30. Portia
30
PORTIA
I wake alone in Rafael’s bed, not for the first time. Rafael tends to go to sleep after I do and wakes up before I do.
When I’ve asked, he says he doesn’t need much sleep. He doesn’t sleep past four or five in the morning, even on days off (which don’t seem to exist for him anyway).
For a while I lay against the pillow and let last night’s events settle over me. My throat is still swollen and aching and even my chest hurts from all the trauma I’ve endured. Rafael’s physician said it’ll be another few days before I return to normal.
Sergio and his men destroyed my phone.
I haven’t been in touch with Jayla since I left last night. She’s probably worried about me. If I don’t reach out soon to let her know I’m okay, she’ll probably let Mom and Dad know I’m missing, and then all hell will break lose.
Ignoring the aches and pains from my body, I crawl out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. A couple minutes of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and admiring the giant puce-colored splotch along my throat later, I go seek out Rafael.
He’s sipping coffee at the sleek, rectangular table in the dining room, framed by the natural light pouring in from the giant floor-to-ceiling window. It’s one of the things I love most about his penthouse apartment—all the huge windows and bright, natural light.
His place is tastefully decorated. Everything is polished and modern with a simple black, white, and gray color palette, thoughtfully put together by a professional interior designer.
He looks up as I walk into the room, a crooked smile canting his lips. His hair’s still rumpled from sleep and he hasn’t changed out of his pajama bottoms or put a shirt on. His chest muscles look ripe and defined, the sparse smattering of hair he has there dark and masculine.
He looks so good, I wouldn’t mind having him for breakfast.
“Morning, beautiful,” he says. “Have a seat. Want some coffee?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever turned down a cup.”
“Mara will bring you some. Did you sleep well?”
“Are you kidding? I didn’t even hear you get out of bed.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “I did my best not to wake you.”
“Your stealth skills are unmatched. What time did you wake up this morning? Four? Five? Or did you sleep in late ’til six?”
“Sleep in ’til six like a slob? No businessman worth his salt sleeps that late.” He winks at me from over the rim of his coffee cup.
“When I worked the morning news, I used to have to wake up at three just so I could make it to the station at four for hair and makeup. We were out on the streets by five.”
“Now you’re out at all hours of the night investigating the next big scoop.”
“And almost being strangled and drowned,” I say with a short laugh. “Wait ’til Jayla hears about this. She’s going to flip the fuck out.”
“I don’t blame her. She cares about her sister. The same woman I care about.”
“Don’t worry, I think I’ve learned my lesson. No more snooping alone around mafia warehouses. Next time I’ll bring an accomplice.”
“Portia,” he scolds, his dark brows raising.
“It’s a joke. Though, also kind of serious. I’ll put the Bellucci/Tuco thing on the back burner. For now. But the news is the news, Rafael. It doesn’t stop just because journalists are too cowardly to report on it. Someone has to do it.”
He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer; he doesn’t like that I’ve put myself in danger and my job can be risky.
I reach out and cover his curled hand on the table with my own. Rafael has always had nice hands; they’re large and strong with rounded knuckles and smooth to the touch. But as I slide my fingers over his closed fist, I notice how abraded his skin feels.
I glance down and realize his knuckles are split open. The wounds are fresh, like they’ve happened within the last few hours.
“Where are these from?” I ask.
He pulls his hand back from me and says, “Last night. All the chaos that went on.”
“You had me checked out by the physician, but you needed some medical care too.”
“They’ll heal on their own. I’m more concerned about this bruising.” He leans closer to survey how the bruises and swelling look the morning after.
I can feel his anger even looking at them and decide to distract him with a kiss on the lips.
“They’ll heal too. We just have to give it time.”
He nods, though the expression on his face tells me the anger has gone nowhere. I ask him if there’s anything interesting in the newspaper he’s been reading at the table and he shakes his head.
We both understand what the question really means.
“The situation last night didn’t make the headlines.”
“So much for actually pressing the emergency button on my phone correctly. I was holding out during the attack, hoping they were on the way.”
“We got lucky last night.”
“I just want to put it all behind me.”
Rafael kisses me again on the lips. “Consider it done. How about we go out to dinner? Just the two of us.”
“That sounds amazing. But maybe when this giant bruise on my throat heals.”
“There’re always turtlenecks. And scarves.”
I arch a brow at him and he chuckles. “Alright, dolcezza . No public dinners ’til you’re all healed up. You should get more rest. I have a few business meetings, but I’ve told Mara to be on call in case you need anything.”
Rafael finishes his coffee and leaves to go get ready. Even Saturdays aren’t safe from his busy work schedule.
But I have some things on my to-do list too. Rafael said I should rest up, but I slept so well last night that I need to be out and about. I need to feel some semblance of normalcy again after almost dying.
* * *
Jayla reacts about as expected. Her mouth hangs open the entire time I tell her about the warehouse and standoff between Il Diavolo and Sergio Sacrimoni. I tell her how I’d escaped into a taxicab only to discover that my driver was an imposter.
When I reach the part about the docks and the crane and how I’d been plunged into icy waters, she’s practically hyperventilating.
I pat her on the back to calm her down. “I’m okay, Jay. I swear I am. I’m in one piece.”
“What in the hell would make you follow them in the first place?! Portia, that was so crazy! Don’t you ever do that shit again!”
“It was dumb. I didn’t want to back out. I felt like I was so close to answers.”
“No answers are worth your life!”
I make her swear to keep the ordeal from Mom and Dad.
When they FaceTime us later that afternoon, we’re smiling and distracting them with talk about Jayla’s salon and their upcoming Caribbean cruise. They’re none the wiser, though I do put on a scarf for the camera.
I pack another overnight bag and stay at Rafael’s for the rest of the weekend. We take things easy, watching movies in his theater room and enjoying his jacuzzi. Once in bed, we talk until one of us nods off (usually me), and in the mornings we have coffee together.
It feels so natural spending time at Rafael’s penthouse. He always makes me feel comfortable and ensures I have anything I need. He genuinely seems to want me there, making it clear he wants me to feel at home.
I take Monday and Tuesday off to give my bruises more time to heal.
Come Wednesday, I waltz into the Metro News building in a thick cowl-neck sweater and cigarette pants, ready to return to the grind.
Everyone in the office is relieved I’m back except Baron, who barely says a word to me. Yet, on three separate occasions, I catch him staring when I feel eyes on me and look up. I’m not sure what the frosty reception from him is about, but there’s no time to think much about it.
The next day as I come in wearing a different high-necked top, I’m called into Finkle’s office.
“You can close the door, Portia. You’ll probably want to hear this privately.”
“What’s this about?” I ask, taking the chair opposite his desk.
He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes like he’s exhausted and hasn’t had any good sleep in weeks. The bags under his eyes and lines etched deep in his face confirm this. The forty-something-year-old is a father of six and his wife had twins earlier this year.
“I received a very important phone call about you.”
My brows knit close. “What kind of phone call?”
“Well, I should say, I didn’t initially realize the phone call was about you. As far as I know, you didn’t put in for it.”
“Finkle, what are you talking about? I’m going to need specifics.”
“It was Prime Time DC. The executive producer Joe Germanotta called me to talk about an opportunity,” he explains. “It was for the hosting spot they currently have open. As you know, Baron did submit an audition package. But he wasn’t selected.”
“Wait… you can’t mean…”
“Yes, Portia. That is exactly what I mean. Mr. Germanotta wants you. He’s seen some of your recent segments, like the one you did about the meat-packing district shooting and he’s interested in giving you the position.”
“But…” I say slowly, blinking through my shock. “Prime Time DC films in Washington DC…”
Finkle gives me a puzzled stare. “Yes, it’s in the name of the show.”
“I can’t accept that position. My life is here in Newport.”
“It’s your decision to make. Here is his number. He would like for you to call him.”
Finkle returns to his computer screen, signaling the chat between us is over. I’m still in shock as I take the little scrap of paper he’s handed me and rise out of the chair. I do remember Baron mentioning he had applied for the Prime Time DC job, but I hadn’t ever imagined they would turn him down and express interest in me instead.
* * *
I’m waiting for Rafael in the living room when he comes home. He’s had such a long workday that my evening news segment with Metro finished and I made it to his penthouse before he did. We agreed we would have dinner at his place.
He walks in wearing another one of his tailored suits that fit him perfectly. He’s foregone a tie this time, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top. His grin lights up his handsome bearded face as he spots me on his sofa and comes over to drop a kiss on my lips.
“Just how I like to come home,” he says. “With dolcezza waiting for me.”
We sit down to a meal prepared by Rafael’s private chefs. Tonight they’ve made some kind of creamy mushroom pasta with roasted chicken that tastes so good we both have seconds. Rafael spools some of the handmade bucatini pasta around his fork and tells me how sometimes he forgets he’s hired authentic chefs from Italy.
“They cook a little too good,” he says.
“Tell me about it. I don’t think I can ever eat store bought pasta again.”
I’m stalling as we talk about everything from the delicious food to anecdotes about Rafael’s day and even a new TV show we might start watching together. Really, my head is full of thoughts about earlier in Finkle’s office.
I never called Mr. Germanotta. But I did keep the scrap of paper in my pocket. It feels like a ten-pound weight as I sit at Rafael’s table and we dine on pasta and white wine.
He’s started telling me about a prominent electronics company filing for bankruptcy and how all the stores in the city will be closing. Already other business magnates are salivating over the real estate that will become available.
I normally love hearing Rafael talk about things like this. It really demonstrates how sharp and perceptive he is and how he’s become so successful in the business world. I wish I could say I’m listening as acutely as usual, but really my mind wanders.
I’m distracted thinking about the job opportunity.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” Rafael asks suddenly. His tone is casual. His expression too. He plucks his wine glass off the table for a quick sip, then returns to his plate of pasta.
I’m so thrown that I almost choke on the bite I’m chewing. I reach for my own glass and swallow some extra wine. Hopefully it’ll help the lump of chicken stuck in my recently swollen throat.
For a split second, I consider denying that anything is troubling me. But Rafael knows me so well that there’s no use.
I might as well come clean.
I sigh and say, “Today I found out I have a new job offer.”
Rafael makes a noise of interest, signaling he wants me to continue. I take a deep breath and decide how to even explain.
“But it’s not a local opportunity. It’s that national news program. You know, the one that airs nightly on ANC.”
“The American News Channel has several nightly programs.”
I clear my throat, my stomach doing a flip. “It’s, err, it’s for Prime Time DC.”
A second of silence follows. Rafael pierces me with a look that I don’t know how to interpret. His expression is stoic, his dark eyes glued to mine. He doesn’t seem thrilled or excited by the idea, but he’s not noticeably upset by it either.
It’s almost as if he’s… waiting to gauge my reaction?
“Prime Time DC films in DC,” he points out finally.
“Yes… yes, it does,” I answer with another sigh. “Apparently, the executive producer of the show caught a few of my segments and he liked what he saw.”
“Of course he would. You’re brilliant and talented. I’ve told you you’re the best on your network.”
My cheeks warm. “Finkle told me to give him a call so I could learn more about the job.”
“Did you?”
“No,” I say. I reach into my pocket and pull out the scrap of paper. “I didn’t even apply for the job. My whole life is here in Newport. Why would I ever take it?”
“You’ve always wanted to be on the national news.”
“I have. But I didn’t think it would happen like this. So soon. I’ve only been an evening field reporter for a year now. That’s such a fast rise.”
“Portia,” Rafael says in his husky voice, his tone slightly softer for me. He gets up out of his chair and walks over to pull me up from mine. Once I’m on my feet, he draws my mouth to his in a tender kiss. “I am happy for you. I want you to experience your dreams and career ambitions. But I would be a liar if I said I’m not selfish enough to want you to stay here. What do you think you will do?”
I’m so appreciative of his encouraging words that I lean into his touch, returning to his lips for another kiss.
The truth is, I’ve already thought about the opportunity, and though part of me is curious about pursuing it, I’ve made up my mind. It’s not the right time.
I’ve finally hit a stride after so long grinding in Newport. I love my job at Metro, love living with my best friend and sister, and love dating the new man in my life. If I moved to DC, I would have to start all over again. I would be giving up what I have for only the possibility that the move would be worth it.
“I’m not going,” I say, peering up at him. “I’ve thought about it, and it’s not the right time. Maybe a couple years from now, but I think I still have some time to grow at Metro News.”
Rafael cups my cheek, his dark gaze sparking. I’m not sure how to describe the emotion that flickers in them other than to say it makes my heart skip a beat. He brings my mouth to his for an even deeper kiss, letting his tongue tease the curve of my top and bottom lips.
“I’m glad you’ve made up your mind, my opinion aside. I would’ve supported any choice of yours.”
“I know. That’s one of the many things that makes you an amazing boyfriend.”
He grins. “Ready for dessert?”
* * *
From the moment we’re alone in Rafael’s bedroom, we can’t keep our hands off each other. Rafael wraps me up in his arms and kisses me deep. His hands travel my body. I shudder at his touch, his wide palms canvassing the length of my spine, then the swell of my ass. He gives me an appreciative squeeze from behind.
His tongue parts my lips and pours into my mouth as he does. The passion is so hot between us, burning all at once, that it feels like I’m melting in his hands. I’m panting against his mouth as he squeezes my ass and his tongue massages mine.
Rafael has always been a phenomenal kisser. It’s like he makes love with his lips and tongue, using both in dangerously lustful ways.
My mind reels. I’m unable to think of anything but how good his warm, soft lips feel pressed against my own.
His heat becomes mine. It flushes over my skin and burns in my belly. Liquid fire that travels to other parts of me, making my pussy clench.
I slide my fingers through his dark hair and return his fervor in equal measure. My head tilts as the angle of our kiss shifts and Rafael goes from groping my ass to hoisting me up by the thighs. Instinctually, my legs help him along, banding around his waist.
He walks me to the bed where he slowly lowers me, never breaking our hot, tongue-lashing kiss.
Dessert was simply the foreplay leading up to this.
We ate panna cotta, holding each other’s gaze as I ran my tongue over the spoon and he watched with wolfish hunger. I moaned at the taste of the sweet, silky custard and licked at the raspberry syrup that clung to the spoon.
He set down his with a clang, his thick, strong fingers twitching. He didn’t last much longer after that. Draining the last of his white wine, he pushed his chair back and rose promptly to his feet.
My pulse raced watching him stride around the edge of the table and?—
Next thing I know, this is where we are.
We’re lying in his bed as we trade passionate kisses. My legs drop from his waist, the heels of my feet clinging to the edge of the bed.
Rafael is bent over me, a hand at my throat, his tongue thrust deep in my mouth. As it turns out, the panna cotta wasn’t dessert at all—that’s me. I’ve become his dessert.
I ruffle my fingers through his hair, gripping at his strands as he kisses me like he can never get enough. The sweet taste of me is the only dessert he’ll ever need. His mouth travels from my lips to everywhere else within reach.
A soft moan vibrates out of me as he starts his descent. My jaw and my throat, both of which he traces with his tongue and nips at with his teeth. He drops warm, reverent kisses that make me snap shut my eyes and tug at his hair.
No wonder Rafael is such a damn talented business man—his mouth is like no other. Not only can he dominate in business talks, he can wield this weapon in the bedroom, turning women like me into melted puddles of want and need.
His kisses spread from the column of my throat to my chest. Then he’s peeling off my clothes, lowering the straps of my simple silver dress until my breasts pop free. He makes sure both receive equal attention.
“Rafael!” I moan his name as his tongue swirls around my areola and then he sucks my little beaded nipple into his mouth.
He’s pushing my dress the rest of the way down. The fabric slides down my body ’til it’s folded over at the waist and I’m trapped under him and his talented mouth.
He’s truly a greedy man in moments like this. He sucks my nipple ’til I can’t possibly take anymore. My pussy’s pulsing, throbbing so hard, I’m ready to come. I slide fingers through his hair and turn my head to the side, biting down on my bottom lip.
Pleasure vibrates through every cell inside my body. Sharp, electrifying pricks that can only be described as sparks. Fireworks that are about to explode.
He sucks on my breasts until they gleam with his saliva and my poor dark brown nipples stand stiff and achingly erect. Then he moves on to inflict more torture elsewhere, traveling across the flat surface of my stomach.
It’s a ticklish sensation. I half laugh through my moans and pants, arching against his mouth.
He grins knowingly, then sucks at the soft skin. Torturing me more. Making me giggle all while I’m deliriously hot and turned on.
My dress is left as a scrap of fabric banded around my waist. Rafael makes his way to my mons pubis and strips off my panties like it’s an art form. He takes his time, letting the satin material slide down my hips and thighs as he feasts his eyes on my pussy. He always looks at me like it’s the first time.
As if he’s truly mesmerized each and every time we’re together like this.
Flinging my panties elsewhere, he pushes my thighs wider and then buries his face in between.
My head tips back as an instant whimper of approval vibrates through me.
Fuck, he’s so good at this!
I’m merely along for the ride as he dines on me. Yet another way I’ve become his dessert for the night. My fingers rest in his dark strands, the rest of my body alive with fiery sparks of pleasure.
Rafael uses his mouth in ways that feel mind-bending. His tongue massages my clit, slow and methodical in the pattern and rhythm he establishes. Building toward the ultimate pleasure that rises up inside me every moment we’re like this.
He sucks at my labia and runs his tongue up and down the length of me. Always switching up the motions. Always toying with the level of pressure he applies. Always giving me what I need, then pulling back just slightly when I’m about to come.
His tongue pushes inside me and my eyes roll back toward the ceiling. I tug harder at his hair and stop holding back the noises I make.
I scream his name. I beg him to give me more.
“Make me come!” I babble, panting. “I need it… please… I’m sooo close… I… OHHH YES!”
Rafael laps at my pussy. His hands stroke my bare thighs. His scruff scratches at my tender flesh and somehow increases the pleasure even more.
All of it. Everything about the moment. Everything about him .
He squeezes my thighs and eats my pussy ’til I’m gushing wet and shining on his face. He groans against my pussy as he does and sends yet another hot wave flashing through me.
With Lincoln, I was never a fan of oral. Neither giving nor receiving.
Lincoln expected it way more than he was willing to give it. And when he did give, it was always under an air of impatience and laziness. A few short flicks of his tongue and then he would stare at me expectantly, like I was supposed to magically come.
But Rafael is the exact opposite—his playful flicks, teasing bites, masterful strokes all make me come undone.
I explode against his mouth.
The sparks surge through me with burning intensity.
My toes curl and the sounds I make are throaty and almost pained.
It feels so good to come like this, so damn amazing, that I’d die a satisfied woman. I slump against the bed, my legs dangling over the edge. Eyes on the ceiling, I’m breathless and flushed as Rafael grins and prowls up my body.
He drops more kisses as he goes. His lips capture mine. We trade tastes. Mine of the sweet raspberry panna cotta from earlier. His of my pussy, which is a sweet, creamy taste that’s almost similar.
Then he nuzzles my face with his and whispers darkly into my ear. “ Spero tu sappia che non ho ancora finito con te. Ti scoperò la figa stretta finchè non ne potrai più, dolcezza. Ti farò sentire così bene da far male. ”
I’ve got to learn Italian one of these days—but whatever he does whisper into my ear makes me shudder in anticipation.
Rafael pulls back on his haunches and starts undressing. His fingers are fast on the buttons of his shirt. Even faster on his belt and zipper.
While he’s stripping down, revealing his trim body chiseled by hard muscle, I’m struggling with my dress. I wiggle the rest of the way out of it, ready for him by the time he’s naked and stroking himself.
He’s hard. Very hard.
My tongue pokes out to lick at my lips and my soaking wet pussy throbs.
Rafael’s dick is truly perfect. It’s impressive even when he’s soft, but when he’s erect and engorged, it’s next level.
There was a time in the past where sex was uncomfortable and painful due to my Endo. Yet since we’ve been together, we’ve hardly encountered these issues. Even with his generous size.
And during moments where I am struggling, Rafael’s perceptive enough to know and creative enough to work around it.
We come together in more hot, passionate kisses as he pushes me back against the pillows and fits himself between my thighs.
More pleasure sizzles through me. Just from Rafael’s kiss. Just from the anticipation of what’s coming next.
He ravishes me like this, sucking at my tongue in erotic fashion. Pinning my arm to the side and stroking himself mere inches from my pussy. I can feel the heat of him, sense how hard and erect he is.
I lick back at him, my tongue meeting his. The chemistry between us smolders, reaching a fever pitch as our desire turns primal. We want each other so badly, our bodies calling each other, that we can’t wait another second.
Rafael runs his dick along the slit of my pussy and makes me shudder. His tongue swirls in my mouth as he finally sinks inside.
A long, throaty groan leaves him.
I’m so drenched that he has to feel every drop of it. His breathing is labored.
My hands explore him, sliding along his rock solid muscles and then gripping at the nape of his neck. I squeeze my pussy around him and kiss his jaw.
He groans again, his eyes closed as if struggling to keep his bearings.
“Fuck me,” I purr. “Fuck my little pussy and make me yours.”
Rafael draws his hips back and peers down at me. His gaze is dark and intense, inspiring gooseflesh on my arms.
It’s moments like these that I see other sides of him. More than the polished and charming businessman in impeccable suits.
But a darker, almost terrifying edge to him that sparks excitement inside me.
Rafael Calderone is a renowned billionaire businessman. Yet there’s something about him that’s primal. That makes me sense he keeps these parts of himself hidden from me.
…except for now.
Except during these moments we’re alone together and he unleashes his dominance and gives me the best sex of my life.
The dark, focused look on his face makes my pussy clench.
And then comes the explosion—Rafael drives back into me and stars shoot before my eyes. His thick, throbbing dick slips in deep and sets off an instant burst of pleasure. It crackles over my body, more tiny sparkles everywhere.
He feels so good inside me that I’m like a starving woman. I’m desperate and needy, always hungry for more.
He’s more than ready to deliver. He grips my thighs and moves his hips in smooth, fast strokes. It’s the most natural thing for him, all masculine and dominating instincts taking over as he strokes into me.
My pussy walls quiver taking him. If I was soaking before, I’m an ocean now. Wet and hot around him, pulsating for every hard thrust he gives.
He only goes deeper. He invades every inch of my body.
His dick hits the back of my pussy and I bow against him. My throat aches from all the moans I let out. I clutch at his arms and turn my head as pleasure builds from the deepest part of myself.
The same spot where Rafael bashes away at. The same sweet spot that makes my whole pussy convulse.
Rafael grabs my chin and jerks my head forward. He wants my gaze on him as he fucks me. I peer up at him and see the heat burning in his dark eyes.
No words are necessary to understand this moment between us.
I belong to him. My pussy is his to fuck. My body his to pleasure.
I’m his and his alone. No one else gets to have me.
…and it couldn’t turn me on more.
I shudder all over again as Rafael forces me to look him in the eye and he pounds away at my soaked, sensitive pussy.
There’s no smile to be found in his expression. No softness or tenderness.
Not in this moment.
Only intense, hot, carnal lust.
He drives even deeper, fucking me viciously and mercilessly. He plants a kiss on my mouth and then bites my lower lip, bottoming out inside me.
I cling to his back, feeling the ripple of muscles and beads of sweat, and cry out at how deep he goes. He’s switched up his thrusts, the motions short but powerful like a punch. It sets off nerve endings in my pussy that I didn’t even realize I have.
Another orgasm wipes me out with a sharp cry. Waves of hot pleasure crash down. I’m a mess of tingling sparks and deep tremors.
Rafael flips me over and spears back into me. It’s like the world has been flipped upside down. The next thing I know, I’m on my knees, clutching the sheets as he wraps his fist in my hair and fucks me even harder.
The room fills with slapping sounds of our bodies slamming together. Other sounds like our filthy moans and groans and the thick, primal grunts that rumble from Rafael.
My arms and legs soften into jelly, until the only thing holding me up is Rafael. The size of him is almost too much, almost enough to make me beg for mercy. But then he hits the right spot and pleasure rises to new levels.
My walls stretch around him, pulsing and slick. I reach under myself and greedily rub away at my clit as he strokes in and out.
I’m on the cusp of my third orgasm when Rafael comes. It turns into the trigger I need. His dick throbbing inside me, spilling hot liquid deep pushes me over the edge. I clamp down on him and scream into the bedsheets.
In this moment, I feel every part of him. Every creamy drop of cum he’s deposited deep inside my pussy. Every pulsing vein and ridge of his cock as he buries himself. Even the flex of his muscles as his warm, heavy body collapses half on top of me.
Rafael nuzzles my neck, dropping kisses on any patch of skin he finds.
Seconds go by where we’re a tangled, sweaty heap listening to each other’s ragged breathing.
We roll over onto our sides to face each other.
Rafael strokes my cheek and asks, “Are you okay, dolcezza ? Was that too much for you?”
I smirk. “Too much if you mean you’ve ruined me for all other men.”
“That’s good. Because no other man ever gets to have you.”
“How did I know you’d say that?”
“Because it’s the truth,” he says, leaning closer. He presses a kiss to my lips. “It’s too late for them. I’ve already claimed you.”