Chapter 3 Aurelia #2
“My whole life,” he said as he worked the rice balls with his gloved hands. “My mom brought me here when she worked during the day, and then I would help out after school with Con. Food is life and life is food.”
“Good words to live by.” I loved that Constantine had pursued his own interests in life, but he’d never forgotten his roots.
He had a lot of love for his family and for the restaurant.
I could tell by the way he spoke about it.
He was a wealthy man but remained down to earth, and that just made him more perfect.
“Why do you want to work here?” he asked as he continued to work.
“I needed a break from photography. Just wanted to do something different.”
“They said you are working for free.”
“Yeah, I’m not taking money from Constantine’s mother,” I said.
“And it’s not about the money. I thought it would be a great way to spend more time with all of you.
And I think Constantine needs some time to himself.
” We’d lived together for a brief amount of time, but he’d been working for the Republic and I was focused on my photography, so we weren’t together every moment of the day.
I worried that he needed his space and having me around too much would strain what we had.
And I suspected he needed time to process what had transpired in Rome, and it was impossible to digest the heaviness while constantly in the presence of someone else.
“Really?” he asked with a chuckle. “Because it sounds like he can’t get enough of you.”
A warmth spread through my chest, and then a tingle followed down my arms. I was the luckiest woman in the world, and I never forgot that. Constantine looked me straight in the eye and said I would be his wife someday—like it was a prophecy that would be fulfilled. “Yeah, he’s sweet.”
My shift ended shortly after two, so I headed to Bam Bar afterward.
I sat alone at one of the beautiful round tables with the sun in the center and ordered a granita by myself, double mulberry with a scoop of cream.
I needed to be mindful of my figure because I was with a freakin’ gladiator of a man, but it was hard to turn down the perfect treat after a long day at Rosticceria Da Cristina.
I enjoyed the atmosphere and thought I’d catch on quickly, but it was eight hours of constantly standing, which was a change of pace for me.
As I waited for my granita, I watched the people walk by, and I had to pinch myself to remind myself that this was real—that I was back in paradise.
I had been born and raised in Rome, but this place felt like home to me.
Every time I felt that joy, it was riddled with guilt because I knew Constantine didn’t feel the same way.
My eyes narrowed on someone in the crowd, a six-and-a-half-foot gorgeous man with dark hair who looked identical to Constantine. I had to blink several times, assuming he was like an oasis in the desert that wasn’t actually there, but he was.
Then he smiled.
Oh, it was Constantine.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He came to the table and leaned down to kiss me.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
He took the seat beside me and propped his arm over the back of my chair. “Saw you were here after your shift, so I thought I’d stop by.”
Maybe he wasn’t tired of me. Maybe he didn’t need his space.
“When I saw you head farther into the town, I knew where you were headed.” He grinned widely, handsome as hell.
“Saw me?” I asked blankly.
“Your location,” he explained.
I forgot we’d shared our locations with each other a long time ago. “Oh yeah.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I just forgot.”
The waiter came with my granita, the same flavor we’d ordered last time.
“It’s good, huh?” Constantine said. “So, how was your first day?”
I ripped off a piece of the brioche and spooned the crystallized fruit over the edge before I popped it into my mouth. “It was okay. Antonio was there and he’s always nice, so it wasn’t too overwhelming.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, I like him.”
“If you end up hating it, you don’t have to stay, all right?”
“Why would I hate it?” I asked as I kept eating.
“Well, I started to hate it after a while,” he said with a laugh. “I’d always smell like food, even after I showered.”
“There are worse things.”
He gave another chuckle.
And I melted inside.
“I’m sure women love getting railed by a guy who smells like pizza.”
“I sure would.”
He looked at me again, and he had this smile in his eyes like he thought I was the cutest thing ever. The affection was deep, beyond the flesh, like he loved who I was underneath. “You look fucking adorable in that outfit.”
I wore a black Rosticceria Da Cristina T-shirt with black jeans. My hair had been combed back into a loose bun, which wasn’t how I usually did my hair. I kept it down and long and mostly curled. “Yeah?”
He moved his hand down to the leg of my chair and effortlessly pulled me closer to him before that hand went to my thigh under the table, giving me a possessive grip that he pulled off so easily.
I tugged my granita closer and continued to eat. There was a nearby table with four pretty girls staring at him hard, but he didn’t seem to notice because he was too busy staring at me. “How was your day?”
“Fine. Took Medusa on a walk, and then we watched the game together.”
“How’d she do?”
“Good. Kept it short. Didn’t want to push her too hard.”
“I can’t wait until she’s better and we can take her places with us.”
“Yeah, I’ll take her on a hike to Mount Etna.”
“The—the active volcano?”
He smirked. “I’ve been there during an eruption. Not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” I asked.
“The eruptions are small. And even if they weren’t, whether we’re up there or down here, we’re screwed either way.”
“It’s hard for me to take you seriously when you think getting shot is no big deal.”
He chuckled and gave my thigh a squeeze. “Just look pretty and eat your granita, sweetheart.”
His big arms supported my thighs as I sat on his face in bed—and he ate me for dinner.
He drew all my folds into his mouth, and then he licked me hard with his powerful tongue, applying as much pressure as hard fingers.
He worked me like it was for his enjoyment instead of mine, when I was the one to receive all the benefits.
One of his hands reached up to grip one of my tits, and he squeezed it hard as he continued to devour me whole.
I fisted his hair and rocked into his face, an empress on the throne of his mouth, writhing and riding, pushed over the edge and plunged into a pool of ecstasy. I bucked my hips and gave a cry as I shed tears of pleasure.
He slid his hand up to my neck, and he gripped my throat before he guided me off him.
Put me on my back before he moved between my thighs and folded me like I was a strand of human licorice.
I’d always been flexible, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d need that skill until I met this six-and-a-half-foot behemoth of a man who liked to fuck me like a whore.
He shoved himself inside me without an ounce of gentleness, made himself right at home like my body was his palace, and then nailed me hard like even an eruption from Mount Etna wouldn’t stop him. “Fuck, this pussy feels as good as it tastes.”
I’d already come on his face so I didn’t need another release, and it was so damn hot watching him fuck me like he hadn’t had a woman in weeks instead of a day.
He gave me so much of his length that it hurt with every thrust, but he’d made love to my pussy with his mouth for twenty minutes, so I could handle it.
He released a growl before he gave his final pumps, filling my pussy with a mound of seed that was so heavy it would register on a scale, and then all the muscles of his core tightened before they released.
He finished, then moved off me, rolling to his back with his head on the pillow.
I gently put my legs back into place, feeling all the stiffness in my joints from being in that position for so long. Then I lay there, fully satisfied and utterly spent.
Constantine closed his eyes and seemed to drift off right away.
I closed my eyes too, tired from my day at work and from the tidal wave of pleasure that had just knocked me off my feet.
Then I heard Medusa give a quiet whine from downstairs.
Constantine’s eyes snapped open like a mother with a newborn. “She knows mommy-and-daddy time is over.”
I chuckled. “I can’t wait until she can come up the stairs on her own.”
He left the bed and used the bathroom before he put on his boxers and headed down the stairs. A moment later, he returned carrying Medusa in his arms and put her in her dog bed on the floor next to his side of the bed. He gave her a rubdown before he kissed her on the head. “Good night, baby girl.”
He headed back to bed, turned his phone on Do Not Disturb, and then rolled on his side to look at me. “What?”
It must have been the look on my face, the look I couldn’t control. “I love the way you love her.”
He watched me for a while, the sheets resting at his waist.
“If you become a dad someday, I think you’d be really good at it.”
“Only if I had a daughter. If I had a son . . . I’m not so sure.”
I could feel the surprise etch into my features because that was not something I expected him to say. “Why do you say that?”
“Sons are complicated. How do you raise them to be strong without being an asshole? How to be assertive but not unnecessarily confrontational? Men are violent, toxic, and rapists, serial killers. It’s a fine line, and I’m not sure how to walk it.”
“And how would raising a girl be different?”
“Because I’d raise her to be strong and assertive and as confrontational as she wants.
Teach her how to handle toxic assholes and how to break their noses and their dicks.
I was pretty much raised by a single woman.
I understand women. They can be strong and gentle at the same time. But men . . . men are just worthless.”
“I’m surprised you feel that way considering . . . you know.”
“What?” he asked.
“Considering you’re the greatest man I’ve ever known.”
He stared at me endlessly, like he didn’t understand if that compliment was genuine . . . or if he deserved it.
“Considering how you’ve spent your life protecting innocent people, women in particular, how you’ve treated me . . .”
“Let’s not forget that I chop off hands and kill people.”
“Men who deserve it. You make the hard decisions that no one else wants to make. You fight crime with crime. It’s a fine line to walk, and you do it beautifully.”
“I did it beautifully. But that’s over now.”
“Doesn’t erase everything you did. How you served the Roman Republic.”
He moved onto his back and looked at the high ceiling. “I’m done talking about this, sweetheart.”
I noticed the way he used my nickname to lighten the blow, but his dismissal still stung anyway.
Like someone had died, he grieved for the person he’d lost—himself.
He’d taken so much pride in what he did, said he wouldn’t sacrifice it for anything because nothing was more important than his service.
But then he fell in love with me . . . and that all changed.