King of Italy (Fausti Family Royal)

23. Lifeblood of a newly Roaring Heart

Chapter 23

Lifeblood of a newly Roaring Heart

M y back was to his front as he continued to explore my body. My eyes were closed, my heart demanding to absorb his touch, take it deeper than skin, where I’d keep it for the rest of my life and beyond. He sucked on my neck and I moaned, pushing my ass against his hardness again.

He turned me over, his eyes roaming to my breasts, before he started to suck my nipples, his teeth grazing. My hips bucked up as my uterus tightened. Even though I was sore, blood still on my thighs from our first time, my body couldn’t deny the pull to his.

In this, he ruled me.

My only king.

He kissed me long and deep, and I melted.

Forgot the time and place.

Remembered there was no world.

There was only us .

He made noises that came from deep inside of his chest.

He told me I’d awoke the near-starved lion in his heart, and I didn’t doubt it. I could hear it speaking to me in a language that was both poetic and ruthless.

He pulled back some and our tongues touched, swirled, before he started to kiss his way down my body .

It was the middle of the night, and we’d made love more times than I could count, but somehow, he kept bringing me back to the first time—a power I had a feeling he would employ every time he touched me. It was a feeling he initiated from the start inside of me—our love was ancient, but our touches were brand new. It was like hot and cold coming together, causing a physical reaction, and I trembled as he opened my legs and his eyes lowered to almost slits as he watched his fingers play me like a mandolino , eliciting noises from me that I knew only he could.

My back arched and I pushed into the feeling of his fingers teasing me.

He spoke to me in Italian, his breath ragged, his tone rough. “Your pleasure is the most beautiful music to my heart, Amora.” He slipped his finger inside of me and I gasped, then made a deep mmmmm sound as he started to move it in and out of me. “Louder.”

I turned the volume up.

My voice was almost hoarse, even though I hadn’t been screaming, but this felt so good, it was causing a reaction inside of me that went much deeper. It was wreaking havoc on my emotions. Had sent them in a spiral that I knew would fundamentally change me come morning. Even though I was thirty years old, this man had turned me into a woman.

“ Ah, ah, ah ,” I almost chanted as he took my mouth and started to kiss me long and deep again.

He was swallowing my pleasure, like it was sustenance to his soul. I willingly gave it to him, the still-starved look in his eyes, in his touch, in his words, causing me to respond, offering him all he needed, because I needed it too.

His eyes kept going to my thighs, a fire in them like I’d never seen before when he stared at the blood stains. He’d smeared it over the cut across his chest, like my lifeblood would enter his bloodstream that way.

“You are mine, Aria Amora Bella,” he had said right after he had been inside of me for the first time, groaning so deep in his throat, I thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

We were both breathless—even then.

So wrapped up in each other, it was hard to tell where I began and he ended.

This wasn’t just sex for either of us.

This was me sacrificing sacred blood to him, and him making a vow to me with it—I was his and he was mine. It would have been hard for me to believe before, but…I could feel our souls entangling, as if each of ours had cords, and they would be forever bonded.

I’d never felt anything in this life that was more powerful.

We couldn’t stop.

“If I am not inside of mine,” he said, his eyes lighting with a fierce passion as he stared into mine, “I will die.”

What had started out slowly became a fatal need if it wasn’t satisfied. He situated himself at my entrance and entered me with a groan that vibrated his throat. I set my hands on each side of his neck, closing my eyes to his width and length, giving my body time to adjust, before the slight pain receded and the pleasure flooded my system.

With all that I was, I knew.

I’d never love this way again—in any other lifetime, if those even existed, with anyone else. What we shared was once in a lifetime—the end game. The I’ll see you in heaven and not a second too late kind of love.

He pushed into me faster, harder, the louder I became. He seemed starved for my response to him. And I was. So hungry for him. My needs couldn’t be contained by my mouth.

Each of his strokes lit a fire inside of me, until my already sensitive nerves were begging for mercy, and I snapped, my orgasm making me tighten around him as my entire body quaked.

He spilled himself inside of me, the cords of his neck tightening with his muscles, his entire powerful body jerking into mine .

My eyes fluttered closed after, and when I opened them, it was to him exploring my body with his fingertips. I ran my hand through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

“You were gone from me for too long,” he said, kissing me again.

“How long was I asleep?” My voice seemed to float. It hadn’t been that long, since it was still dark outside—I prayed for a night that would last an eternity if it meant I got to have him this way.

“Might as well have been a century.” His hand came to my hip, and like every second counted, he situated me even closer to him, almost over his chest.

I was draped there like I had lost all control of my limbs. I had.

My lips still worked, though. I kissed his neck. “I really have to use the bathroom,” I whispered, my eyes closing again.

He kept me pressed to him as he got to a sitting position, lifting us both from the bed like I weighed nothing, and brought me to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of him and I in the mirror, and I looked like he had drained the life from me, even though my cheeks were pink and glowing, my eyes lit up with fire, lowered to slits, and he looked like…an Italian god who had just gotten started.

Italian god or not, I didn’t even care that he was in the bathroom when I let loose. It was like my bladder couldn’t control itself. It, too, had been battered. Every muscle and bone ached, and I didn’t realize how deep until I went to stand to wash my hands, and I had to use my arms to push myself up.

That was when I noticed it.

My left finger.

It had a new addition.

An engagement ring.

It was simple, but not…

The center stone was a diamond that was at least…well, I didn’t exactly know, but it was big, and emerald cut. A baguette-cu t stone was on each side. The focus of the ring was the central stone, though.

Rocco touched the center stone. “Our present—the moment we are in.” He touched the stone to the left. “Our past—the first time my eyes found you, and the lion inside of my heart knew he had found his forever mate.” He touched the stone to the right. “Our future—the rest of our lives that will be spent together in love.” He caressed the side of my face. “My Amora.”

The diamonds seemed to transfix me, but it wasn’t the actual ring. It was his words. The sincerity in them.

What he was asking—in his own way—of me.

He was asking for the rest of my life.

Even though we had only known each other for a short time, I didn’t think twice about saying yes to forever with him. But I wasn’t sure if I’d be enough for the rest of his life. Yeah, I talked a big game, felt secure enough in myself and this love to know my worth in it, but I had to hear it from his mouth first. He’d just lost Rosaria Caffi, and maybe it hadn’t been a traditional marriage, but…it was going to take time to undo all that she’d done to him, as far as the…relationship he was used to with her. An open marriage.

I’d spend the rest of my life showing him a different way, a way he’d always craved, but he didn’t have to rush, just like he’d said of our physical relationship.

In my silence, Rocco wrapped his arms around me, and setting his arms over mine, hands over mine, he washed them for me.

“Rocco?” I whispered.

His eyes came straight to mine.

I lifted my left hand. “Tell me what this means,” I whispered.

Lifting me off my feet, he carried me into the living room and situated my body over his. I wrapped my hands around his neck, straddling him.

“I cannot claim that I love you. Love is a lie. It does not come close to what I feel for you. You are the life in my veins, Amora, feeding my heart. Therefore, you know what this means. For me—all that my heart has ever desired. You. All of you. Until my life is over.”

“Even beyond?” I whispered.

“Even beyond,” he said, “if it is mine to give.”

His eyes were so guileless, and the truth in them made tears slip down my cheeks. I leaned down, resting my head against his, closing my eyes. He closed his. I breathed out, and he breathed in.

“We don’t have to rush,” I said.

“We are not,” he whispered, but the conviction in his words was loud, clear, and strong. “We have waited our entire lives to repeat sacred vows on sacred ground.”

And what I said next, I meant with my entire soul. And it went for this entire night.

“It couldn’t have been any man but you,” I whispered, taking his face in my hands. “No other man would do. Out of the entire world, you. It’s only ever been you I’ve said yes to. Even when I had no idea such a romantic soul existed for mine.”

He went to turn his face away from me, but I refused to allow it. If we were going to do this, he wouldn’t be vulnerable with the rest of the world, but he would be with me. I’d protect all that he was in danger of losing. Sure, he’d protect my honor, but I would protect his heart and soul. I’d refuse to allow the world to fuck with either. I’d respect his flesh, too, refusing to damage the stunning art God had created. The scars he had were enough—battle wounds caused by the hand that should have been protecting him, not turning on him.

“Yes, Rocco Piero Fausti, for you, it will always be yes from me. Even when you don’t ask. Even when you can’t ask. My answer, forever, will be yes to you. I have no choice but to love you until the day I die—even beyond, because that’s my right to give it to you. I’ll love you so fiercely, so hard, it will become me. It will become me.”

His eyes, like mine, were glistening in the darkness, the truth between us overwhelming us. It didn’t come from one area of our beings, but from who we were as one.

Our entire…existences.

He took my hands in his and brought them between our chests. My heart was overreacting as it usually did, and so was his. The pendant he had given me, his heart in material form, dug into my flesh and his.

His next words were spoken in the language of our people, and his face was hardened, like he was a solider making a vow to his army, but his voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were speaking to the woman he would love for eternity. The difference between the sharp light of day and the soft darkness of a romantic night.

“I will live for you. I would die for you. I would lie for you.” He cleared his throat, and letting the tears fall on my hand, he kissed it, like he was shedding blood for the vow, like I had shed blood for the vow I’d made to him earlier.

“I just have one question,” I whispered. “I don’t know all there is to know about your…relationship with Rosaria. But I understand that it was an open marriage. Unless you need to tell me, I’m okay not knowing all the details, unless it’s something I want to know. But.” I released a breath that felt heavy. “Will I be enough for you , Rocco Fausti?”

He made a pained sound, like the one he’d made earlier after our first time, and he ran his hand through my blood and painted himself with it. He took my arms in his hands, and I felt the trembling in his bones down to mine.

“Tell me, amore , when your heart was created for mine, did God create it to be enough for my body?”

He had me there.

“Yes,” I breathed out. “Yes. It’s more than enough.”

He nodded. “ Finamente. All is settled.”

We stared at each other before we seemed to move into each other at the same time, our lips sealing the moment of the vulnerable truth between us, hardening it to the walls of our hearts. We were bare to each other, our scars and blood on display, hiding nothing.

“Rocco,” I cried, letting all my weight fall against him.

He wrapped me in his arms, kissing my face, over and over.

“I don’t know what to do with all this love… I don’t know how to…keep the intensity of it inside of me.”

“You do not have to, Amora,” he said. “This is why I am here. You share it with me, just as I share it with you. It is ours.” He lifted me from the sofa, bringing me back into the bathroom.

He set me on the counter, turning the shower on, the steam floating in the room like warm ghosts. With a touch so gentle it made the tears come faster, he washed me from head to toes. I turned and did the same for him, being exceptionally gentle around the scar over his chest. What we were doing was not exceptionally thrilling, but it was so intimate, and I loved seeing how contented he was, how hard he was from my touch. After we were both clean, I wrapped my arms around his neck, our bodies trying to get as close as possible, but it never felt close enough.

His mouth came to mine in a tender kiss, until it started to get rougher, our tongues fighting to go deeper, even though it was a soft swirl. He lifted me off my feet, my legs wrapping around his waist, and pressing my back to the warmed tile, he entered me in a stroke that made me cry out.

“Look at me, amore,” he demanded, his hips a steady flow of pleasure that shook me to my core.

My eyes fluttered open to his commanding ones. Water beat against his back, dripping down his body, and as our bodies moved together, the flow of it was getting caught and splashing.

“Put it on me,” he said. “Put all of your love on me.”

His words were moving me. I was moving into him as hard as he was moving into me, freeing myself of the love and, doing as he said, making him feel it down to his soul. That was how deep I wanted my love to infiltrate his system. Totally consume him to the point that, when he thought of me, it felt as if his heart levitated, the same as when he smelled my perfume lingering in the room even when I wasn’t in it.

“Rocco!” I cried out, giving into the demands of his body. My love was endless, but my body had a breaking point, though I knew for the rest of my life, I’d keep putting all my love on him, like I’d feed him food at our table.

With a powerful thrust that sent him so deep inside of me, my breath felt as if it was knocked out of me, he exploded inside of me, making me orgasm against his cock again, my thighs trembling, my body completely spent.

He could go for hours and not tire, it seemed.

I was glad I was still in my prime, but still, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to truly keep up with him. He was virile—more than the laws of nature usually allowed. I’d never had sex before, but it was so apparent that everything about him was not normal.

Thankful didn’t even begin to cover how I felt about that. I was far from normal too, even if in different ways.

His head came against mine. “I do not think I would have survived you when I was a younger man. You would have killed me, amore .”

A lazy grin came to my face. “Funny,” I mumbled. “I was just thinking the same thing, but in reverse—I’m not sure if I’ll be able to survive you when I’m your age.”

He pulled me away some. “Did you just insinuate that I am old?”

I exploded with laugher and kissed his lips. “No! I just stated how amazing you are at the sex.”

“At the sex,” he muttered, shutting the water off and carrying us out of the shower together. He sat me on the counter, drying me off, before he used the same towel to dry, then wrapped it around his waist.

Pity that. No part of him should ever been hidden from me.

Rocco Piero Fausti was the reason Greeks had loved the male form enough to immortalize it in art.

Blinking out of my stupor, I caught him glancing at the things I had on the counter. I removed a soft brush for blush out of its holder and touched the tip of his sharp nose with it. “Penny for your thoughts?” I whispered.

“You do not need all these things.” He waved a dismissive hand at the counter.

I smiled at him. “I don’t use all of them every day, but I like to have them all the same. My favorites.” I hopped off the counter. Too fast. My head spun and my bones shouted. My cooch felt like it had been run through a tenderizer or stabbed—pick any metaphor along those lines and make it fit. I grinned. He had made it fit, all right. But even though there was an uncomfortable edge, the pleasure…a silent breath escaped my lips.

He steadied me, and his eyes flew down to mine in concern.

“Uncle Tito,” he said.

“No!” I rushed out. “I, um, don’t think this is anything Uncle Tito can help with. It’s the, ah, size of you…I think. My body needs to adjust.”

“You were made for me.” He said this as if it was the remedy to all my aches and pains.

He set me on the counter again. Then he left the bathroom and came back with a low-back chair that he sat me down on. He found my hairbrush and started to comb thought the knots in my hair. He was gentle, but he applied enough pressure to get through them. My eyes closed and I relaxed into the feel of it. After a second, when he stopped, I opened my eyes and found him holding a fine-tooth comb.

He gave me a suspicious look. I wanted to laugh but didn’t.

“Women use those too,” I said, taking it from him. I nodded to the seat. “Sit.”

He did. “Tell me, how do women use them.”

“After I curl my hair, I brush through it with this—” I lifted it up. “My hair is naturally wavy, but sometimes, depending on the weather, it can get frizzy. The comb helps tame it and give my waves more definition.”

As soon as I started combing through his hair, his entire body relaxed, and I could have sworn he fell asleep. Until my stomach growled. Obnoxiously. Like it does when the room is quiet, and a test is being taken. His eyes flew open and he looked at my stomach, that same suspicious look falling over my hands, which were trying to shush the embarrassing noises.

“My lioness hunts for me, but she will not starve at my table.” He stood, and after slipping my pink silk robe—thank you, discount retail store that almost everyone has heard of—over my body, he carried me into the kitchen and set me down on the counter.

He opened the fridge, the meager light giving life to his gorgeous lines, and rooted through it.

“Ooh, I have leftover pasta!”

His face turned slowly toward mine, and his coloring had completely drained, as if he’d seen a ghost in my fridge.

Okay.

No pasta.

Noted.

“I have fruit too,” I whispered, finishing lamely.

He grabbed a container of grapes and set them next to me. He fed me almost the entire bowl, and I fed him a few, and when I said I was going to make him something to eat—not pasta—he dug through the cabinets and set the two focaccia pans on the counter.

“Oh,” I whispered, tucking a strand of almost dried hair behind my ear, smiling a bit. “You want more bread?”

He nodded. “ Sì .”

It was such an…innocent response to something he didn’t want to ask me for. I hoped in time he would. He would love so many of my dishes, he’d request them from me. Nonna had always loved when I asked her for certain dishes. I didn’t get how it made her so happy, but I understood it then, even if I couldn’t exactly spin the why of it into words.

While I set the dough out to rise, Rocco leaned against the counter, and I pointed to the desk .

“Do you mind if I write for a minute?”

He pulled out my seat for me, then kissed me on top of the head and sat across from me on the sofa, Pisolino behind him on the backrest. Pisolino bopped him on the head a few times, but Rocco only scratched him behind the ears, earning himself a lifelong fan.

I’d realized something as I was mixing the dough. I’d never been writing a story for the world to read, but my own personal journal. I told Rocco this, and then, in the same style I had been, I wrote about our day, our night, and everything in between. I’d have this record for the rest of my life, and that thought put me at complete peace—that our love would live on eternally through my words.

Sighing, I closed the book and met his eyes.

“You look enthralled.” I smiled.

He bowed to me. “You are creating art. You are moving me, even though I do not see what that art is yet. You are the art, my Amora.”

Sighing again at his moving words, I thanked him, then went to the kitchen, decorated the bread, and stuck it in the oven. The oven in the apartment wasn’t just a regular oven. It reminded me of a pizza oven with doors. I loved it. It was romantic in an old-world way. While the bread baked, Rocco took my hand and led me out to the balcony. While he held me, my hands drifted across the stone in soft strokes, and he rested his chin on my head.

We were going to watch the sunrise together.

The oven had other plans. I must have heated it too much, and when the smell of burning bread made it outside, I went to rush inside.

He kept me in place. “I will get it.” He placed a fast kiss on the top of my head before he went back inside.

I was about to follow him, but movement from beneath the balcony caught my eye. I squinted in the murky darkness, and my heart fell into my stomach when my eyes met another set below me. The figure pointed at me, her black hair whipping in the wind, and then made a slicing motion against her throat—then she was gone.

It took me a second to catch my breath, and when I went to rush inside, Rocco was coming outside. I held on to him, and he set me away from him so he could look into my eyes, still holding onto my shoulders.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I thought—it was nothing,” I shook my head, rambling. “It was nothing. The bread?”

He set me on the sofa and then went outside, charging through the darkness just as the sun started to rise in the sky and shed light on the world. I refused to sit and do nothing. I decided to stand behind him, looking for any signs of Rosaria Caffi. It could have been a lookalike, but…what were the odds? The interaction had gotten to me though. My arms were crossed, and I trembled.

Rocco took me in his arms, his back to the balcony, and I pulled him inside, not feeling comfortable with his neck being so vulnerable.

“The bread?” I asked again to break the tension.

He took me with him into the kitchen, showing me a burnt piece of…something. That had been on fire, not the bread.

“Good,” I breathed. “Ready to eat?”

He nodded, still staring at my face, like he could figure out my mystery without having to pull it out of me. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not then. I cut him a big piece of focaccia and poured him a glass of Chianti to go with it. He ate an entire pan, and half of the other, by himself. The grapes had mostly filled me up.

By the time we were done feeding each other, we’d drank an entire bottle of wine, and with the roller coaster of emotions and all the love making…I was woozy and tired. We slipped back in bed, and he pulled me close to him. I wrapped my arms around his, wishing our bones didn’t exist so we could get even closer. His breath washed over my skin, and even though it was soothing, her gh ostly pale face, her accusing finger, the slicing motion she’d made, had unnerved me.

I spun the new ring on my left finger around and around.

I should have told him the truth then, but I didn’t want it to set him back. I needed to loosen her grip on him, not bring it back to life.

I should have told him the truth then.

That was my mistake.