37
Mia
For a moment, I feared Sebastiano might abandon me, leaving me here. But his hand envelops mine, and when the cool wind brushes against my skin, it feels like a weight is lifted from my shoulders. I'm glad he didn't shoot my father. Despite his many wrongdoings, I don't think I could live with myself knowing I have someone's blood on my hands, especially my own father's.
Once he opens the car door, I hop in, and he closes it before taking his seat behind the wheel. With just the two of us in the car, I grab his jacket and pull him close, our lips meeting in a passionate kiss. It's a bold move for me, especially with Sebastiano, but it feels like something has awakened in me. For the first time, I'm genuinely happy to be his wife.
As soon as we step through the front door of our home, Sebastiano scoops me up effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His lips find mine in a hungry kiss, and I melt into him, completely lost in the moment. Despite the muffled sounds of greetings from Marie and possibly Nico, I keep my eyes closed, savoring the sensation of his lips on mine as he effortlessly carries me upstairs.
Once we're in the bedroom, he kicks the door shut, the sound echoing through the room. Before I can process it, the fabric of my dress is being torn off my body, replaced by the cool kiss of air against my heated skin. "I prefer undressing you," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath tingling down my neck. Then, his lips press against my neck, trailing kisses that ignite a fire within me.
The clasp of my bra gives way, then the sting on my hips tells me my underwear is being ripped off me. Fully exposed now, I fall back onto the bed, my heart racing with anticipation. Sebastiano looms over me. His presence is commanding and powerful like a predator sizing up its prey. At that moment, there's an ache deep within me that only he can soothe.
Sebastiano discards his jacket carelessly, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. With deliberate, slow movements, he begins unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. It's as if time itself slows down, leaving me in suspense, uncertain of what Sebastiano will do next. His shirt joins his jacket in a haphazard heap on the floor as he moves to his pants. His eyes are full of an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
"Show me what belongs to me." His voice is low and husky, sending heat to my cheeks.
Despite my embarrassment, I comply, parting my legs to reveal just how wet he makes me. His eyes darken with desire as he seizes my ankles and pulls me toward him, positioning me at the edge of the bed. With tantalizing slowness, he lowers himself to his knees, peppering kisses down the length of my thigh.
Sebastiano's kisses travel higher up my thighs until I feel his warm breath brush over my pussy. His tongue explores my core, igniting waves of pleasure that ripple through me. He spreads my legs fully open, a testament to years of dance training, allowing me to lay flat on the bed, flexible and at his mercy. Sebastiano’s tongue teases my clit, sending shivers of ecstasy through my body, with each stroke.
Suddenly, he slips a finger inside me, only to withdraw it moments later, leaving me craving more. "Please," I moan, my voice thick with need. "I need more," I plead, my desire for him consuming me.
"What do you need more of?" he asks, his voice making me shudder with excitement.
"You," I manage to gasp between moans. "I need more of you."
My fingers tangle in his chocolate locks as I shamelessly grind against his face, looking for more of the euphoria he's providing. "That's it, Piccolina," he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. "Take what you need." I teeter on the brink of ecstasy when Sebastiano abruptly halts his movements. "You're coming on my cock tonight, not on my fingers or tongue," he says firmly, and before I can protest, he rises to his feet, grabbing my ankles and flipping me over in one swift motion.
The sudden change in position catches me off guard, and before I can fully understand what's happening, I find myself bent over the bed, my body primed and ready for him.
He positions his thick cock with my eager core, teasing me by stroking his cock up and down my wet center, eliciting needy moans from inside me before thrusting forcefully inside me, causing me to cry out in pleasure. He sets a relentless pace, his movements becoming faster and more intense with each thrust. The room fills with the sound of our bodies coming together, combined with my moans.
Pleasure ripples through my body, and a knot forms in my belly, warning me that the release I desperately need is coming. "I'm gonna come," I whimper, barely able to articulate the words before waves of ecstasy wash over me, leaving me trembling with intensity.
Sebastiano's movements become more urgent, matching the rhythm of my climax until he releases inside me, filling me with warmth. After withdrawing, he ensures none of his essence is wasted, gently pushing it back inside me with his fingers.
Collapsing onto the bed, I feel him pull me close, offering his comforting embrace. "Mmm," I murmur, snuggling into him, ready to surrender to sleep's gentle call.
"I'm not done with you yet, Piccolina," he whispers in my ear, his voice promising more. With a cocky smirk, he adds, "If you can still walk afterward, then we're not finished. But I'll give you a minute to catch your breath."
Sebastiano fulfills his promise. After our passionate night, I drift into a haze, recalling him carrying me into the shower, bridal style, where he gently washes every inch of my body.
When he finishes, he wraps me in a fluffy towel and dries me off before slipping one of his oversized shirts over my head and laying me in bed.
Once I am nestled in bed beneath the warm duvet, I worm my body toward him, seeking his comforting touch. He wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Sleep, Piccolina,” is the last thing I hear before he pulls me close to him as sleep takes over.
The time has passed so fast since I got married, and it’s hard to think I've been married for a few months. It still amazes me that Sebastiano has now completely synchronized his sleeping schedule with mine and even wakes up early so he can work out with me. His only request is that I don't overdo it, especially with running. It’s both charming and slightly amusing to watch him show concern.
I still laugh when I remember back to our conversation, "You don't need to run so many damn miles, Mia. Not unless you're being chased or training for a marathon.”
And then there's his shameless offer to help me with "morning cardio" in bed, if my five-mile run isn't enough. The thought alone sends a flush to my cheeks, reminding me of his wildly playful side.
He's become my favorite workout partner, spotting me as I lift weights and encouraging me to push my limits. Whenever he catches me dancing, it inevitably leads to us getting naked. Not that I mind—his presence has awakened a new side of me, and his touch ignites new feelings unlike anything I've ever known.
This morning is no different. After our workout, we head downstairs. The smell of sizzling bacon fills the air, making my stomach growl in hunger. But suddenly, a wave of nausea hits me like a ton of bricks. I try to push through it, hoping it's just a passing feeling, but the closer we get to the kitchen, the worse it gets.
My steps slow as nausea tightens its grip on me, twisting my insides into knots and threatening to unleash its fury at any moment. I can't ignore it any longer. With a sense of urgency, I break into a sprint, desperate to reach the bathroom before it's too late.
I make it to the bathroom and barely have time to sink to my knees before my stomach rebels. The sound of retching fills the room as I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. It's a violent, uncontrollable sensation, leaving me weak and trembling in its aftermath.
Sebastiano barges in, his eyes wide with worry and confusion on his handsome face. His tie hangs loosely around his neck as he quickly moves to my side, bending down beside me. His gentle hands gather my hair, carefully pulling it away from my face as I lean over the toilet, overcome by waves of nausea.
"Are you okay, Piccolina?" he asks. I can hear the concern in his tone as he waits for my response. It's hard to find the words to answer him with the overwhelming sickness swirling within me.
I manage a weak nod, clutching his hand tightly for support. Each heave feels like a violent storm raging through my body. But Sebastiano’s presence grounds me as I struggle to ride out the wave of nausea.
“I'm fine,” I finally manage to croak.
Sebastiano's brows furrow with concern as he hears my hoarse reply. He squeezes my hand gently, his eyes searching mine for any sign of reassurance, and I muster a faint smile, hoping to give him a sense of calm to believe me.
"You're not fine," he insists. "I'm calling the doctor." Without waiting for my response, he reaches for his phone and begins typing. Sitting down beside me, he pulls me onto his lap, his arms enveloping me in a protective hug.
A ping from his phone interrupts the silence, signaling a response from the doctor. "The doctor is on her way," Sebastiano tells me, his eyes never leaving mine. "Do you think you can get up and drink something? Or should we stay by the bathroom a little longer?" His willingness to cater to my needs warms my heart.
But as the nausea seems to have passed, I feel a semblance of normalcy returning. "I think I'm okay now," I admit. "It was just the smell of the bacon that made me feel a little queasy."
He gives me a questioning look but doesn't say a word. Instead, he offers me a supportive hand- his gentle yet firm grip helps me to my feet. I splash some cold water on my face and rinse my mouth before leaving the bathroom. Together, we make our way to the kitchen table, where Roman awaits with a cold ginger ale in hand. I slowly drink the bubbly drink and gnaw on a slice of toast while we wait for the doctor to get here.
A short while later, the doctor arrives and enters our bedroom, Sebastiano's nerves are practically vibrating off him. He's pacing back and forth like a contestant on a game show, and honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't worn a groove into the floor yet. I clear my throat, trying to get his attention, and he freezes mid-pace, like a deer caught in headlights. Now he's hovering by my side, looking like a lost puppy who's wandered into a lion's den. Dr. Harlow, on the other hand, is calm and collected, as if she were about to give a TED talk on relaxation techniques.
“I apologize for taking so long to get here. My phone was on silent for yoga,” a detail that earned a small chuckle from me. And then she drops the bomb about Sebastiano insisting on a female doctor, and suddenly, I'm trying to stifle a laugh. I mean, threatening poor Arthur, the Morelli primary doctor who’s in his mid-eighties, with Sebastiano's wrath? That's like bringing a water gun to a shootout.
Dr. Harlow begins her series of questions, and each one is interrupted by Sebastiano, who apparently is unable to get his nervous energy under control. With each interruption, his brow furrows deeper, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly agitated.
I shoot him a playful look, trying to ease the tension with a nudge and a smile that says, "Calm down, tiger, I've got this."
But he's relentless, like a protective parent on their child's first day of school, unwilling to let me face the doctor alone.
I reach out, squeezing his hand in a silent plea for him to trust me. "Relax, big guy." My smile reassures him. "I can handle this." This side of Sebastiano is new to me, and it makes my belly flip.
“Could we have a little privacy?” Dr. Harlow asks, directing her questions solely at Sebastiano.
“Obviously, I don't need anyone seeing my wife,” he replies, his protective instinct kicking in again.
“I mean with just her and me,” she clarifies, her tone gentle but firm.
Sebastiano's brows shoot up in disbelief. “Am I being kicked out?” he asks, taking offense to Dr. Harlow’s request.
After a few huffs, he agrees. “Fine, but I'll be right outside,” he says, giving Dr. Harlow a stern glance before pressing a kiss to my forehead and exiting the room.
Alone with the doctor, I can't help but feel a flutter of nerves creep in. It's strange—when Sebastiano was in here, he seemed nervous enough for the both of us. Now it's like waiting for the results of a test you didn't study for, mixed with the anticipation of a surprise party you know nothing about.
"So, you said you got sick a few weeks ago as well?" she asks, her tone gentle but probing.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not eager to relive the memory of that dreadful day with Karen and her hideous dress. "Yeah, but it was just nerves," I reply, hoping to steer the conversation away from my fashion-induced panic attack.
"Are you using protection?"
My mind reels for a moment before I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "No, Sebastiano won't let me touch his guns," I say, only realizing the stupidity of my response when I see Dr. Harlow stifle a smirk.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I quickly correct myself. "I mean, yes, I am on the pill," I stammer, feeling like a fool for the misunderstanding. "So, I'm not... no, I can't be. I never miss a day, so it's like Fort Knox down there," I ramble, unable to stop the word vomit from flowing.
Dr. Harlow arches an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "We'll still need to run some tests, just to be sure," she says, her tone gentle but firm. And suddenly, the possibility doesn't seem quite as absurd as I'd hoped.
"I've got enough on my plate without adding a tiny human into the mix, you know?" She chuckles in response, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases. "Trust me," I continue, "if I were pregnant, you'd hear the screaming all the way from here to Sicily."
The doctor laughs, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she replies, “but let's take a test so that I can rule it out.” Now, that uneasy feeling is coming back as I agree to take the test.
Handing me the pregnancy test with a small smile, Dr. Harlow jokes, "Not the fanciest, but it gets the job done."
I hop off the bed and make my way to the bathroom, my mind racing with a mix of nerves and anxiety. While I've never taken one of these tests myself, I've seen enough dancers at Juilliard go through the drill.
I return to the room, holding the pee stick like it's a ticking time bomb, wrapped in tissue for extra protection. I hand it over to Dr. Harlow like the little stick holds the fate of my entire future.
I mean, I guess it kind of does.
After what feels like an eternity of waiting, the stupid test comes back inconclusive, leaving me feeling like I've stumbled into a plotline straight out of Grey's Anatomy.
"Well, that's disappointing," I mutter, half expecting a laugh or comment to chime in. But the stoic professional asks if she can draw blood for further testing. "Great, just what I need," I say. She gives me a sympathetic smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she carries out the procedure.
"Well, at least I'll get a sticker out of this," I joke nervously, trying to add a little humor. She chuckles softly, her focus never leaving my arm.
Once the blood draw is done, I whip out my trusty pack of birth control pills from my purse, presenting them to her as if to say, "See? No room for surprises here."
Dr. Harlow examines them closely, snapping a quick photo for her records. "Just being thorough," she reassures me with a smile, though her actions speak volumes.
After she finishes packing up her supplies, she slings her bag over her shoulder and I walk her to the front door. "I should have the results in about a day or two," she reassures me before stepping out.
I need to push this ridiculous thought out of my head, and a dance session is the perfect distraction.
Blaring “Iris” from the Goo Goo Dolls, I let the music wash over me, losing myself in the rhythm.
Just as I'm in my groove, the music abruptly stops. "Hey, that was my jam!" I protest, shooting Sebastiano a playful glare as he mutes the music.
He raises an eyebrow, his expression serious. "You should be taking it easy," he insists, crossing his arms over his chest.
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a grin. "I am taking it easy. I'm dancing away my troubles," I say, throwing my arms wide to embrace the chaos in my mind.
Sebastiano sighs, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You and your dancing," he mutters, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice.
But then, I sashay up to him with a smirk. "Though, I've got a few ideas for other activities that could really help me relax," I tease, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.
"You do? And what's that?" he asks.
"Can you help me stretch my leg?" I counter, flashing him a mischievous grin before I begin my leg extension, gradually lifting it until it's positioned above my head.
He closes the gap between us, his hand gently grazing my thigh as I lean into him for support. “You’re playing with fire, Piccolina,” he teases, his tone is filled with a playful warning.
"Am I? I thought I was just asking my husband for a little help," I tease with a sly grin playing on my lips. Then, I place my leg on the ground to stretch the other one. He guides me backward until my back meets the ballet barre, then spins me around to face the mirror.
Raising one leg onto the barre, I begin to stretch, inadvertently pressing against his crotch. The feel of his arousal against me sends a thrill through my body. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I notice him begin to loosen his tie.
Before I can react, he takes hold of my hips and swiftly turns me around, his playful yet intense eyes locking with mine. He places my hands behind my back, and the cold wood against my hot skin sends a tingle up my spine.