whispers, “Thank you.”
I don’t have time to pout when I realize he pulled out. But because he can’t bear to be parted for long either, he rearranges my legs and then moves beside me. There’s no space between us. My body touches him all the way down, and there’s nothing sexier than him being naked, yet me being fully dressed except for my crotch.
Like before, I feel decadent.
I don’t care that my pussy is on display and that I’m leaking cum onto the sheets.
I’m happy. And I know that’s wrong.
Gianni just died. Tonight, we’re going to get justice for him. But I’m with Savio, and that’s all I need.
His hand comes to my stomach, palm gently pressing into the softness there. “Do you think?—”
The question comes out of the blue, but instinct has me resting mine above his. I know what he’s saying without him having to finish the sentence. “I hope so.” I bridge our knuckles, tying us together. “Are you okay with that?”
His mouth works. “I-I never thought I’d be a dad.”
“You didn’t know I was looking for you.”
He releases a shaky sigh, perhaps taken aback by my candor. “No. I didn’t.” A pause hovers between us before he eventually murmurs, “Thank you for finding me.”
I turn my face into his throat. “You can show me your thanks by being safe tonight. He’s a dangerous man.”
“I know.”
Neither of us says a word though. He could get hurt tonight, and I’m still not turning him back from this path I think we’re both destined to be on.
I just have to have faith. Faith that God will protect us and guide us to where we’re supposed to be.
“You’d like to be a dad?”
“With you as my child’s mother, yes.”
Those words have me nuzzling into him. “You don’t think I’m crazy anymore?”
“Oh, no, I do. But I think I’m crazy too.”
There’s no room between us, not even for offense. So I squeeze his fingers. “I love you as you are.”
“It’s strange to feel this much for someone I barely know. But… I do know you. It isn’t parasocial either. It’s just you and me. It’s right.”
“Maybe we knew one another in a past life?”
“You believe in that?”
“I believe in us.”
He clears his throat. “ Anch'io .” Me too.
Happy with that concession, I kiss his throat. “You need to get ready for the service. I saw on the church notices that you hold confession twice today.”
For a man who despises his calling, he certainly maintains a fuller-than-usual schedule.
“Yes. Both will be my last.”
“Y-You’re sure?”
His gaze is fierce when it locks on me. “As sure as if God were my witness.”
Silently, I cup his cheek.
After gracing me with a soft, gentle, loving kiss, he shuffles off to the bathroom, leaving me to stare at the ceiling.
“I know this is the journey you want us to take, God,” I whisper once the shower switches on, speaking the words though I lie on a bed of sins and broken vows. “But, protect him for me. I need a lifetime with this son of yours.” Then, I place my hand where Savio’s was earlier. “And I’m not just talking about this one.”