Azra
Even with the safety on, I shouldn’t be pointing a gun at my husband. The magazine holds only one bullet, and I’ve angled the barrel slightly away from his crotch, but I still know this is wrong.
My intention is not to hurt Matteo. I just want to scare him a little.
Well, that’s the stupid, petty lie I’m telling myself.
Truth is, I want him to feel a fraction of the hurt I felt when Claude said he’d never seen him play in the orchard during the day.
A week ago, I was a virgin, but even I know what “play” stands for.
He did that in the orchard.
With whom? I don’t know.
With how many? I don’t want to know.
My stomach twists at the thought of him being with anyone else. It’s senseless, but Matteo has had my head in such a whirlwind the past week that I completely forgot a world exists outside our bubble.
I hate this feeling. This ugly, burning, acidic jealousy that crawls up my throat and makes me want to scream. I can’t control it, and it makes me so irrational I want to hurt the one person I’m falling for.
Perhaps that’s where most of my hurt stems from. Matteo forced an admission out of me this morning that I had no plan to give him for months, but he never said it back.
I understand he cares about me. That perhaps he’s obsessed with how I taste and my moans when I come, but does what we have go deeper than lust?
Maybe I’m reading the signs all wrong and this is just a temporary infatuation that will burn out faster than it began.
That hurts more than anything.
Flicking the safety on, I yank off the ear protection, dump both it and the gun into a storage case, then storm out of the gun range before I do something more stupid than declare love to a man I hardly know.
The orchard stretches out before me. Mid-morning sunlight filters through the leaves of rows and rows of lemon trees, and the faint smell of citrus drifts on the breeze.
It should be peaceful. It isn’t. Every step I take away from Matteo feels like walking through quicksand, and every breath is too tight.
I don’t understand why I’m angry. Matteo didn’t cheat, nor did he lie. He’s technically done nothing wrong. He was with those women before he even knew I existed, but no amount of logic soothes the burn.
When I reach the base of the orchard where the path splits, I freeze, unsure which way to go. One way will take me back to the house, and the other will push me deeper into the grove.
Neither is suitable since all I can picture here is Matteo with someone else. Laughing. Touching. Doing things I would prefer not to imagine but can’t stop seeing.
My deliberation is so all-encompassing I don’t hear Matteo approach until his breath brushes my ear as he whispers, “I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”
I jump so hard that I startle a flock of birds. “Are you insane?”
He slants in close, looking far too pleased with himself. “Is that even a question?”
Loathing the humor in his tone, I snap out, “There’s no way I’m playing cat and mouse with you in the orchard. I’d rather die.”
“Then I guess you’re going to be stuck with those images in your head, rather than replacing them with better ones.”
I scoff. “Better? Ha!”
He steps closer, leaving no doubt about his thoughts on his plan.
He’s hard. “Better because I’m here… with you…
my wife… seeing every perfect expression that crosses your gorgeous face.
” He pinches my chin between his thumb and pinkie finger, forcing eye contact.
“I wore a mask back then because I didn’t care what they looked like when they came, or if they caught their lower lip between their teeth when they struggled to hold back their excitement.
” Smirking, he frees my lower lip from my menacing teeth.
“But more than anything, it was because they also didn’t get to see me.
It made it an emotionally void transaction. ”
My anger wavers. Not a lot. Just enough for his following words to fully sink in.
“It was nothing like what we have. Nothing will ever compete with that, la mia tigrotta. You’ve ruined me for eternity.”
He inches back, his grin returning. “That’s why we’re going to create new memories at every available opportunity.” My breath hitches when he adds, “Ten.”
I cover his mouth with my hand. “No. I’m not playing.”
“Nine,” he murmurs around my fingers.
“Matteo, this is not up for negotiation. I said no.”
“Eight.”
“Matteo—”
“Seven.”
“I mean it. Stop counting. I’m not running. You can’t catch me if I don’t run.”
“Six.”
I panic.
I’m not afraid of losing or worried about what will happen when he catches me. I’m terrified of what might occur if he doesn’t. If I don’t let go of my jealousy, I could ruin something magical.
So, understandably, when Matteo shouts, “Five,” my feet move before my brain catches up.
I sprint into the grove. Branches whip past me, and the smell of lemons fills my lungs. Leaves crunch under my shoes as I enter the densest part of the grove. Even if I can’t outrun Matteo, I’ll have hundreds of hiding spots.
Behind me, Matteo’s voice echoes through the orchard.
“Four.”
Wild recklessness floods my chest as I increase my speed.
“Three.”
My heart pounds in my ears at the impatience in his tone. The gap between four and three was much narrower than the gap between five and four.
“Two.”
Sunlight stops streaming through the leaves when I reach a part of the grove covered with too many trees to let natural light through.
“One.”
I don’t dare look back.
“Zero. Ready or not, here I come.”
When he pushes off his feet—his steps fast and predatory—excitement bursts through my chest. The orchard blurs around me as I run, and I’ve never felt more alive.
In seconds, Matteo’s footsteps stomp the earth like thunder. He’s not sprinting yet. He’s pacing himself while also falsely portraying that I have a chance.
The bastard.
Too competitive for my own good, I push harder. I weave between the trees and duck under low branches, my breath coming in sharp bursts.
Hearing Matteo’s laugh, I glance over my shoulder.
He’s close.
Much closer than I realized.
His shirt is half unbuttoned from the run, and a dark, unruly curl bounces across his forehead as he traces my steps through the grove. He can’t see me, but you would swear he senses my presence.
He stops and scans the area, his nostrils flaring. When his eyes lock with mine, his predatory smirk sends a flurry of tingles to my pussy.
He’s the hunter, and I’m the prey.
A thrill shoots through me as I whip my head forward and run faster.
Matteo is so close I hear him shift gears. His footsteps are faster and more purposeful.
He’s chasing me now.
Really chasing me.
I dart left between two trees, hoping to lose him in the thicker grove, but he anticipates my move. He cuts across the row, closing the distance in two heart-thrashing seconds.
Then, not even a minute later, an arm wraps around my waist from behind, and my feet leave the ground. Air rushes from my lungs in a hurry when he spins me once before he pins me gently yet firmly against the nearest lemon tree.
His arms cage me in, and his warm breaths flutter against my lips as he murmurs, “Caught you.”
“’Cause you cheated—”
He stuffs my lie deep into my throat with his tongue. As he kisses me senseless, he curls my legs around his waist and rocks his hips upward. His cock is painfully hard, and every grind rubs against my aching clit.
I’m so worked up that my lusty head convinces my body it can take him without the lengthy foreplay Matteo insists we need. My body is primed and ready for him, and the ache is undeniable.
“Christ… fuck, la mia tigrotta,” he murmurs over my kiss-swollen lips when I grapple with his belt, desperate to remove his cock from his pants. “So damn impatient.”
“For you,” I murmur, finally feeling the weight of his thick cock in my hand. “Only you.”
Reminding him of when I spoke those exact words this morning turns him feral. He slips his hand between my legs and shreds my panties off my body, growling when their dampness coats his palm. “You feel like you’re already ready for me.”
“I am. So ready.”
He admires his handiwork on my flushed cheeks and neck before he encourages eye contact. “You sure? If you’d like me to eat your pussy until you scream so loud the orchard workers hear you, I’m all for it. They might not make it to tomorrow, but I have no qualms killing if it keeps my wife happy.”
His violence should scare me. Instead, it does the opposite. I dampen more thinking about how well he can protect me, and it’s not just me noticing this.
“Fuck. My wife is a dirty little nymph. You love the thought of being busted with my big dick deep inside you.”
I can’t deny his comment, so I remain quiet.
Not that I want or need more than he is giving me. Wondering how he’ll react excites me the most. Jealousy isn’t love, but they exist in the same space and are both highly charged emotional responses to a romantic bond.
Furthermore, who needs words when actions always speak louder?
I shudder when Matteo’s hot mouth marks my neck as he lines the wide head of his cock with the opening of my pussy. He’s so thick and veiny, and his abrupt entrance steals my breath. He sinks in so deeply his thrust only ends when he bottoms out at my uterus.
The pain doesn’t bother me. Not in the slightest. My moans bounce around the orchard as tingles spasm up my spine.
“Mm… still so tight.”
Using his grip on my waist, he smashes our hips together on repeat.
“And mine. So fucking mine.”
Matteo angles his hips just right so his V muscle stimulates my clit as the crown of his cock massages my G-spot.
As my moans ramp up, he spreads my thighs wide and then arches me back so the tree trunk supports some of my weight.
It isn’t that he can’t fuck me standing upright.
He’s done that on numerous occasions throughout the past week.
It’s because he refuses to let me bury my face in the crook of his neck.
He wants to see every emotion that passes through me, and I give them to him.
The more heat creeps up my neck, the harder he fucks me. He drives into me on repeat, spiraling my mind as well as he dries my throat. In seconds, I’m floating. It isn’t the most comfortable location we’ve had sex in, but it doesn’t make it any less amazing.
His cock swells inside me more with every pump, revealing he is as close to release as I am.
He won’t stop, though.
I don’t know how he does it, but every time we have sex, he keeps going for hours after release. Though, I guess things may be different this time around. It isn’t called a quickie for no reason.
A rush of excitement hits me when my muscles contract.
Matteo feels it too. He thrusts harder, his hips pistoning as he nails me to the lemon tree.
I can’t stop screaming. I love being fucked by him, but there’s something different about being out in the open like this.
Our antics this past week have been behind closed doors, hidden from everyone.
But here, in the open, not a single soul could deny our sexual chemistry.
“Louder, la mia tigrotta. How are they meant to bust us if you aren’t screaming loud enough for them to hear?”
My body reacts on its own. Heat surges through me as my pussy clamps around his fat dick.
As stated earlier, I don’t want a third wheel for our duo.
I want to see if Matteo gets jealous.
Matteo pulls me away from the tree when embarrassing noises fill the gap between my moans. I’m so wet that he doesn’t face an ounce of resistance as he fucks me like a wild animal. His six-pack flexes and relaxes with every brutal pound, and ecstasy scours his face.
He’s as close to the edge as I am.
“You like that, huh?” he grunts between pounds. “You like the thought of sending me into a murderous rampage.”
I don’t recognize the desperation rising in me. It’s blinding, and before I can swallow it down, I’m swamped by an orgasm so ferocious it sends Matteo free-falling with me.
Tears burn my eyes as he empties himself inside me.
They’re not from pain or euphoria.
They’re from locking on a hooded gaze over Matteo’s shoulder, deep in the orchard.