Chapter 37 Chiara
Chiara
The light from the bathroom offers me a teasing glimpse of Angelo’s chiseled body. He has his back to me, but holy smoke, the man has buns of steel. I almost whimper at the sight of his ass before it vanishes inside a snug pair of silky black boxers. Then he turns and I die.
Angelo is not as bulky as Kane, but he’s no less muscular. My gaze tracks the sharp planes of his chest as he glances at his phone. There’s ink on his side, a complex design that I’d like to examine more closely.
My slut side wants to do a lot more than look.
She’s salivating at the way his boxers showcase a significant bulge. Hot damn. The man’s packing. Kane and Luka are both blessed in that department, but Angelo has as much if not more to offer.
My lady parts weep.
I need to close my eyes. Get some sleep. Not ogle the husband I love to hate.
When I finally drag my hungry little eyes back up Angelo’s chest, he’s watching me with a smirk on his handsome face.
“Can I help you, princess?” he purrs.
“No. All good,” I squeak before burrowing down under the covers and slamming my eyelids shut.
Not that it helps. The sight of Angelo in nothing but a pair of figure-hugging boxers is now burned onto my retinas and permanently stored in my finger vault.
Angelo laughs before ducking back into the bathroom. The light goes out a few seconds later, and then the mattress dips as he lifts the covers.
I tense, not sure what to expect. But he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he murmurs a soft “good night” and then turns away.
Long minutes pass while my brain goes into overdrive instead of switching off.
Why has Kane disappeared?
Will Lorenzo take revenge for Santini’s not-sad demise?
What will happen when everyone realizes Fina’s knocked up and Matteo is the father?
Angelo sighs.
“Try to get some sleep, Chiara.”
Easier said than done, asshole. “I’m trying!”
“Well, try harder!”
“Happy to go back to my own bed,” I huff irritably.
“No, you’re not going anywhere, princess. Not with a head injury. I don’t trust Luka to take care of you properly.”
“It must be exhausting trying to control everything.”
From his annoyed harrumph, he doesn’t appreciate being told he’s controlling, but it’s true. He is the most controlling man I’ve ever known.
I shift onto my side to face him, and even though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted enough to see he’s watching me.
“Are we safe here?” The more I overthink everything, the more I’m worried that Lorenzo might do something insane because he feels threatened. Men like him don’t like being challenged, especially not by the son who’s always backed down before.
“You’re always safe with me, princess.”
It’s taken me a long time to realize he’s right. I am always safe with him.
“The house is more secure than the White House. Kane made sure of that. Your safety is my priority.”
“Really? Even though I haven’t popped out any little Di Rossi heirs yet?” Lorenzo’s threat echoes in my mind. “Your dad said he’d get rid of me if I didn’t get pregnant.”
“He said what?” Angelo vibrates with rage.
“Yeah. I said that perhaps you preferred guys, so it wasn’t my fault.”
There’s a long silence while Angelo processes this information.
“You told my rampantly homophobic father you thought I was into men?” To my surprise, he starts laughing. “Oh my fucking god, is that why he lost his shit with you?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Or it could have been when I called him old man and said it was too late for buyer’s remorse.” I glare into the darkness. “I sure lucked out when I got him as a father-in-law. Just like I did when I got Vivian as a stepmom. Fucking bitch.”
Angelo’s still too busy laughing to comment on that. It occurs to me that I’ve never heard Angelo laugh before. Probably because he doesn’t have much to laugh about, but I like it. The man needs more laughter in his life. Not at my expense, but still.
“Don’t ever change, Chiara,” he chuckles when his amusement finally fades.
“Not going to happen, bud. The tradwife aesthetic is not for me.”
His snort tells me he’s already figured that out.
We lie in silence while I try - and fail - to sleep. I assume he’s nodded off, but when he sighs again as I adjust my pillow for the millionth time, I realize I’m keeping him awake.
“Sorry.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“No.”
A hand reaches out and pushes some loose strands of hair away from my mouth.
“Maybe if you could relax you’d be able to sleep.”
“Easier said than done,” I grumble. It’s not like I haven’t been trying to relax for the last hour. Only my brain refuses to wind down.
“I could help you relax?” I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he’s suggesting.
“Or I could go wake Luka up…”
He growls, and before I can move a muscle, I’m trapped beneath his body.
“No. You’re my wife, and if my wife needs to relax, it’s my job as her husband to help her relax.”
“You gonna sing me a lullaby?” I tease to distract my body from the sensation overload. There’s something hard pressing against my needy clit, and I bite my lip to stop myself from whimpering.
“No, princess, I don’t do lullabies.”
“That’s sad for our future kids,” I say without thinking, and he goes very still.
“Future kids?”
“Slip of the tongue,” I reply, desperate to correct my slip of the tongue. Or should that be Freudian slip? Seeing as how it sounds like my inner slut is desperate to be bred like an omega in heat. Damn me for reading too many smut books.
He rocks his hips against me, provoking a storm of lust, and I can’t help my reaction. A desperate moan escapes.
“Does that feel good, princess?”
“No, it feels terrible.” My pathetic little gasp makes a mockery of my words, and he smirks knowingly.
“Let me make you come.” I like that he’s asking, not taking, because we both know unless he says something truly awful in the next minute, I’m done resisting.
I want an orgasm, but more than that, I want him.
Yes, he’s infuriating, controlling, and obnoxious as hell most of the time, but he’s no longer my enemy.
When I don’t reply, mostly because my brain has seized, he rocks his hips again. The subtle pressure causes my brain to basically melt into a puddle of lustful goo, and this time I moan louder. There are two layers of fabric between us, but I can feel every inch of him.
My pussy gushes. It’s a wonder I’m not lying in a wet spot. I’d like to blame the alcohol I consumed at the party, and also the shock of my confrontation with Lorenzo, but that would be a lie.
This is all me. Apparently, I’m a wanton slut for my husband.
Who’d have thought I’d ever have that thought in my head? Not me, that’s for sure.
“Please,” I gasp when he rocks against me, using his hard cock to rub my needy little clit.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he croons in my ear, still resting his weight over me but not on me. The hard planes of his chest brush against my nipples as he rolls his hips again. It’s torture of the best kind, but not even close to what I want.
“I want to fucking come, you asshole,” I snap, not amused that he’s edging me so effectively. I hate edging, I decide. It’s inhumane. Likely against the Geneva Convention.
Before I can lob more insults at him for not doing what he promised, he slides back down the bed, taking the covers with him.
Somehow, perhaps by sleight of hand, when I look down I realize the tee he lent me is now caught up around my tits, leaving my soft belly and lace-covered pussy on display.
There is very little light in this bedroom, but Angelo seems entranced by my pussy.
“Who bought you these?” he says, staring at the tiny scrap of red lace and silk.
“Luka.” He loves to buy pretty lingerie for me. Mostly so he has the pleasure of removing it.
Naturally, that answer displeases Angelo. He hooks his fingers under the ribbons across my hips and snap - the panties are no more.
“I liked that pair!” God, why do men have to be so territorial? Despite how much I want his hands, mouth, and cock, I’m sorely tempted to tell him to go fuck himself right now.
“I’ll buy you more panties, princess,” he promises before spreading my thighs and lowering his mouth to my pussy.
Any insults and threats I had lined up all fade into the ether. The hot, wet sensation of his tongue as he licks me and caresses my clit wipes my brain. Again.
It’s as if he’s memorized the how-to manual on pleasing me. There’s no awkward fumbling around or teasing. He senses what I want and acts on it.
Because he hasn’t shaved, my inner thighs are soon red-raw from stubble rash, but I don’t care. And he doesn’t seem to care that my thighs lock around his head as I try desperately to find my release.
Only each time I hover on the brink of an orgasm, he backs off.
Yeah…edging. It’s like he’s punishing me for not behaving tonight.
The bastard.
I fucking hate him!
When he backs off for the millionth time, I scream and try to punch him, but he just laughs.
“You don’t get to come until I decide, princess.” Here we go again. “I want you to come on my dick.”
I beg, plead, and threaten some more until finally, he takes pity on me. He slides back up my body and shoves my tee up higher so he can suck my breasts. Each long, slow suck drives me even more insane.
Even Luka isn’t this cruel. He likes to tease, but not to this extent.
By the time Angelo’s sucked my tits to his satisfaction, my whole body is taut with need, and my pussy aches so much it’s painful.
He leans down and kisses me. His lips taste of me. For a moment, I lose myself in him. In his kiss. Then I feel him nudging at my entrance. Pressing inside me. One inch, and then another.
He rocks gently, pushing in and then retreating. Yet more teasing, but at least he’s giving me a chance to adapt to his size.
“Good girl,” he purrs as he presses in deeper. One hand cups my breast, kneading my flesh, distracting me from the burn of taking him.
When he’s fully seated inside me, he pauses. From the tension in his body, and the way he hovers over me, he’s on the edge. Just like me.
Angelo is now my husband in every sense of the word. It hasn’t escaped my notice that after more than a year, this is us finally consummating our marriage.
It’s a big step. For both of us.
“Move,” I grit out when he carries on staring down at me with an unfathomable expression.
He smiles before doing exactly that, lifting my hips and powering into me so hard it feels like I might never walk again.
My nails dig into his back, breaking the skin, and he hisses but doesn’t slow down. Harder, faster, angling his entry perfectly so he rubs my clit with each roll of his hips.
I fall apart with a scream, losing myself in a rush of pleasure so powerful I almost black out. Angelo pumps into me a few more times and then follows me over the edge with a low groan.
Heat blooms inside me, and too late, I realize we just had unprotected sex.
Fuck.
Maybe the kids I mentioned earlier will arrive sooner than I thought.