Chapter 8 Aurelia #2
And something about it made me a little less scared. Actually turned me on a bit, knowing about the life we’d made together inside me that very moment. Something made out of love and passion, something that would outlive us both.
When he rose to his feet, he took me with him, carrying me to the bed and rolling back with me as he remained on top.
His eyes took in mine as he adjusted me underneath him, his lips just inches from mine.
When he was nestled between my thighs and his hand was deep in my hair, he sank into me, releasing a quiet moan under his breath when he filled me deep.
He paused as he felt me, as he took in my eyes and savored the moment like it was the first time our souls touched.
Then he started to move inside me, slow and easy. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I’m gonna be late.” I slapped his hand away as I moved for my purse on the counter.
But he was all over me anyway, pushing up against my back before he guided me to the couch.
When my alarm had gone off that morning, he was buried inside me in record time.
It happened so fast, and I got swept up in how damn fine he was that I forgot how little time I had to get out the door.
I hopped in the shower and got dressed before I headed downstairs, but he was all over me as if he hadn’t already come inside me once.
“Constantine.”
He got me on my back on the couch and slipped my shoes from my feet. Then he tugged off my jeans and my panties before he bent me into place in the corner of the couch.
“Jesus, what has gotten into you—”
He gave a hard thrust inside me and nailed me like a piston in a car engine.
A rough quickie like I was a booty call on a timetable.
His sweats were pulled down below his hips, and he pounded into me like I was a whore rather than the woman he loved.
“Fuck.” He took me the hardest he ever had, his arms pinning my legs far back.
“Yes.” Within thirty seconds, he was finished, blowing his load like it’d been a week rather than thirty minutes since his last lay.
He filled me with another load that would soak into my panties at some point while I was at work.
He pulled out of me as soon as he was finished. “All right, now you can go.”
I relaxed my stiff joints, then scrambled for my clothes and shoes. When I looked at the time on my phone, I realized I was already fifteen minutes late. “Shit.”
“Relax, sweetheart.” He smiled like this was all a joke, pulling up his sweatpants and putting on his T-shirt. “It’s not like you can get fired or anything.”
Constantine said he wanted to go out for dinner, so we went into Taormina and stopped by one of his favorite spots, La Napoletana, a restaurant hidden off the main path, up a couple flights of stairs and in a secluded courtyard.
He’d taken me there once before, when we were in the throes of our white-hot fling.
We took our seats and looked at the menus. “No fish tonight.” He said it with a smile, teasing me for the comment I’d made a couple nights ago.
I got lost in that smile every time I saw it.
He was so unbelievably handsome all the time, but something about his happiness really pulled me in.
The light in his eyes, the way his arms and shoulders were relaxed, all the ways he teased me.
I’d seen him in a good mood before, but he’d never been this consistently happy.
He was practically bursting at the seams.
“What?” he asked.
“What?” I blurted back, unsure of what he’d said.
“You’re staring.” He continued to smile like it wasn’t an intrusion.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I stare at you all the time. Just wasn’t sure if you had something to say.”
“I’m glad you’ve been so happy . . . just not sure why you’re so happy.
” We had just been in our darkest place, him struggling with his depression and me struggling with the fact that I might blow up our relationship when I told him the truth.
I guessed the second thing was still an issue, but it didn’t stress me out as much.
With every passing day, I accepted the circumstances, and seeing him love me so deeply made me a little scared to tell him.
He gave a shrug. “I guess I just got over it.”
“But overnight?”
“Just doesn’t seem important anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “Here I am in the most beautiful place in the world with the woman I love, and my family is right down the street. That’s what life is all about. I feel nothing but gratitude.”
The tension in the muscles around my chest relaxed a bit.
Knowing he was happy with our lives brought me a sense of calm.
It made me feel like everything would be okay .
. . when I finally found the courage to tell him.
That he wouldn’t be resentful that he’d lost everything, and now what little piece of independence he had left would be gone too.
If this had been a year in the future or some other time, I wouldn’t be worried about Constantine’s reaction to the news.
He said he could go either way, could have kids or not.
But the timing was just awful. This relationship was still new, even though it didn’t feel that way.
“I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
I released a quiet scoff because it sounded ridiculous.
“I’m the lucky one, Constantine.” This gorgeous, smart, six-and-a-half-foot hunk of a man was mine.
And his eyes didn’t stray and he didn’t lie and he didn’t cheat.
He took care of me, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had someone I could rely on.
It wasn’t just me on my own anymore, trying to keep my head above water.
For a time, I’d felt safe and secure with Enzo, but most of that relationship was spent with me begging him to make it work.
I was still ashamed I’d done that.
He looked at the menu. “So, what are you going to order, sweetheart?”
I scanned the menu. “The La Napoletana.” It came with mozzarella, garlic . . . and anchovies.
He quickly picked up on the joke. “You’re becoming more Sicilian by the day.”
The waitress came over, and we each ordered our own pizza.
He got the mortadella, which had mozzarella and ricotta cheese along with mortadella and pistachio sauce.
I noticed he ordered mortadella on pretty much everything when he wasn’t eating seafood.
I got the bufala pizza, which was basically a margherita pizza but with big chunks of buffalo mozzarella.
I hadn’t had any unusual cravings yet, nor had I been sick at all.
If this was how the pregnancy was the entire time, then I’d consider myself lucky.
Constantine ordered two glasses of wine without asking me what I wanted and sat with his arms folded on the table, sitting forward toward me. “I’ve done some thinking. Don’t think Cosa Nostra is right for me anymore. It just feels like a major step down, and I’m not commuting two hours each way.”
“You could stay there for a couple days.”
“My place is here with you.”
I didn’t want him to give up even more for me, but truth be told, the idea of sleeping alone for several nights while he was hours away made me uncomfortable.
And when there was a baby in the house, I’d be terrified, even with Medusa there.
I knew Darius wouldn’t come for me in Taormina after he’d let us go, but now that fear of being ambushed without Constantine around was a part of me.
I would never tell him that, of course. Not when it would make him feel like shit. “I could come with you.”
“I don’t want the job. Have something else in mind.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“I think we should open a third Rosticceria Da Cristina. But offer a completely different menu. No takeaway food, only a sit-down restaurant. I have a couple ideas for what we can offer. Include some Roman elements as well.”
The very last thing I’d expected him to suggest was getting back into the restaurant business. It seemed like that was behind him and he had other interests. “I didn’t know you were still interested in that.”
“I’m not going to be the one back there cooking, but it’ll be part of the family business and a great way to stay connected to the community. And we can pass it down to our kids one day if they want it.”
“Our—our kids?” He’d said he was open to the idea of having a family, but never once had he talked about it with any sort of certainty. But now, it was almost presumptuous, like we’d already discussed it but I’d somehow forgotten. “You want to have kids?”
He leaned a little farther over the small table, a slight smile on his lips, raw intensity in his eyes. “Fuck yes, I do.”