6. Autumn
6
AUTUMN
I can't quite put into words the exhilarating thrill that churns in my stomach during the drive home. Not to my meticulously curated house, which feels far too large for just one person, where sleek, high-tech cameras are artfully arranged in the corners of my common living areas, but rather to the shared sanctuary that Enzo and I have created together.
When I revealed the existence of the cameras, Enzo's expression morphed into one of shock. I noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten significantly, as if he were trying to anchor himself against the weight of my admission. A fleeting worry crept into my mind—what if he lost control of the car in his surprise? "My father is extremely protective," I explain, my voice steady yet tinged with the urgency of my father's intentions. "He just wants to ensure that I'm not doing anything that could besmirch the family name."
Enzo sends me a quick glance, his eyes sparkling with a mix of incredulity and sarcasm. "Like marry a Bianchi?" he quips, his tone teasing yet edged with genuine curiosity.
I reach across the small expanse of space that separates us, my fingers brushing along his arm in a tender gesture that sends a warm rush to my cheeks. The contact of his skin beneath my own ignites a heat that spreads through me, amplifying the flutter in my stomach. "Enzo, we have so much to learn about each other," I say, my voice softening, "but I promise to make you a good wife." In name and in deed, I silently vow.
Isabella had given me an extensive rundown on sex, covering all the basics in a frank manner that both excited and unnerved me. I know where all the parts go—it's just the experience of it all that looms before me like an uncharted territory. She had assured me that if Enzo is good enough, I would barely even notice the pain. "If he sucks though, he'll probably be the pain," she had added with a mischievous grin. The comment had lingered in my mind, an unwelcome shadow, and I’ve been trying to shake it off ever since. But as I sit beside Enzo, I can't imagine him bringing me any pain at all.
As we glide into our neighborhood, an odd sensation washes over me as we pull into the wrong driveway, a reminder of the unfamiliarity of it all. Enzo taps a button on his center console, and with a soft whir, the garage door rises to reveal his space. His home strikes me as a mirror image of mine, yet with distinct differences. In my garage, there are boxes stuffed to the brim with decorations that are currently out of season, remnants of holidays past, while Enzo's garage is meticulously organized, filled with all the essentials for lawn care. My father prefers to hire out for such tasks, whereas Enzo takes pride in tending to his own property with a dedication that speaks to his character.
"There are no cameras in my home," he reassures me as we step inside, his voice warm and inviting. "Feel free to get as comfortable as you'd like. This is all yours now, Autumn." His words hang in the air, a promise of safety and belonging.
Although the layout of his living room and kitchen mirrors my own, it's the furnishings that set them apart. Everything in his home is an immaculate white, with sleek, modern lines that almost seem to strip away any semblance of personality. It lacks the warmth that my home exudes, a place filled with cherished mementos and traditional decor that reflects my parents' tastes—styles they would have happily taken back a few decades if given the chance.
Suddenly, I feel Enzo's presence behind me as he wraps his arms around my body, a gesture both comforting and intimate. "It's late, Autumn," he murmurs softly, his breath tickling my ear. "I want to go to bed—not just because it's been a long day, but because I want to be with my wife." He pauses, sensing the hesitation in the air. "I know it might be a little scary for you," he continues gently, "and we don’t have to have sex tonight if you want to wait. You're young, and I understand that. I don’t want you to think I married you just to get you into bed." His words are filled with sincerity, a reassuring balm to my swirling thoughts and uncertainties.
I twist in his arms to face him, my heart racing as I look up at his gorgeous, strong jawline. The way the moonlight catches the angles of his face makes him even more breathtaking, and in this moment, I can hardly fathom ever feeling about a betrothed the way that I feel about Enzo. "I have longed for you from afar ever since you moved in," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing, so be gentle with me, okay?"
He lowers his lips to mine, and the kiss is electric. For such a strong, strapping man, he is surprisingly gentle with me, as if sensing my vulnerability and wanting to protect it. "Autumn, I love you," he murmurs against my lips, his words enveloping me like a warm embrace.
Once upon a time, I dreamt of losing my virginity on the top floor of the tallest hotel on the strip, the vibrant life of Las Vegas surrounding me. Afterward, I envisioned standing before the window, gazing out at the dazzling lights of the skyline, feeling like the queen of everything, if only for the night. Yet somehow, in this intimate moment, I realize I don’t need all that glamour. Miles away from the bustling sights and sounds of Las Vegas Boulevard, hidden away in a tiny little cul-de-sac no one has ever heard of, I let Enzo whisk me upstairs. All I can overlook is the quiet street below, but it feels more than enough. In this space, I am his queen, and that’s more perfect than any shimmering skyline.
Half of his bedroom is bathed in soft moonlight, while the other half is drenched in shadows, creating a comforting sanctuary. Enzo flips on the light on the bedside table, and a warm hue fills the room, chasing away the darkness and illuminating the space where our dreams can intertwine.
"You can see my living room from your window." I toss a playful smile at him over my shoulder, the thrill of our closeness sparking a warmth within me. "Do you think we should sell my home and move into yours? It could be an adventure."
Enzo crosses the floor in five long strides, his presence commanding yet comforting. His hands reach my shoulders first, gliding down my arms like a gentle wave and erasing the goosebumps that have cropped up on my flesh. "We can do whatever you want, my love," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring, "but if we move to your home, I don't want to think about your father watching us have sex on the kitchen counter."
The thought sends a jolt through me, everything below my waist pulsating with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. My mother has never been the type to exude sexual energy. I can't imagine the intimate dynamics of her relationship with my father, but the idea of them having sex in the kitchen is a scenario that feels utterly absurd. "People do that sort of thing?" I ask, my voice tinged with a nervous laugh, as if trying to deny the reality of it.
His lips brush against my neck, sending shivers down my spine, and I feel his teeth graze my skin lightly, teasingly. "My love, a little kitchen sex is far from the most scandalous thing that people do," he replies, his tone playful yet enticing, igniting my curiosity.
My palms are sweaty, betraying the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "Oh, really?" I ask, both intrigued and apprehensive, wondering what other surprises he might reveal in this intimate moment.
Enzo sucks on the delicate skin his teeth had just been teasing, the sensation sending waves of heat coursing through my body. In between his playful nibbles and soft kisses, I can feel my skin flush beneath his touch, igniting a fire within me that I hadn’t anticipated. His hands roam over the tiny little slip I had chosen to wear when I left the house hours ago, exploring the mountains and valleys of my body—places no other man has ever touched before. "If I'm making you hot now, imagine what I can do with a popsicle," he muses, his voice laced with mischief and promise.
I arch my back, stretching toward him, eager for more of his warmth. Enzo's palm cups my breast, and an ache builds between my legs, a primal response to his intimate exploration. His lips leave a bold mark on my neck, a claim that seems to shout for the world to hear that I am his—forever marked. Tomorrow morning, when we visit my parents, there will be no escaping the truth of what we've shared here. I know I should tell him to stop, to draw the line before it becomes something too complicated, but the pleasure he brings is intoxicating. Who am I to contradict my husband when he seems to instinctively understand my desires?
"Let me make you mine completely, Autumn," he whispers against my skin, his breath warm and inviting.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little afraid. As much as he ignites a fire within me, I still feel a tremor of uncertainty, not knowing what lies ahead or what to expect from this moment. But in the depths of my heart, I whisper, "Okay," surrendering to the thrill of the unknown.
Enzo leads me to the bed, his strong hand gripping the hem of my slip with a sense of purpose. As he pulls it over my head, baring my body to the dimly lit room, I feel a cool breeze wash over my chest, sending shivers down my spine. My nipples pucker in response, tightening at the sensation as I stand before my husband, revealing more of myself than I’ve ever shown to any man in my life. I can’t help but ask, "What now?"
With a tender smile, he leans down to kiss me, his lips soft and inviting against mine, before dropping to his knees before me. With a delicacy that both excites and calms me, Enzo removes my panties and heels, taking his time to savor each moment. "You let me do the rest, Autumn. You let me take care of you. From this day forward, I will always take care of you," he promises, his voice filled with sincerity.
With a gentle push, I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed, my heart racing with anticipation. Enzo spreads my legs, baring my center, and I feel a rush of vulnerability. Suddenly, I’m grateful for the dim lighting, nervous that he might find me unattractive in this moment of exposure. But when he takes one look at my core, a spark of desire ignites in his eyes as he kisses the apex of my thigh, smiling up at me with admiration. "You are everything I imagined," he says in a low growl, his voice thick with desire, "a true ginger."
A blush creeps across my cheeks, nearly embarrassing me, but there's no time to dwell on it. He leans forward, pressing his warm tongue against my slit, and I start to see stars exploding behind my closed eyelids. I instinctively lean back onto my arms to hold myself up, overwhelmed by the sensations as he makes slow, deliberate circles around my opening, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
"Sweet like honey in springtime," he mumbles against me, the vibrations of his voice sending a thrill through my body and making me moan uncontrollably.
It feels like all the blood in my body rushes toward my pussy as he traces the wet outline of my lips with deliberate precision. One hand replaces his mouth at my entrance, and I can feel a tentative digit probing, trying to slip inside me. His tongue works tirelessly to help lubricate my opening further, teasing and tantalizing, until when he finally plunges into my core, my arms almost buckle beneath the overwhelming sensation.
My whole body is trembling beneath his ministrations, every muscle quaking in response to his skilled touch. His tongue rims my hooded clit, casually dancing around my aching little nub, sending electric jolts of pleasure coursing through me, while another finger slips inside, stretching me further. I am prostrated on the bed, too weak to hold myself up under the exquisite way that he pleasures me. Every nerve ending in my body feels like it's on fire, ignited by his every movement.
His fingers massage my insides with the same care and attention they used to break down the aches in my foot, igniting a yearning that I can't quite articulate. I find myself panting, arching my back as waves of pleasure wash over me, desperate and craving more before I even know what's happening. "Enzo," I moan, breathless, "that feels so good."
Like some kind of magical phrase, those words seem to unlock a deeper level of pleasure for him. That's all it takes to inspire him to run his tongue along my long-suffering clit, igniting my internal fire. The pleasure builds to a peak, almost bordering on painful, and I can't help but buck my hips against his face, crying out with an insatiable desire that consumes me entirely.
Enzo rolls his fingers along a patch of nerves deep inside of me that connect with my clit, and I feel the intense pressure building, like he's about to drive me over the edge. My breath comes in short, desperate bursts as I struggle to regain control of my senses, but with no sanity left to grab onto, I entangle my fingers in Enzo's thick, dark hair, pulling him closer as I rub my pussy against his face, seeking that sweet friction.
The orgasm comes on sharply and without warning, an explosive wave that crashes over me. One minute, I am whimpering loudly, searching for the perfect position to ride Enzo's extremities, and the next, I am rocking my pelvis against his face, energy surging through me and exploding out of every pore. It feels like every muscle below my waist contracts at once, including the very ones Enzo is so intimately touching with his skilled fingers. I've never been the kind of girl to touch myself; my parents always said that was wrong, but now, in this moment of unbridled ecstasy, I can see why Isabella encourages it. Orgasms are not just amazing—they are transcendental.
"You're ready," Enzo murmurs, planting a soft kiss on my thigh as he slowly begins to disentangle himself from my body, leaving me breathless and yearning.
I feel like I'm caught in a fairytale, suspended in this bubble of desire. "Ready for what?" I ask, my curiosity piqued as I watch him.
He starts to take off his shirt, revealing his sculpted physique, and unzips his pants with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down my spine. As his cock springs to life, my eyes widen in disbelief and longing. "Ready for this," he replies, his voice low and sultry.
Holy shit. What's the opposite of a micro penis? Because Enzo Bianchi, my sexy husband, is packing a glorious eight inches of it, and the sight alone sends a rush of exhilaration coursing through me.