Chapter 18
KARINA
Marco grabs my hand as soon as we’re in the shower together.
Lifting my ring finger up, directly under the spray, he nuzzles my ear and whispers,
“You’re mine, Karina. Not theirs. Mine. And for the first time since I got you back, it’s gonna be just the two of us. Nobody else.”
Slipping my free arm around his neck, I lean into him and nod.
He kisses behind my ear, down my neck, my throat, my chest. Looking up at him, I pull his lips down onto mine as the waterfall showerhead rains over us.
He guides my left hand lower, wrapping it around his cock, and deepens the kiss.
I’ve never felt so bonded to him. I’ve never wanted him more.
Our connection turns frenzied. I can’t get enough. As I stroke his length, his hands slide over my wet body, my peaked nipples, between my legs. Hitching my right leg to his hip, I lean into his touch, allowing him to explore me deeper.
“More,” I pant. “Give me more.”
Groaning, he pumps his fingers into me, but it’s still not enough.
Marco must feel the same way I do, because he pulls out of my grasp and roughly turns me around to face the wall.
I brace my hands against the tile, relishing the feel of the hot water pounding my back.
Pulling my hips toward him, Marco slips his fingers back inside me, somehow finding an even better angle.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as a sudden tight, hot spiral of pleasure twists from my core to my toes. It hits me again, and I hiss. “What are you doing? How are you doing that? It’s like—”
I cut myself off with a deep moan.
“Some people say the G-spot is a myth,” Marco says. “What do you think?”
“Mmmph,” I gasp.
He taps his finger against that hot spot again and another helpless moan spills from me. It feels like my entire body is electrified.
“Yes,” I cry out, my knees shaking. “Again.”
I press my forehead against my arms, eyes shut tight, assaulted by sensations.
Marco alternates between finger fucking me and pressing my G-spot hard, getting me so worked up that my whole body is trembling.
My breath comes faster and faster as I push back against him, begging him to invade me, wanting more and more and more.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“Like I’m flying again,” I answer in between moans, my orgasm threatening to spill over at any moment. “God. Yes. I’m going to come.”
Marco pulls his fingers out of me and replaces them with his cock.
But it’s too late. I’m already climaxing.
My hands squeeze into fists, my cries pitching higher.
The shockwaves roll through me hard and steady, not slowing, making my toes curl.
Still thrusting into my clenching pussy, Marco wraps his arms around my torso, pulling me tight against him as I come.
“Yes,” I repeat over and over. “Marco.”
“Jesus fuck, that’s hot,” Marco growls in my ear, gliding in and out of me with ease, each reentry making me cry out again. “My God. You’re fucking beautiful.”
I’ve never had an orgasm like this one. As it finally starts to fade, I go limp, completely exhausted, letting him hold me up as he fucks me. A delicious shiver runs through me, and I push my ass back into him, helping him fill me deeper with each thrust.
Water rushes over the back of my head and I imagine we’re outside, making love under a waterfall on some tropical island. Just him and me, with no one around to hurt us or interrupt. A comforting peace comes over me as I lose myself in the moment.
“Mm, Marco,” I moan.
He kisses the back of my shoulder. “God, I love it when you say my name.”
That makes me smile. “Marco. I love you.”
“Show me how much you love me,” he teases. “Come for me again.”
Reaching down, he slips his magic fingers over my clit, rubbing in gentle circles, slowing the thump of his cock to match the speed of his finger strokes. I can hardly believe I’m getting turned on again so fast—especially after coming so hard—but everything he does feels amazing.
“Fly for me,” he says.
He starts to pick up the pace, and I give myself up to the pleasure, leaning into it, emptying my mind of everything except him, this, us. The combination of his dick and his hand is irresistible. I’m going to lose it again, any second, I can feel it.
“You’re mine,” he tells me. “Mine. All mine.”
With a harsh groan, Marco thrusts so deep it hurts, but it’s a good pain, and I shatter.
We moan in tandem, getting off on each other’s pleasure.
I can feel his body tense up and then he shoots his hot release inside me, breathing hard in my ear.
I wait for him to stop shuddering before I turn around in his arms and press my lips to his.
“I love you,” he says.
I kiss him again. I wish this could last forever. But I know it can’t.
Once we separate, we soap up and rinse off. Now that the heat of the moment has faded, the specter of my uncle is looming over my shoulder once more. I hate it.
I take my time drying off, keeping silent. Without the shower blocking the microphone in my ring, I know that anything I say is on record. We put on pajamas and climb into bed, but both of us just stare up at the ceiling, our fingers interlaced between us.
Marco finally sighs, gets out of bed, and comes back with the notepad I used earlier. Underneath what I wrote earlier, he adds, I’m going to take care of it. That’s a promise.
He stares at me intently as if trying to convince me.
I want more than anything to believe him.
But the truth is, I don’t know if I do. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt completely safe from my uncle, even after my marriage to Marco.
Look what happened at Jessica’s memorial service, for God’s sake.
I was taken in broad daylight. How is Marco going to take care of this?
Still, I meet his eyes and nod. I don’t give voice to my doubt.
“You tired?” he asks.
“Not at all,” I admit. “Must be all the sugar from my birthday cake.”
We both know I’m lying, but it’s the only safe thing I can say with my bugged ring on.
“You know the hotel has twenty-four-hour room service,” he says suggestively.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I say, cracking a smile.
Marco rolls over and picks up the phone on the nightstand. “If it’s champagne and strawberries, then yes.”
“Do it,” I say. “And you better hurry. It’s only my birthday for…six more minutes.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says, hitting the button to connect to room service. “As long as I put the order in before the clock strikes twelve, it still technically counts as a birthday treat.”
“Order away, then.”
Whether it’s because Marco already let the hotel know that it’s my birthday, or because nobody else is calling room service this late at night, our fancy snack arrives outside our door in about twenty minutes flat. When Marco rolls the cart over to the bed, I let out a gasp of delight.
Champagne, check. Strawberries, check. But there’s also a candelabra fitted with white tapers, a book of matches to light them with, and a mix of other snacks that will pair well with the champagne.
Salt and vinegar kettle chips, white cheddar popcorn, chocolate-covered cashews, and roasted almonds.
“Let’s enjoy our snack al fresco,” he suggests. “It’s a warm night.”
I open the French doors for him and tuck one of the throw blankets around the little loveseat out there.
I’m still arranging all the little dishes on the bistro table when Marco comes out with the notepad in his hand.
Without a word, he peels off the top page that we both wrote on and folds it up, handing it to me.
“Want me to feed you these strawberries, or would you like to do it yourself?” he asks.
“I can do it,” I say, trying to keep my tone light as I pinch the dangerous piece of paper between my thumb and forefinger.
Settling on the loveseat beside me, Marco leans over and lights the taper candles, all three of them. They’re protected by hurricane glass globes so the wind won’t put them out. Then he takes the paper from me and holds it over one of the candles until it catches.
“Make a wish,” he says, waving the page gently before me.
I blow out the small flame and make my wish at the same time—a wish that Marco is able to keep his word, that he’s able to end this deadly feud once and for all, that the two of us and the entire Bellanti family can all lead happy, safe, healthy lives.
I guess that’s three wishes, but I feel like, after twenty years of constant fear and abuse, I’ve earned the right to be greedy.
We sit back and watch the paper burn in his fingers, the ink eaten by the hungry, glowing ember, the ashes curling up and floating away on the night breeze.
When there’s nothing left but a blank corner of the page, Marco dips it in one of the water glasses and then drops the final scrap of evidence over our balcony.
Suddenly, I feel a weight off my shoulders. I let out a long breath. And then we feast.
We tumble into bed an hour later, Marco’s lips taking mine as he pulls my shorty nightgown up and over my head.
Opening my thighs, I lean back and tug his briefs down, grabbing his hard length and guiding him toward me.
I can’t wait a second longer—I need him inside me, connecting us.
We both gasp as he plunges deep, my pussy clenching him tight.
Marco moves slowly, intentionally taking his time, as if he knows I need him to reassure me with his body. As he drops soft kisses along my neck, the urgency inside me smooths into something more relaxed and languid.
I trail my fingers down his abs and then grab his hips, stroking my thumbs over the muscular creases there.
He lets me take charge, following the pace I set with the push and pull of my hands on his hips.
I lose myself in the sensations. The pleasure builds in increments, inexorably, carrying us both along.
Soon, I can’t control the sounds coming out of me.
My orgasm comes out of nowhere, softer than what I felt in the shower earlier, but it leaves me with tears in my eyes. As I breathe through it in short, shallow breaths, Marco collapses on top of me, moaning as he comes.
“You’re mine,” he whispers afterward, tucking his good arm around me.
“Yes.”
It’s the same thing he’s been saying all night, and yet…for some reason, it has never felt more true.