Chapter 39
Romeo
Ikill the engine, remove my sunglasses, and slide out of the car before walking around to Lucia’s side. The door swings open before I reach her, so I offer her my hand. She takes it without hesitation, and her fingers are warm in mine.
The sunlight hits her just right, her dark hair catching the light, making it look like spun silk. The dress she’s wearing is simple and sexy, in that effortless way only she can pull off, hugging her in all the right places. The soft lemon fabric skims her thighs and cinches at the waist.
She smooths the dress down over her hips, adjusting the straps on her shoulders, and when she glances up at me, there’s a quiet confidence in her smile that makes my heart race. These feelings she constantly evokes are foreign, but I welcome them now.
She’s mine, and she’s a fucking stunner.
Our fingers are laced together as we approach a small Italian eatery on the outskirts of a neighbouring town. It’s called Nonna Rosa’s, and although I’ve never eaten here, I’ve heard good things about their food.
It’s not owned by the Famiglia, which is precisely why I chose it.
The last thing I wanted was to take her somewhere we might run into a waitress I’d been with before. I’m not proud of some of the things I did before her, but I can’t change them either, and I’d never knowingly throw that in Lucia’s face.
This place feels clean. Uncomplicated. And I don’t want to do anything that might upset her or spoil our day.
My past is my past, but this woman is my future, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never questions that.
The scent of garlic, olive oil, and fresh bread wraps around us the moment we step inside. It’s small, cosy, with checked tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and soft Italian music humming from a speaker in the corner.
A tiny, older woman in a floral apron shuffles towards us with a warm smile. “Che bella coppia (What a beautiful couple)!” she says, her voice soft and worn with the years. “Benvenuti. Un tavolo per due (Welcome. A table for two)?”
Lucia returns her smile with a nod, and we follow her deeper into the dining room.
That’s when I catch a man at one of the other tables—mid-bite, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth—with his eyes locked on my wife.
He’s not even trying to hide it; he’s openly gawking.
The slow, lazy once-over he gives her with his lips slightly parted, like he’s imagining things he has no right to, makes my blood boil.
I drop her hand and slide my arm around Lucia’s waist. When I pull her closer, he notices. His eyes flick to me, and I hold his gaze long enough to make sure the message is clear: “If you value your life, you’ll look somewhere else.”
He blinks, then immediately drops his gaze to his plate.
The old woman gestures to a table near the window. “Is this one okay? It has good light and a nice view.”
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Thank you.”
I move around to pull out Lucia’s chair. She sits, completely unaware of what just happened. I take the seat across from her. My jaw’s tight and my blood is running hot, but I force myself to breathe. She’s mine. And some things don’t need to be said out loud to be understood.
“It’s nice here,” Lucia says, glancing around. “It reminds me of a place I used to go to back in Italy.”
A tight smile tugs at my lips as I will my body to calm the fuck down. “Do you miss Italy?” I ask.
“Some things, but my life and my family are here. And I love Australia.”
“I love you,” I find myself replying, and it still amazes me how effortlessly those words come now.
“I love you too. I’ll love you even more once you relieve this aching need between my legs.”
I chuckle as I reach for her chair, tugging it closer. “Let’s order first. I don’t want to give Rosa a heart attack when she comes back with our food.”
“Ugh,” she groans, which has a smile tipping my lips as I lean in and brush my mouth with hers.
When I lean back in my chair, my eyes drift over to the creepy fucker who is now on my radar. When I catch him staring at my wife again, my hands clench into fists in my lap. Every muscle in my body tightens with the effort it takes not to cause a scene.
As soon as he realises I’m watching him watch her, he quickly looks away, but it’s too late.
The damage is done. There’s a gold wedding band on his ring finger, and I can only presume that the woman sitting opposite him is his wife.
He either has a death wish or he’s fucking stupid, but I’ll make sure he pays for his disrespect before I walk out of here.
With the first two courses down and a full stomach, I decide it’s time to put my wife out of her misery.
I slide her chair closer, so close her back is now to the creep across the room, because the thought of him, or anyone else, seeing that sweet look on her face when I bring her undone makes something dark rise inside me.
Something murderous.
My hand moves to her leg as my fingers trail a path along the inside of her thigh, and under the hem of her skirt.
I hear Lucia’s breath hitch in her throat as her eyes snap to me, but like the little minx she is, she eagerly widens her legs, giving me better access.
The tip of my pinky finger slides under the seam of her underwear, and I have to suppress my groan when I feel how wet her greedy pussy is for me.
I bite the inside of my cheek as my finger brushes lightly over her clit, and she whimpers.
“Ti piace, amore mio (You like that, my love)?” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve spoken in Italian to her.
My mother always spoke to me in English, unless she was mad. Then she’d start screaming in her native tongue like it was second nature.
I’ve picked up enough Italian over the years, from her, my uncle, or just being around Dante and our men, to understand most of what they’re saying.
I tease her at first, taking my time, stretching it out, ensuring by the end she’s withering with need. I’ve never been a selfish lover, but with her, it’s different. There’s something about the way she comes undone that gives me more satisfaction than anything I could take for myself.
“Romeo,” she breathes, when I add more pressure, swirling my finger around her tight little bud and wishing it was my tongue.
My cock is rock-hard and straining painfully against the zipper of my trousers. “Come for me, principessa (Princess). Come all over my hand.”
I asked Rosa to give us a moment before we decided on dessert, but I’ve changed my mind. As soon as I’m done here, I’m going to take Lucia home and have her as my final course.
I lean back into her, dragging my tongue from the base of her slender neck, all the way to her ear.
“When we’re done here, I’m going to take you home and feast on this delicious pussy of yours, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard with my big, fat cock, you won’t remember your own name when I’m done. ”
My dirty words are all it takes to send her spiralling over the edge.
I keep going until I’ve milked every last wave of pleasure from that greedy pussy of hers, and I can only hope this is enough to satiate her until we get home.
She lets out a breathy sigh when I sit back in my seat and bring the finger that was just inside her panties to my mouth, licking it clean.
Lucia’s face is flushed a soft pink from the afterglow, and there’s a lazy satisfaction in her smile like every nerve ending in her body is humming.
Fuck me, if she’s not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’ll go fix up the check,” I tell her, moving the cloth napkin off my lap and placing it on the table.
As I push back my chair and stand, my eyes catch the retreating back of that staring cocksucker just as he slips down the corridor, probably headed to the men’s room.
I don’t hesitate. I turn and follow him.
He doesn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder from where he stands by the urinal when I enter. Big fucking mistake.
I move to the sink first, to wash my hands, because I don’t want a trace of my wife’s scent on my hand when it smashes into his fucking face.
He’s still completely oblivious when I dry my hands on a paper towel and stalk towards him.
He’s mid-piss when my arm shoots out and clamps the back of his neck, driving his face into the tiles. He lets out a grunt, but I shove harder, pinning him in place.
“Did you enjoy looking at my wife, motherfucker?” I growl.
“I-I …” he stammers.
“You what?” I snarl, leaning in until my mouth is right by his ear. “Did you really think gawking at her was a smart move? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
He swallows hard but says nothing.
“Here’s the part you need to understand,” I continue, my voice low and dangerous. “You don’t look at her. You don’t even think about her. You forget she exists, unless you’re the kind of idiot who wants to leave here with more than a bruised ego.”
His silence is all the answer I need.
I let go, and he stumbles back, catching himself on the sink. His face is pale, and his hands are trembling.
When he glances down, the full weight of his humiliation sets in because he’s pissed down the front of his beige trousers, the dark stain spreading across the fabric and dripping onto his polished brown leather shoes.
Serves him right.
“Ah, fuck,” I hear him mumble under his breath.
“Be grateful I’m feeling generous today, because if I weren’t, being soaked in your own urine would be the least of your worries.”
With that, I turn and leave, having made my point.