40. Francesca
40
FRANCESCA
Graham doesn’t hesitate. The moment the words leave my lips, his grip tightens on my legs, his breath hitches, and something shifts between us. Something inevitable settles over us like some kind of magic spell.
His gaze locks onto mine, dark and searching, like he’s making sure he heard me right. Like he’s giving me a moment to walk it back. But I won’t. I don’t want to.
“Take me upstairs, Graham,” I whisper again, softer this time, my fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck.
He exhales sharply, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath my touch. Then he moves.
One second, I’m sprawled across his lap on the couch, the next, I’m in his arms, my chest pressed against his as he stands effortlessly, lifting me like I weigh nothing. A startled laugh catches in my throat as I grab onto his shoulders for balance.
“Wait—Romeo,” I manage breathlessly.
Graham doesn’t stop moving, but he jerks his chin toward the stairs with a sharp whistle. “Romeo.”
My dog huffs dramatically from the other side of the couch before standing to stretch his front legs. He jumps off the couch and does a full-body shake before trotting after us.
We strides toward the stairs, his hands palming my ass and holding me flush against his chest.
“You don’t have to carry me, you know,” I murmur, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
“I know.” He takes the stairs two at a time, and I’m almost positive he’s doing it to prove a point.
I wiggle my hips a little when we get to my bedroom, a silent request to be put down. But my husband just grunts and tightens his hold on me until I feel the tip of his cock brush against me.
Graham gets Romeo in his kennel, turns on his white noise machine, and marches us into his bedroom without saying a word.
He doesn’t set me down until we’re in his bedroom, the door clicking shut softly behind us. The room is dark, the only light coming from the street lamps outside, their orange glow shining through the open blinds. It casts his features in sharp relief, all angles and shadows.
My heart pounds against my ribs as he slowly lowers me to the bed, his hands skimming down my sides, his touch scorching even through the thin fabric of my shirt. He stands between my parted thighs, his gaze roaming over me hungrily, possessively. Like he wants to devour me whole.
I wouldn’t say no.
“You sure, sunshine?”
I nod, once, twice, three times. “Yes.”
My breath catches in my throat as Graham’s hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt, his rough palms skimming over the sensitive skin of my stomach. He takes his time, exploring every inch of newly exposed flesh as he slowly pushes the fabric up, up, until it bunches just below my breasts.
“Arms up,” he commands, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones.
I obey without thought, lifting my arms above my head. He tugs the shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside carelessly. Cool air kisses my overheated skin, making me shiver despite the heat simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze rakes over me, hot and heavy, lingering on the swell of my breasts encased in delicate lace.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
He leans down, his lips finding the hollow of my throat, and I gasp at the first hot press of his mouth against my skin. He kisses a trail down my chest, his beard rasping deliciously, sending sparks of sensation racing through me.
When he reaches the valley between my breasts, he pauses, his breath fanning across the goosebumps pebbling my skin. I arch my back, silently begging for more contact, more friction, more of him.
He chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating against my flesh. Then his hands are cupping my breasts, kneading them as his thumbs brush over my nipples, already hard and aching.
“Graham,” I breathe, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to me.
He hums in response, the sound muffled against my skin. Then his mouth closes over one nipple, sucking it through the thin lace. I cry out, my back arching off the bed as pleasure zings through me, hot and electric. His tongue swirls and flicks, teasing me mercilessly until I’m writhing beneath him, panting and desperate for more.
“Please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m begging for. I just know I need him, all of him, right now.
He releases my nipple with a soft pop, his hands smoothing down the sides of my ribcage. He toys with the waistband of my lounge shorts. “I need to make sure you’re ready for me.”
I exhale shakily, desire swirling inside me. “I’m ready,” I breathe. “I promise I’m ready.”
But he just smirks, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic of my shorts to stroke along the crease of my hip. “I don’t know, sunshine. I think I need to check for myself.”
With that, he slowly drags my shorts and panties down my legs, his knuckles grazing my skin and leaving trails of fire in their wake. I lift my hips to help him, kicking the offending cotton and lace off and leaving me bare.
His gaze rakes over my exposed flesh, raw hunger etched into every line of his face. “Spread your legs for me, Francesca.”
A shiver rolls through me at the command in his tone, at the way my name rumbles from his lips like a prayer and a curse. I part my thighs, baring myself to him completely. Cool air kisses my heated core, and I fight the instinct to close my legs, to hide from the intensity of his stare.
But there’s no judgement in his eyes, only reverence and desire so potent it steals my breath.
“Goddamn,” he curses under his breath.
He settles between my spread thighs, his hands braced on either side of my hips. I feel the warmth of his breath against my inner thigh a moment before his lips press a soft kiss there. My breath hitches, my fingers curling into the sheets beneath me.
“So soft,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with want. “So perfect.”
He trails open-mouthed kisses up the inside of my thigh, getting closer and closer to where I need him most. My heart pounds against my ribs, anticipation and desire twisting together inside of me.
“So mine.” He places a kiss over my clit.
“Graham,” I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed at the intimate touch. His lips curve into a smile against my pussy before he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up my slit.
“Oh god,” I whimper, my head falling back against the pillows as pleasure sparks through me.
He hums, the vibrations making me shudder. Then he’s licking into me again, his tongue circling my clit, lapping at my arousal. He takes his time, learning what makes me twitch and moan, what has my thighs trembling and my fingers clenching around his hair.
His tongue delves inside me, thrusting and curling, stoking the fire building low in my belly. He fucks me with his mouth, his lips and teeth and tongue driving me higher, winding me tighter. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me, my thighs quivering, my breaths coming in short, sharp pants.
“Graham, please,” I moan brokenly, my nails digging into his scalp. I’m so close, teetering right on the knife’s edge of release. I just need a little more, just a little deeper.
He groans against my flesh, the sound vibrating through me. Then he seals his lips around my clit and sucks, hard. At the same time, two of his fingers thrust into me, curling to hit that spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
It’s too much, the dual sensations catapulting me over the edge. I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me, my back arching off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head. Wave after wave of pleasure wracks through me, stealing my breath and blanking my mind of everything but him.
He works me through it, his fingers pumping slowly as his tongue laps at my clit, drawing out every last shudder and whimper until I collapse back against the bed, boneless and sated. Only then does he pull back, pressing a final soft kiss to my inner thigh before crawling up my body.
“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he rasps, his voice raw and gravelly. “I could feast on this pussy for hours.”
It’s a premonition, a carnal promise. It fuels me, building me back up. He settles his weight over me and I arch up toward him, capturing his mouth in a hot kiss. He groans into my mouth, his tongue delving deep to tangle with mine. I can taste myself on him, and it only fuels the desire burning through my veins. My hands roam over his back, nails scraping lightly, mapping the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.
Why is he still wearing a shirt?
I tug at the hem insistently. “Off,” I mumble against his lips. “I want to feel you.”
He breaks the kiss with a low chuckle, leaning back just enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. My hands immediately go to his chest, my palms skimming over the defined ridges of his abs, the colorful pattern of his tattoos, the dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach. He’s beautiful, all hard lines and coiled power.
And he’s mine.
The thought sends a possessive thrill through me. I want to touch every inch of him, map his body with my hands and mouth until I know him better than my own.
My fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the head of his cock. I brush my fingertips over the metal barbell, and he inhales sharply, his abs flexing beneath my touch.
“Francesca,” he grits out, his voice strained.
I hear the warning layered into my name, and I decide to take it as a challenge. I wrap my hand around him, dragging the pad of my thumb along the underside of his cock.
A low grunt rumbles from his chest as I stroke him slowly, teasing the sensitive underside of his shaft. His hips rock into my touch, seeking more friction.
“If you keep doing that, sunshine, this is going to be over too fast. And I don’t want to come in my pants again.”
I grin up at him, feeling emboldened by the effect I have on him. “I’m going to need details of that.”
“Details,” he repeats, distracted.
“Explicit details,” I confirm, flicking the barbell again.
His laugh is rough and strained. “I’ll give you whatever you want, wife. Anything, everything.”
My breath catches at his words, desire thrumming through my veins. I release him, my hands going to his waistband, shoving his over his ass. “I want you inside of me.”
He growls, low in his throat, and surges down to capture my mouth in a searing kiss. His lips are demanding, his tongue plundering, claiming me so thoroughly it steals my breath.
I moan into the kiss, my nails digging into his shoulders as he kicks off his sweatpants. He settles between my parted thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my opening. The cool metal of his piercing drags along my slick folds.
“Condom. I need a condom,” he rasps against my lips, his hips rocking slightly, teasing me with shallow thrusts that make my toes curl.
“I’m on the pill,” I manage breathlessly. “And I’ve been tested recently.” I don’t tell him it was a mandatory testing ordered by my mother to make sure I wasn’t pregnant and about to ruin the Ashburn-Baldini merger.
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Are you sure, Francesca?”
The use of my full name, spoken like a reverent prayer, sends a shiver down my spine. I nod, my fingers curling around his biceps. “I’m sure. I want to feel all of you.”
He exhales a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to rest against mine for a moment. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t have a recent test. It’s been years since I’ve been with anyone, but I was careful. And I?—”
“I trust you,” I murmur, cutting off his uncharacteristic ramble.
His eyes darken at my words, something fierce and possessive flashing in their depths. “Fuck, Francesca,” he growls, his voice rough with emotion. “The way you trust me, it’s everything .”
His words wrap around me, sinking into my skin and settling deep in my bones. Trust. It’s such a small word for the magnitude of what I’m giving him. What I’m placing in his hands, his care.
My heart, my body, my pleasure. All of it, his.
It should terrify me. Letting myself be this vulnerable, this open with someone. Especially after everything with Giovanni and my family. But it doesn't. Because this is Graham. My husband . The man who makes me feel cherished and protected and seen in a way no one else ever has.
I slide my hands up his chest and loop them around his neck, tugging him down to me. “I’m yours, Graham,” I whisper against his lips. “Take what’s yours.”
A low, feral sound of pleasure rumbles from his chest as he grips my hips, holding me in place as he lines himself up at my entrance. His gaze locks onto mine, dark and intense, as he slowly pushes inside me.
My breath catches at the stretch, the feeling of being filled so completely. He’s big, thicker than anything I’ve taken before, and the metal of his piercing adds an extra layer of sensation that has my toes curling. He pushes in slowly, inch by delicious inch, giving me time to adjust to his size.
When he’s fully seated inside me, he stills, his hips flush against mine. His eyes search my face, looking for any sign of discomfort. “Okay?” he asks roughly, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back.
I nod quickly, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Yes. God, yes. You feel so good.”
He feels perfect inside me, stretching me in the most delicious way. I experimentally clench around him and we both groan at the sensation.
“Fuck, Francesca. You’re so tight. So perfect.” His voice is a low growl, barely restrained desire and need threaded through every word.
I arch my hips, silently urging him to move. “Please, Graham. I need you to move.”
He leans down, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss as he starts to thrust. Slowly at first, almost torturously so, like he’s savoring every inch of me. But it’s not enough. I need more.
I break the kiss with a gasp. “ More .”
A wicked grin spreads across his face and then he’s stretching my legs up, using his grip on the back of my thighs to press them toward my chest.
“Hold yourself open for me.”
I replace his grip with mine, holding my legs wide and opening myself up to him. I feel exposed like this, and it turns me on.
“Fuck me,” he grunts, picking up his intensity with these slow, hard languid thrusts.
His cock hits that magic place inside of me with every rock of his hips, and it’s all I can do to hold onto my legs and stay present.
The headboard bangs against the wall. But I don’t care about how loud it is. I don’t care about anything but the exquisite drag of his cock inside me, the mind-melting pleasure sparking through every nerve ending. He reaches between us and presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is almost too much, the coil inside me winding tighter and tighter.
“That’s it, sunshine. Take my cock so well,” he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point. “So fucking perfect for me.”
His filthy praise only ratchets my arousal higher. The familiar tingle begins in my toes, zipping up my spine as my body tenses, balancing on the razor’s edge of release. He must feel me tightening around him, my muscles fluttering and clenching, because he doubles his efforts, fucking me harder, impossibly deeper.
“Come for me, Francesca,” he commands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. “I want to feel this tight pussy come all over my cock.”
His words, his tone, the press of his thumb against my clit, his cock—it’s the final push I need.
I don’t even have time to brace. An earth-shattering orgasm rips through me, tearing me into tiny little pieces and scattering me off the highest cliff in the world.
I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.