Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER.
FLORINA
T he TV blasted Romanian. Marco had arranged for all Romanian channels to be set up on our TV and poisoned me with my new addiction. Romanian soap operas. I lifted myself off the couch I’d been lounging on and strolled lazily to the kitchen. Being lazy was my new activity these days. After all, what was a girl to do if she didn’t have to hunt for a roof to sleep under or look for a meal to eat? So, my days were filled with watching TV, napping, and cooking. Just so I wouldn’t feel too entitled and call myself a rich white woman, I threw in some Italian and English lessons. I’d been quick to pick up languages everywhere I went. It turned out I had a talent for it. Imagine that. Me having a talent for anything other than to suck strange men’s cocks. I’d given up on that talent now. The only cock in my mouth these days had a direct link to my heart.
I took the pot from the drawer next to the cooker and set it on the burner. I was in the mood for some curry. The pretty brown lady… cristo …I need to stop calling her that. Divya, as she had requested I call her, had shown me how to make one, and even though I’d made it two days ago, I was in the mood for one again. Something about the burn from the spices sliding down my throat made it addictive. Just like my soap operas.
I was right. Divya was nice to me. She truly didn’t seem to care where I was from. Her husband, not so much. He didn’t say or do anything to make me feel out of place, but his glares told me he hadn’t forgiven me yet. I’d been annoyed. Until I learned that those earrings had been a gift from Divya’s dead dad to her dead mum. Yeah, I wouldn’t forgive myself, either.
I was reaching for the garam masala on the top shelf when warm hands squeezed my naked ass. I flicked a glance behind my shoulder. How did I end up winning this man? He stood behind me with nothing but a towel around his hips and a devilish grin on his thick lips. I swatted his hands off me. “I’m going to cook.”
He ignored me and let his hands bunch his shirt I was wearing and roll it onto my back.
“Marco,” I whined half-heartedly.
When his harsh voice vibrated in my ear, I abandoned my plans for cooking. “Dessert first.”
Fuck, this man. He was hot and horny all the time, and I wasn’t complaining. The garam masala stayed in the cupboard. I reached back and tugged his towel, and it dropped in a thick heap on the floor. His hands made work of popping my buttons and swept inside to squeeze my tits.
“Had a good day?” he asked right before he plunged two fingers inside me.
I groaned loudly.
“Hmm…” he urged.
“Did nothing.” The night was dark, and I caught our reflection staring back at us from the window. Fuck, we looked hot.
“Fucking perfect,” he growled, biting my shoulder with his eyes on our reflection.
I wasn’t sure if he meant perfect that I did nothing, or that I was perfect. Knowing him, he meant both.
“I need to earn my living—”
A sharp whack stung my ass, and his fingers pulled out. “You are.” He plunged his cock in. “By taking my cock.”
I rolled my eyes. He’d taken to calling me his custom-made whore since he’d found my kink for dirty name calling. He was still as I fell with my forearms on the countertop and shoved my ass back. It was crazy shit talk for anyone but us. For us, this was what worked. He pulled out and said with a devious gleam in his eyes, “I had a great day today.”
I scowled. His days were made up of beating up and killing men. “Who did you kill?”
“No one.”
“So what did—”
“I bought you something.” His hand stroked my ass with something hard and cold and tiny. It moved from the cleft of my butt, up my back to my shoulder, and rode down my left arm. I watched his big-fisted hands, clearly hiding something from my prying eyes. One pulse point and something glided over my fingers, and my breath halted. There was a dull gold line on my finger.
“You’re marrying me.”
In typical Marco style, he didn’t ask. Emotion clogged my throat at the sight of my finger. It was dull gold and had a small, intricate pattern that looked Indian. That was Marco’s style, too. He knew that I truly loved those earrings.
“Did Divya help you choose?” I couldn’t bring my gaze away from the gold on my finger. It didn’t even sparkle. It was dull gold, like an ancient piece of jewellery that had led inside a cave for centuries, and I loved it so much.
“Fuck yes. The only good taste I had was spent when I chose you. Say yes.”
I pulled my eyes off it to meet his in the reflection.
“It wasn’t a question.”
“Fuck no.” He gave me an angry stare before he plunged in again, pulling a loud moan from me. “You are mine.”
“Yes,” I whispered, even if he hadn’t waited for a yes.
He worked us both, pumping in and out. Our eyes were glued to each other in the mirror. I lifted myself up and pasted my back to his front. His big hand was rough and pinched my nipples painfully. Shots of pleasure swept through my body. His other hand came to the front. I watched in the mirror as it glided down and pinched my clit. The pride on his face as he watched me was what dreams were made of.
Some women would want their man to be on his knee and ask. But my man, he did it butt naked while he was vulnerable and inside me. I guessed love was different for everyone.
His cock stroked my magic spot, and my world burst into a million pieces. He pumped harsh and deep like a lunatic, and my muscles squeezed all his cum out. I fell on my forearms to the worktop, and he landed on top of me. He was sweaty and heavy. Just the way I liked it.
My love was different.
My love was him. Pure and naked.
My love was him killing an Albanian for me.
My love was him defending me.
My love was him not judging me for my past.
My love was him. Him. Him.
I’d take the whole world on if I had him by my side.
Want to know more about Antonio and Divya?