Chapter 54
54
I take the letter and sit on the edge of the bed.
Pippa,
I’ll never forget the day we sat in your living room, talking about marriage, and you had stipulations. One was a hundred-word essay on what kind of husband I’d be. Here you go, my sweet dancer.
I’m beyond wanting you. I need you, and I won’t be complete until I have you. If you accept me as your husband, I’ll be loyal, always protect you, and watch every dance routine. While I might not be the funniest, I’ll do everything I can to always make you smile. I want to be your first kiss in the morning and your last one good night. And if there’s ever a time I’m failing at being the perfect man for you, tell me. I’ll correct every mistake I’m making because I love you so damn much.
I went over my word count, but I’ll always go the extra mile for you.
I place the letter on my heart.
Who knew a murderous criminal could say so many sweet things?
I break down in tears.
I cry for the time we lost and the uncertainty of our future.
We can’t get back time, but if there’s another chance for us, I’ll never make that mistake again.
Being left in the dark sucks. If Damien was involved in Cernach’s death, it would’ve saved me plenty of stress if he’d told me. I wouldn’t have tried to run off and witness a murder on a private jet had I known Cernach would soon be dead.
Letter in hand, I trek downstairs. Julian is still in the office, but I can hear him talking on the other side of the door as I pour myself a glass of water.
Taking my water, I sprawl out on the couch and try to call Damien.
No answer.
I text next.
Me: Please call or text. I need to know you’re okay.
I sit there, not turning the TV on or scrolling through social media, with only Damien on my mind. I need to know he’s okay . I attempt to put all the clues I missed together. Nothing adds up.
“At least tell me he’s okay,” I say in desperation when Julian finally leaves the office and steps into the living room.
Julian’s face softens. “Yeah, he’s okay. He’ll be home soon.”
Okay doesn’t mean our problem is solved. Unless Damien kills the entire Koglin family, not marrying Riona would still be a breach of contract .
Julian’s phone rings, and he leaves for another call.
I wait and wait until eventually, I fall asleep.
The door clicking open wakes me. I stir on the couch, realizing at some point, Julian must’ve draped a blanket over me. The smell of Damien flows through the room like a calmative.
He’s the fragrance of comfort, of devotion, of home.
My body instantly relaxes when he’s around.
Damien scoops me up in his strong arms, and I put mine around his shoulders while he walks us upstairs.
He flicks the bedroom light on, drags the comforter back, and settles me in bed. No matter what, he always wants to take care of me. I prop myself against the pillow and watch him while he moves around the room. His tux is wrinkled, his bow tie unknotted, and his hair disheveled. He’s the picture of a man who’s had a night from hell.
He silently walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. I slip out of bed when the shower starts. As I slowly open the door, he peers up at me.
Again, it’s so familiar of the night in the guest room bathroom at Antonio’s, when I kissed his bruises.
This time, there are some differences.
There are no bloody knuckles, bruises, or blood.
Just pure exhaustion on his face.
“Go back to bed, baby,” he says, his voice hoarse.
As much as I want to start asking questions, I hold back.
He needs rest, sleep, a sense of calm, like he always provides me.
I shuffle toward him, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss him. “I’ll be out there waiting for you. ”
He lowers his forehead, resting it against mine, and releases a deep sigh. “Thank you.”
My body feels lighter when he presses a kiss to my forehead. I turn, starting to leave, but then come to a halt and swing around. “But first, I need to brush my teeth.”
A flicker of a smile hits his lips. “Go right ahead.”
He undresses and slips into the shower while I brush. Joining him crosses my mind, but just like grilling him with questions, I refrain. Our shared showers are never simple. Damien always commits to pleasuring me into multiple orgasms and sometimes thinks I’m a damn gymnast in the different positions he manages to put us in. He needs a mental and physical break.
He isn’t one of those men who can relax and let me pleasure him. He wants to do ninety percent of the pleasuring and saves only ten percent for himself.
After brushing my teeth, I climb into bed but am wide awake. Not too long after, a shirtless Damien crawls into bed and wraps me tight in his arms.
For so long, I wasn’t sure if this would ever happen again.
Now, it’s perfect, and I won’t ever let us go.
I missed the comfort of being in bed next to Damien. As I turn on my side, Damien is propped up, back against the headboard, and on his phone.
“Good morning,” I say around a long yawn.
He lowers his phone. “Good morning, baby.”
I scoot closer to him, the soft sheets sliding against my skin. Damien raises his arm, nestling me close as I cuddle closer.
“Is this allowed?” I gesture back and forth between us.
He runs his fingers through my tangled hair. “You in my arms is always allowed. ”
“But what about Riona … you and she …” My voice trails off, my mouth dry.
“We’re done.” He abruptly holds up his finger. “Not that we were anything before.”
I hate that I’m about to ruin the start of a good morning. “Cernach might be dead, but there’s still a contract, Damien.”
How does he not realize this?
He works out a tangle in my hair. “Riona demanded you and I marry to fulfill the Koglin-Lombardi agreement.”
I blink up at him. “Wait, what?”
“Riona is the boss of the Koglin family, and she needs to focus on that, not marriage,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he were Riona’s PR person. “She knew she couldn’t let me out of the deal without making herself look weak, so she told them she was forcing you to marry me instead.”
Ah, so the only way the Koglin men would agree is if some woman was forced into marriage .
I crawl out from under his hold to settle on my knees in front of him. My butt hits the back of my thighs as I stare at him in shock. “Are you serious?”
Circling his arm around my waist, he draws me onto his lap until I’m straddling him. “You’re officially mine.”
A fusion of emotions coils inside me.
This is everything I’ve wanted.
Yet it’s been arranged how I didn’t want—a contract.
But even so, the contract won’t benefit Cernach’s dead ass now.
I run my palms up his bare chest. “I know I said I never wanted to be contracted into a marriage, but I’ll make this exception for you.”
He grabs one of my wrists, raises it from his chest, and smacks a soft kiss to my palm. “Good, because I’m fucking you right now, and then we’re going to the courthouse to make you my wife. ”
“What?” I stutter.
“I’m not waiting one more day to make you mine.” He brushes his hand along my face, sliding hair from my eyes. “I’ll give you the perfect wedding later, whatever you want, but I’m done waiting. Today, I’ll call you my wife.” He lowers my hand on his chest down to his hard cock. “Now, ride your soon-to-be husband’s dick, my sweet dancer.”
He curls his free hand around the back of my neck and pulls me forward. Our lips meet, the kiss heavy, and he immediately slips his tongue inside my mouth.
We make out, my hips grinding against his cock, before he raises me to push down his pants. His throbbing dick springs free.
“Condom?” he asks. Unless we forget, which we have a few times, he usually always asks first.
“No condom.” I grip his shoulders. “I want to feel all of you inside me.”
He rips my panties and slams me down on his cock with no warning.
We moan as I grind against him, finding my pace. Waves of pleasure swoosh through me as he eases his hand up my stomach to cup my breast. It feels like he’s leaving a path of fire everywhere he touches me.
He turns my skin warm.
I thaw out his heart.
We balance each other.
“It’s always so perfect with you,” I pant. “Your big cock feels so good.”
“Fuuuuck,” he says around a long groan. “I love feeling your pussy clench around my dick.” He lowers his head to my chest and sucks my nipple.
The room is the epitome of sex-starved.
The loud, desperate moans .
The sound of our bodies slapping against each other’s.
The begging for more.
I slip my fingers through his hair, holding him against my chest as he sucks my other nipple.
I ride him harder, starving for more and needing to feel every inch of him. He always makes me feel like I’m on top of the world.
“I’m almost there … almost there,” I say, sounding like I’m babbling.
He takes a deep breath, separating from my chest, and locks his hands on my waist. As if on cue, knowing I’m about to fall apart, he holds me in place and fucks me hard.
“Oh God, right there,” I groan. “Please don’t fucking stop.” I rest my head on his shoulder and bite into the skin as he pounds into me, hitting my G-spot as if it’s the only direction he knows to take.
He fucks me hard.
So fucking hard.
I bite into his skin again as a burst of pleasure courses through me. I lose all power of my body, and I cry out his name. He continues relentlessly fucking me so hard that my head hits the headboard a few times.
I lower my head and kiss him.
His muscles clench, tightening, and I know he’s close.
“Come inside me. Fill me up,” I say into his mouth. “You said you were going to put a baby inside me when we were in the woods? Do it.” I’m not sure how I manage to put a hint of warning in my voice, considering he’s fucked nearly every ounce of energy out of me.
But it does the job.
He jabs his hips forward and holds us still, connected, as if wanting to make sure he fills me with every drop of his cum.
He groans as my sweaty body falls on his .
“That was so amazing,” I say against his skin.
He smacks my ass once. Twice. Three times.
“You deserve more than that,” he says. “You knew you were going to make me come so fucking hard when you told me to fill you with my cum.”
I hoist myself on my elbow. “Why do you think I did it? To not make you come? My body needed a break because you were about to fuck the life out of me.”
He kisses up my jaw. “Can’t have that, can I, baby?”
I carefully pull off him, and his eyes are pinned to the view of his cum dripping out of me. His cock is coated with our juices. He lowers his hand and strokes me a few times before shoving his fingers inside, as if not wanting to waste anything.
I groan, almost ready for another round at his touch, and sigh in disappointment when it doesn’t stay there long. He rolls to his side and opens the nightstand drawer, collecting something from it.
“Put your left hand on my cock, baby,” he says. “Cover it with our cum.”
I do what he said, his cock hardening again as I do. Once it’s covered, he gestures for me to come closer. He grips my wrist and opens his other hand to reveal a diamond ring.
He doesn’t give me time to see the ring before jerking me closer. My body trembles when he licks down my ring finger and then slides the ring down it. It fits perfectly.
He drags me back onto his lap, careful to adjust me around his cock, and holds my hand up. My jaw drops as I admire the beauty of it. Typical Damien, always loving to spoil me, chose a ring that does just that.
The band is gold and lined with the same diamond pattern as the necklace he gave me before our first date. I smile at the memory. The large pink diamond sparkles with every angle I turn it.
I didn’t even know you could find pink diamonds like this .
“I bought that the same month I met you,” he tells me. “I knew eventually, somehow, you’d become my wife.”
“Are … are you serious?” I stutter.
“You were made for me, Pippa.” His abs clench when he drags himself up so we sit more upright. He waits until our eyes are pinned on each other before going on. “And at this point, I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m telling you, after this, you’re getting your ass dressed, and we’re getting married.”
The sun shines with no interruption from clouds, and traffic is surprisingly tolerable, as if it doesn’t want to give us any problems on our way to commit to each other. All signs for a great day to get married.
Not that the weather or traffic would influence my decision.
I’ve never been one for wedding superstitions.
What’s in the sky, the temperature, or how gorgeous your dress is—those don’t matter. In my eyes, the only indication that you’ll have a good marriage is having a good partner.
Someone you trust.
Who wants the same future as you.
Who’d do absolutely everything in their power to never hurt you.
Because in the end, your looks will alter, the weather will change, and life will throw you hard balls. True love is the only factor in your marriage that can’t change, and our love is too strong to falter. We’ve been through so much together.
On the drive to the city hall, I mentioned his note and told him I loved it.
“You mean my essay ,” he replied. “I meant every single word, baby. Every single damn word. ”
Tears are in my eyes as I stare at Damien and say, “I do,” when it’s time.
He stands across from me, so handsome in his suit, and repeats, “I do,” so definite and precise.
Two words.
So damn powerful.
As we seal our marriage with a kiss, butterflies swarm my stomach.
No one can take this away from us now.
No one can throw our names into a marriage contract.
We’re one now.
I had no problem with Damien wanting to rush to get married. I’d wasted over a year because of my stubbornness. I couldn’t do it for another day.
Damien inches back some, his arm wrapped around my waist, and says, “My wife, Mrs. Bellini,” before placing another kiss to my lips.
I chose the blush-pink dress I wore to Swan Lake , which I’ve now deemed as my good-luck dress. I wore it the first time Damien told me he loved me and now, when we’ve devoted ourselves to each other for the rest of our lives.
We hear congrats and clapping from people as we pass them in the halls. The sun heats us, warming our faces as we step outside.
“Congrats,” Julian says, hugging Damien and then me.
“Thanks, brother-in-law ,” I say, hugging him back.
He’s our only witness.
There’s no guilt about not inviting others. I love the idea of a small ceremony. Damien told me he’d give me the perfect wedding later, but I’m in no rush.
Just like with the weather, a perfect wedding doesn’t mean a perfect marriage either.
Sure, we’re not being traditional, but I don’t care.
Nothing in our lives has ever been traditional .
We both avoided marriage contracts and fought against the rules.
As we reach the bottom steps, Damien takes my hand and brings it to his mouth. “Finally, you’re all mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I whisper, a bright grin spreading across my face.
“Always have been and always will be.”