Chapter 5
five
. . .
Fabio
Morning light spills across my kitchen like liquid gold, catching on the rim of her coffee mug, the dark waves of her hair, the curve of her bare thigh where my shirt rides up.
I stop in the doorway, breath caught in my throat.
She hasn't noticed me yet. Stands there looking out at the Vegas skyline, cradling the mug like it's a lifeline, lost in thought. I've had beautiful women in this penthouse before. Women who cost more per hour than most people make in a month. Granted, they weren’t here for that. I didn’t fuck any of them.
Merely interviewed them for one of my many business.
Regardless, none of them looked like they belonged here. She does. In my oversized shirt with sleep still clinging to her eyes, she looks like she's always been part of this space. Like the missing piece I didn't know was gone.
I let myself look my fill. The slender column of her neck. The gentle curve of her ass barely covered by my shirt. The way her hair falls in messy waves down her back. My body responds instantly, cock hardening against the fabric of my sweatpants. I want her again. Already. Still. Constantly.
She senses me watching. Turns, blushes so prettily it nearly brings me to my knees.
"Good morning," she says, voice soft with leftover sleep.
"Morning, angel." I cross to her slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wants.
She doesn't. She stays put, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, a hint of uncertainty in them. Last night was intense. For both of us. I need to show her nothing's changed in the light of day.
I brush my lips against her temple, breathe in the scent of her—my shampoo in her hair, my soap on her skin, but underneath it all, that essential Sharon-ness that drove me crazy from the first moment.
My hand cups her cheek, tilts her face up.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask against her skin.
"Yes." Her voice catches as my teeth graze her earlobe. "You?"
"Better than I have in years."
It's true. I slept like the fucking dead with her curled against me, like some part of me finally relaxed a guard I didn't know was standing.
She turns in my arms, sets her coffee on the counter, and looks up at me with a question in her eyes. I answer by kissing her properly—slow at first, then deeper when she opens for me with a little sigh that goes straight to my cock.
My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her ass.
I lift her easily, setting her on the counter.
She gasps, hands flying to my shoulders for balance.
The shirt rides up further, and I see she's wearing nothing underneath.
The sight of her bare pussy, already glistening wet for me, makes my mouth water.
"Fabio," she whispers, and my name has never sounded so good.
I push her thighs apart gently, step between them. "I want to taste you."
Her eyes widen. "Here?"
I smile against her neck. "Everywhere. But yes, here is a good start."
I drop to my knees in front of her, hook her legs over my shoulders. She's shaking slightly—nervous, but not afraid. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, look up at her.
"Okay?"
She nods, biting her lip.
The first stroke of my tongue makes her cry out. She's so responsive, so fucking sensitive. I take my time, learning what she likes—slow circles around her clit, firm pressure against her entrance. She tastes better than anything I've ever had in my mouth—sweet and musky and perfect.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling when I hit a sensitive spot. I growl against her, the pain only spurring me on. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her thighs trembling around my head.
I stand, scoop her into my arms, and carry her to my bedroom. Our bedroom now. She looks dazed, flushed, fucking beautiful spread across my sheets. I strip off my sweatpants, watch her eyes widen at the sight of my cock—hard and aching for her.
"Tell me what you want," I say, hovering over her.
"You," she whispers. "Just you."
I kiss her again, unbuttoning the shirt she wears—my shirt—exposing her body inch by inch. Her breasts are perfect—small, firm, tipped with pink nipples that pucker under my gaze. I take one in my mouth, suck gently, then more firmly when she arches up with a gasp.
My hands map her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, every spot that makes her breath catch. She's so soft everywhere, like she was made for my touch. When I slide a finger inside her, she's wet and ready, but tight—so tight it makes me groan.
"Angel," I murmur against her breast. "You feel so good."
I work my way down her body, kissing every inch—the gentle swell of her stomach, the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh. When I settle between her legs again, she watches me with those big eyes, trust and desire warring in them.
"I've never—" she starts, then stops.
I go still. "Never what, Sharon?"
She swallows. "Last night was...the first time I've done any of this."
My brain short-circuits. "You're a virgin?"
"Was," she corrects, her cheeks flaming. "Last night..."
Last night I had my fingers inside her, made her come, but we didn't—I didn't—
"We didn't have sex last night," I say carefully. "I never put my cock inside you."
Her eyes widen. "But I thought—when you—"
"Just my fingers, angel."
She looks so confused it would be amusing if my heart wasn't hammering against my ribs. She's untouched. Pure. And she's mine. The possessive satisfaction that roars through me is almost savage.
"So I'm still...?"
"Yes." I press a kiss to her hip. "But not for long, if you want me."
"I do," she whispers. "I want you."
Restraint shatters. I kiss my way back up her body, position myself between her thighs. The head of my cock nudges against her entrance, and she tenses slightly.
"I'll be careful," I promise, stroking her hair back from her face. "I'll make it good for you."
Her hands come up to my shoulders, holding on. "I trust you."
Three words that hit me harder than any bullet ever could. I push in slowly, just the tip, watching her face for any sign of pain. She's so tight, so wet, so fucking perfect around me. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to thrust deep.
"More," she whispers, and I obey.
Inch by careful inch, I work my way inside her, stopping whenever she tenses, kissing her until she relaxes again. When I hit her barrier, I pause.
"This will hurt," I warn. "Just for a moment."
She nods, eyes locked on mine. I kiss her deeply, then push through in one smooth thrust. She cries out against my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders. I hold perfectly still, even though every instinct screams at me to move, to claim, to mark her as mine from the inside out.
"I've got you," I murmur against her lips. "I've got you, angel."
Slowly, the tension in her body eases. Her hips shift experimentally, and I groan as she takes me deeper.
"Okay?" I ask, voice strained.
"Yes," she breathes. "Please, Fabio."
I start to move—slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as she opens for me.
The sight of her beneath me, taking my cock, her face flushed with pleasure, is almost too much.
I've had countless women, but never like this.
Never feeling like each thrust is a prayer, a benediction, a fucking miracle.
"You're mine," I tell her, the words dragged from somewhere primal and possessive. "My wife. My everything."
She moans, her inner walls fluttering around me. "Yours."
The word snaps my control. I thrust harder, deeper, one hand sliding between us to circle her clit. I want her to come again. Need to feel her fall apart around me.
"That's it, angel," I encourage as her breathing quickens. "Let go for me."
When she comes, it's with my name on her lips and tears in her eyes—not pain, but emotion so raw it makes my chest ache. I follow her over the edge, emptying myself inside her with a groan that tears from the depths of my soul.
Afterward, I hold her against me, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
I stroke her hair, her back, unable to stop touching her.
Peace settles over me, deeper than any victory my empire ever gave me.
This woman—this soft, brave, beautiful woman—is the thing I've been building it all to protect. I just didn't know it until now.
"Are you okay?" I ask, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Mmm." She snuggles closer. "Better than okay."
"No regrets?"
She lifts her head, looks at me with those clear brown eyes. "None. You?"
I tighten my arms around her. "Only that I didn't find you sooner."
She smiles, and it's like watching the sun come out. "I think you found me exactly when you were supposed to."
Maybe she's right. Maybe all roads were always leading here—to this woman in my arms, to this feeling of rightness that I've never known before.
"Stay with me," I whisper against her hair. It's not a command, but a plea.
Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, right over my heart. "I'm already here."