Quinn
I wake once again before he does. I don’t know if it’s because I feel safe in bed beside him that my sleep is deep and fulfilling that I wake earlier than him, but I enjoy it. I enjoy the peace of just lying here in the quietness.
Lorenzo is warm beside me. More than warm, he runs hot in his sleep.
I turn my head and look at him. He looks younger when he sleeps, softer somehow and I like the vulnerability of it.
He's always so controlled, always watching, always assessing, always carrying the weight of an entire organization on his shoulders.
Even when he's relaxed, there's usually something guarded about him.
Not now, and I love that I get to witness him like this. See this part of him that no one else does.
He shifts slightly in his sleep and his arm tightens around me, making a smile tugs at my lips. A few weeks ago, if someone had told me I'd be waking up in Lorenzo Mariano's bed, wrapped in his arms, I'd have laughed in their face. Now I can't imagine waking up anywhere else.
I turn my head and look at him again. He's still asleep. Good. That means I have a few more minutes before he starts being impossible, so I decide to take advantage of them.
I press my mouth to his jaw first, then his throat, where I can feel his pulse. He makes a sound low in his throat, but he doesn’t wake, and I smile against his skin and keep going.
His hand slides into my hair before he's even opened his eyes. A second later, his breathing changes, the sleepy confusion fading as he wakes up and figures out exactly what's going on. "Quinn." His voice is rough with sleep.
"Mm," I reply, which is definitely not an answer.
He lets me continue, which I wasn't expecting. For all his control, for all the ways Lorenzo likes to know exactly what's happening around him, he's never once made me feel pressured. His hand slides through my hair, not pushing, just holding on to me while he lets me take my time.
I do take my time. My lips trail lower, brushing the hard plane of his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my mouth.
I shift down the bed, settling between his thighs.
His cock is already half-hard, thick and heavy against his skin.
I wrap my fingers around the base and stroke once, slow, watching it swell fully under my touch.
Lorenzo exhales through his teeth. His hand stays loose in my hair, but the grip tightens just enough to let me know he's awake and aware.
I lean in and lick a stripe up the underside, tasting salt and heat.
The head is smooth and flushed. I close my mouth over it, sucking gently at first, learning the shape, the weight on my tongue.
He makes that low sound again, deeper now.
I take more, sliding down until my lips meet my fist. My jaw stretches, and saliva slicks everything.
I bob my head, finding a rhythm that makes his thighs tense on either side of me.
Every time I swirl my tongue under the crown or suck harder on the upstroke, his fingers flex and his breathing changes.
I go deeper on the next pass, pushing until the head nudges the back of my throat.
I gag a little and pull back, but the sound seems to do something to him.
His hips lift once, involuntary, before he forces them still again.
The restraint is hotter than if he'd taken over.
I do it again on purpose, letting the wet choke happen, letting drool run down his shaft and over my hand.
His free hand finds my shoulder, not pushing, just holding. "Quinn," he says again, voice gravel and smoke. I hum around him in answer and feel the vibration travel through his cock. He swears under his breath.
I speed up, sucking wet and messy, one hand working what my mouth can't reach, the other braced on his hip.
The room fills with the sounds of it, my breathing through my nose, the occasional rough noise he can't quite swallow.
Heat pools low in my belly from the power of it, from the way this controlled man is letting me wreck him with my mouth.
I hollow my cheeks, drag my tongue along the vein on the underside, and feel him throb.
He's close. I can tell by the way his hand in my hair starts to guide, not force, just a gentle pressure that says keep going.
I don't stop. I take him as deep as I can and swallow around him, eyes watering, throat working.
The first pulse hits my tongue, hot and bitter.
I keep sucking through it, swallowing what I can, letting the rest spill over my lips and down my chin.
His groan is raw, broken at the edges, and his body locks up under me before the tension finally bleeds out.
I ease off slowly, licking him clean, tasting every drop. My jaw aches, my lips feel swollen. I rest my cheek against his thigh and look up at him through wet lashes. He's watching me, eyes dark, chest rising fast. The hand in my hair strokes once, almost tender.
"Come here," he says, his voice still rough. I crawl up his body and let him pull me against his chest, his heartbeat hammering under my ear. He hasn't taken the lead yet. He just holds me there, letting the moment stretch while I catch my breath and savor the ache in my mouth.
His grip tightens suddenly, fingers digging into my skin with raw urgency.
In one swift motion he flips us, pinning me flat on my back under the weight of his body.
He pulls my nightie from my body as his mouth slams against mine again, tongue thrusting deep as he tastes his own release still lingering on my lips.
The kiss is messy, demanding, stealing my breath while his hands roam without pause.
Teeth drag along my neck, scraping hard enough to make me shiver, then his lips follow, sucking at the pulse point until heat blooms under my skin.
Both palms cup my breasts, squeezing firmly as his thumbs rub slow circles over my nipples, teasing them into tight, aching peaks that throb with every pass.
The sensation shoots straight between my legs, making my thighs twitch.
He dips his head lower and sucks one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking wet and insistent while he draws hard, the pull sending sparks racing through me.
At the same time his fingers trail down my stomach, leaving trails of fire, and slips between my thighs.
Two thick digits push inside without hesitation, stretching me open as they curl against that sensitive spot deep within.
I gasp, hips jerking, but he holds me steady with his free hand and works them in and out, thumb grinding against my clit in relentless circles.
"My wife," he growls against my breast, the words vibrating through me.
The first climax crashes over me fast, my walls clenching tight around his fingers as pleasure rips through my core.
He doesn't ease up. Instead he adds a third finger, pumping harder, licking and biting at my throat while I tremble through the aftershocks.
Wet sounds fill the air as he keeps driving into me, building pressure again until a second orgasm hits, stronger this time, leaving my legs shaking and my breath ragged.
Before I can recover he shifts lower, replacing his thumb with his mouth.
His tongue licks broad and filthy over my clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips while his fingers keep thrusting.
He spreads me wider, lapping and devouring like he's starved for the taste, and the third climax tears through me with a cry, my thighs clamping around his head as waves of sensation pulse outward.
Even then he doesn't stop, holding me down and licking through the oversensitivity until a fourth peak builds and breaks, leaving me gasping and slick with sweat.
Lorenzo rises up, eyes dark and feral. He lines his cock up and drives in deep with one hard thrust, filling me completely.
The stretch burns sweet and perfect, my back arching off the bed as he starts to fuck me in earnest, hips snapping forward while one hand pins my wrists above my head and the other grips my thigh to keep me open.
Every stroke grinds against that spot inside, pushing me higher again as he leans down to bite my shoulder, my collarbone, my lips.
"Mine," he snarls between thrusts. "My wife.
Taking every inch like you were made for it.
" He pulls out, and in one swift movement, he flips me onto my stomach, slamming back in from behind.
One hand reaches under to rub my clit once more while he pounds relentlessly.
The fifth orgasm hits around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing as I moan into the sheets.
He drags me up onto my knees, his chest pressed to my back, and keeps driving until I'm shaking and begging, only then burying himself deep and pulsing hot inside me with a broken groan, teeth sunk into the back of my neck.
The only sound is our breathing as I curl against Lorenzo's side and let my eyes drift shut.
His fingers move lazily through my hair, and neither of us speaks for a while.
I trace idle patterns across his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
For the first time since I walked down the aisle toward him, I don't feel like I'm waiting for the next thing to go wrong. I just feel... content.
Lorenzo presses a kiss to the top of my head. I smile. Then I tilt my head back and look up at him. "Can I ask you something?"
His gaze drops to mine.
"You can ask me anything."
I hesitate. The question feels stupid now that it's sitting at the tip of my tongue, but I ask it anyway.
"When did you stop hating me?"
His hand stills in my hair, for a moment he just looks at me. Then he huffs out a quiet laugh. "Quinn," he says thickly and my heart skips a beat at the way he says my name.
"What?" I ask looking up at him.
"I never hated you."
I raise an eyebrow. “Lorenzo, seriously?"
"I'm serious."
I gape at him. "You threatened to kill me."