Chapter 37
Gina
I sip the orange juice, not having much appetite as Etta tries to coax me to eat. I’m trying to ignore the ache in my hip where Johnathon inserted a tracker at Tommaso’s insistence.
At least he didn’t have to slice me open; it was some spy-worthy kind of tech that could be inserted with a needle. But I’m still salty with Tommaso.
A part of me swoons that he isn’t stopping at anything to keep me safe, while another part argues that he’s trying to manipulate and control me, and I’ll never be free of him.
Not that I want to be free of Tommaso, but what if he is lying to me about everything? That we really aren’t married, and that he still plans to marry Rosa.
My self-doubt is crippling.
I’m sitting on the balcony off our bedroom, wrapped in a blanket. Yesterday’s storm is over, but it’s still overcast and cool. Etta sits across from me and pushes the plate of fruit toward me, and I shake my head.
“You need to eat, il mio sole.” Tommaso’s voice drifts from behind me, and my damn heart flutters in my chest. Etta rises with a small smile, and he murmurs, “Thank you, Etta.”
“We’ll bake some more today,” she says to me, touching my hand. “Hopefully, some sweets might coax that appetite back.”
She leaves, and I watch her over my shoulder until she closes our bedroom door, then I lift my eyes to Tommaso.
Just like always, he’s otherworldly gorgeous in his power suit and neatly styled dark hair, that chiseled body, and those startlingly crystal-blue eyes.
He gently runs his knuckle down my cheek, then picks up a piece of melon from the plate and brings it to my lips. After I eat it, he lifts me, blanket and all, and sits me in his lap, pulls the plate of fruit to us, and continues feeding me.
“You’ll need your appetite because my son is going to be a big boy.”
My stomach flutters, and happiness fills me at the thought of being a mother. “A son? What if it’s a girl?”
“Then she’ll have the fiery attitude of her mother, so you’ll still need your strength.”
“Am I truly pregnant?”
Even though I spoke with Johnathon about this, and he assured me the blood test was positive, I’m still having a hard time believing it.
Tommaso brings the last piece of melon to my lips, then leans in to kiss me. Before he pulls away, his tongue gently traces the outline of my lips. “Yes, wife. You truly are pregnant. Johnathon will arrange the ultrasound and prenatal checkup.”
I haven’t left the estate since I came here from the hospital, and the thought of doing so brings a sudden spike of panic.
“You’ll be safe. Guarded the whole time,” he says, sensing my reaction. “I won’t leave your side.”
I relax into him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He strokes my hair. “I’m throwing a lot at you to come to terms with.”
“Have you spoken with your father?” I know that Stefano left here and hasn’t returned.
“No.” I can hear the tension in his voice, and I caress his cheek.
He leans into my touch, looking like it soothes him. Then lifts me out of the blanket and from his lap to set me on the table. I squeak in surprise, and he grips my ankles, positioning my feet on the arms of his chair.
I’m vulnerable and exposed since I’m only wearing a robe. But he isn’t looking at me with heat, but rather with a serious expression.
“I’m going to tell you some things. However, I need you to trust that I will do absolutely anything and everything to keep you safe. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds timid and unsure, so I repeat more confidently, “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He gives me a gentle kiss, then pulls back, locking me in his gaze. “Vincenzo Pisani is in the city.”
My mouth dries. I don’t remember who he is; I only have the memory fragment of the horrible things my father said about him and his plan. “He knows I’m here?”
“Yes. As I suspected, Arturo, or maybe even my father”—his jaw is hard, and I can see how he’s hoping to hell it’s not the latter—“reported your presence to him. He called me, demanding to know what the hell is going on.”
“Is he… Is he coming here?”
“No, he won’t be allowed into our home.”
“Will you be safe, then? Wherever you meet him? He could attack, or it could be an ambush.”
He thumbs my cheek. “I’ll be fine. We’re meeting at Gilly’s, and all the Chamber leaders will be there with reinforcements, along with my own guards. If he tries anything, he won’t walk out alive.”
“But that would start a war with your syndicate.”
He nods. “And Vincenzo, while I don’t know what his intentions are with you, he bleeds ‘Ndrangheta. It’s everything to him. He won’t do anything stupid or rash.”
“Is he working with my father?”
“I'm going to try to find out.”
“Is there anything else?” I search his eyes, but they’re unreadable. Even when the corners of his mouth curl into a smirk.
“Yes.” He reaches behind me and pushes the dishes to the side. “I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Tommaso.” My voice shakes, but for an entirely new reason. It’s not out of anger or fear; it’s need and want.
I understand what he did to keep me safe, even if it was underhanded. And I can see and feel the intensity of his love for me, just as I can feel the intensity of my love for him.
But we’re outside on the balcony; even though people can’t see us, they can hear us.
He senses my hesitation. “Everyone has orders to stay clear of here for the next hour.”
Then his hand encircles my throat, but doesn’t squeeze. He only uses the pressure to push me back, so I’m lying on the table. When he removes his hand, I find myself missing it, wanting him to keep it there, to apply a bit of pressure.
My heart races at the thought, as well as from the feel of his warm, rough hands caressing my bare thighs.
I feel his breath against my skin and the brush of his scruff, and it makes me whimper.
I shift, trying to subtly tell him to start ‘eating his breakfast,’ to devour it. But he doesn’t rush.
Instead, he teases me with light caresses on my thighs, slowly moving higher. When he finally reaches my core, to my extreme frustration, he doesn’t touch me there. He runs his arm up the middle of my body, the weight of it telling me to lie still, and his hand comes around my neck once again.
I melt into the table, submitting to his quiet dominance; his silent command.
“Tommaso,” I beg, my core pulsing, untouched and needy.
“Lie still for me, love. Can you do that?” He brushes his scruff over the extremely sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Lie still for as long as you possibly can while I worship your pussy. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly.
“Good girl.”
I moan at his praise. When he goes to remove his hand from my throat, I gasp out, “Don’t.”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibration across my flushed skin. But he leaves his hand there and even gives slightly tighter pressure.
When his tongue licks up my core, I jolt and moan, but quickly remember I’m to lie as still as possible for as long as possible.
With the next swipe of his tongue, I relax into it and concentrate on keeping still while feeling him worship me.
Rather than splitting my focus, it narrows it so the only thing that exists in the world right now is Tommaso and me and the feel of his tongue and mouth on me.
It’s like I fall into a trance, and I float on gentle waves of pleasure. The orgasm isn’t rapidly building or urgent; it’s like we have all the time in the world, and the only thing that a busy businessman and crime leader like Tommaso has to do is to worship me. His wife. The mother of his child.
Tears spill free and run down the side of my face, but I’m not crying because I’m sad or upset; the complete opposite. I feel like I’m the center of Tommaso’s world, his universe, and it’s intoxicating and overwhelming.
As my climax slowly builds and reaches the pinnacle, my body starts to quake.
“That’s it, wife, come on my face, soak my tongue.” The tender and dirty words are my undoing, and the galaxy erupts with a burst of light.
“Tommaso,” I cry, no longer able to remain still, and my back arches while I hold his wrist of his hand around my throat and reach for him with my other.
I open my eyes to see him standing above me, gripping his cock from his unzipped pants while remaining fully clothed. He feeds the thick length into me, agonizingly slow, inch by delicious inch, and my body yields, welcoming him into me.
I sigh in drunk bliss when he’s fully sheathed in me and wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer. He starts to move, slow and steady, his eyes locked on mine and shining with everything he isn’t saying.
Love. Devotion. Obsession.
He keeps his right hand on my neck and places his left on my exposed stomach. The action is so tender and loving that more tears spill down my face.
“Don’t cry, il mio sole.”
I can’t speak so I only shake my head, trying to tell him that my emotions are so intense right now, they just need to leak out. My smile must tell him enough, because he leans down to kiss me as he makes love to me.
He removes his hand from my throat, but keeps the one on my stomach. I’ve never felt so loved or protected. And I trust Tommaso will do everything and anything to not only keep me safe, but to keep our child safe as well.
I don’t feel smug that I have the man that a woman I either intensely disliked or hated in the past was supposed to have. I’m not patting myself on the back because he chose me over the risk of breaking a blood contract.
I just feel loved and cherished. Worshipped. And right where I belong.
Tommaso kisses me deeply as I climax for a second time, and I grip him close with my legs around his waist and my arms holding his broad back tightly. My cries of ecstasy with my release and the tightening of my walls around his shaft bring his orgasm right after mine.
He kisses along my jaw before coming back to my mouth to kiss me once again, before he gathers me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom, heading toward the ensuite. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll make you more breakfast because a few pieces of fruit aren’t enough.”
I giggle while looking up at him, still having a hard time believing he’s mine. “You can cook?”
He looks insulted, then laughs. “Not well, but I’m sure you can suffer through it, wife.”
I press the side of my face against his thrumming heart. “I’m sure I can, husband.”
He sets me on the vanity while he goes to start the shower, then he pushes my open robe off my shoulders. Staring down at me with what can only be described as absolute adoration.
He leans down to press a kiss on my left collarbone. “Il mio sole.” One to my right collarbone. “My sun.” Over my heart. “My light.” Then, with his large, scarred hands gently holding my stomach, he kisses my lips. “My queen.”