Epilogue #2
I see it all the goddamn time.
It’s a heady thing.
A powerful thing.
My other arm is still wrapped tight around her waist. I slide it down, splaying my fingers across her stomach, feeling the soft give of it there. She shivers.
Cristiano sighs in his sleep and shifts a little in the crib, but doesn’t wake.
We both go still automatically, looking over.
He settles again.
Teresa relaxes first.
Then me.
“Let’s go,” I whisper.
She doesn't even answer.
She just pushes herself back against me one more time, a silent yes, and then she’s taking my hand, pulling me away from the crib, away from our sleeping son, and out into the hallway.
We close the nursery door without a sound.
Then I’m backing her up against the wall, my body covering hers, my hands framing her face. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me down to her.
This kiss isn't slow or sweet or gentle.
It’s hungry. Greedy.
It’s been four days since we've had the house to ourselves, and we're both starving.
She nips my lower lip, a little punishment for teasing her in the nursery, and I growl in response, deepening the kiss, my tongue finding hers. She meets me stroke for stroke, her fingers tightening in my hair, her other hand sliding down my back, pulling me closer.
My hands are already moving, sliding down her neck, over her shoulders, down her sides, coming to rest on her hips. I pull her flush against me, letting her feel exactly how much I want her.
She breaks the kiss, gasping for breath, her head falling back against the wall. I take advantage, my mouth tracing a path down the column of her throat, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse beats wildly.
“Vito,” she breathes.
I don't stop. I kiss my way back up to her jaw, my thumb brushing over her lips before I kiss her again. This one is slower, deeper, a claiming.
Because she is mine.
And I am hers.
A fact that still feels like a miracle.
Her hands are working their way under my shirt, her palms hot against my skin. I shudder, a deep, primal reaction to her touch that I know I’ll never get tired of. She knows it too. I can feel it in the smug little smile that plays on her lips as she breaks the kiss.
“You always liked that,” she murmurs, her nails scraping lightly against my stomach.
I groan, dropping my forehead to hers. “You know all my weaknesses.”
“Good.”
She pushes my shirt up, and I lift my arms, letting her pull it over my head and toss it aside. Her eyes roam over my chest, her expression hungry, possessive.
My hands find the hem of her own shirt, and I pull it up and over her head, tossing it to join mine on the floor. She’s not wearing a bra. Of course she isn’t. She never does at night.
My breath catches.
She is beautiful.
So damn beautiful.
Her breasts are fuller now than they were a year ago, her nipples a darker, rosier color from nursing our son. I love that. I love every change in her body, every sign of the life we created together.
I cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arches into my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
“Vito,” she whispers, her hands coming up to cover mine.
I look at her, at the raw, open wanting in her eyes, and I know I need to have her. Now.
I pick her up, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist, and carry her down the hall to our bedroom. The lights are off, the only illumination coming from the moon through the large windows.
I lay her down on the bed, my body covering hers, my hands buried in her hair as I kiss her again and again, trying to pour all the love, all the gratitude, all the overwhelming joy I feel into it.
Her hands are on my back, her legs tangled with mine, her body moving against mine in a rhythm that’s as old as time, as natural as breathing.
I break the kiss, my lips trailing down her body, my hands following.
I take my time.
I love her body.
I love the feel of her skin, the taste of her, the sounds she makes when I touch her.
I love the way she comes apart in my arms, the way she completely loses control, the way she cries out my name.
I love the way she looks at me when she comes back down, her eyes soft and hazy, her lips curved in a sleepy, satisfied smile.
“You’re good at that,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
I smile, pressing a kiss to her palm.
“Just for you.”
She pulls me up, her lips finding mine again, her hands fumbling with the button of my jeans.
I help her, my hands shaking with anticipation as I rid myself of the rest of my clothes, then hers.
And then we are skin to skin, nothing between us.
And it is perfect.
It is always perfect with her.
I move my mouth down the line of her throat in a searing kiss that has her arching against me, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
"Vito." My name is a breathless plea, a desperate demand. Her hips press against mine.
I kiss my way to her breasts and take one of her nipples into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the peak, tasting her. She gasps, her back bowing off the bed, her hands tangling in my hair.
I move my other hand between her legs, my fingers finding her slick and ready for me.
I groan. “You’re so wet.”
“It’s your fault,” she gasps as I slide a finger inside her. “You always do this to me.”
I smile against her skin, my thumb finding her clit. “Good.”
I tease her, my fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, my tongue and teeth continuing their assault on her breasts. I can feel her getting closer, her breath coming in ragged pants, her body tightening around me.
“Please, Vito,” she begs, her nails scoring my back.
“Please, what?” I murmur, my lips tracing a path down her stomach.
“Please,” she whimpers, her hips bucking against my hand. “I need you.”
I love it when she begs for me.
I settle between her legs, my shoulders pushing her thighs wider apart. I look up at her, my eyes meeting hers. Hers are dark with desire, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Vito,” she whispers, her voice rough with need. “Don’t tease.”
I smile, a slow, wicked curve of my lips. “But teasing you is half the fun.”
Her breath hitches as I lower my head, my tongue flicking out to taste her.
She tastes like heaven.
Sweet and salty and so uniquely her.
I take my time, my tongue exploring every inch of her, my hands holding her hips steady as she writhes beneath me. I can feel her getting closer, her thighs tightening around my head, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Vito,” she cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, her hips bucking against my face. “Oh, god, Vito.”
"I want you to come on my face, Teresa," I purr, leisurely licking her as she trembles. "Right here on my tongue."
She makes a choked sound, her body arching off the bed. "Vito."
"I never get enough of your pussy," I continue, my words a murmur against her wet skin. "So fucking delicious. I need it in my mouth."
I push two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that drives her wild.
"Vito," she gasps, her body tensing, her breath catching in her throat. "Oh god, Vito, I'm... I'm..."
"Shh, baby," I soothe, my tongue working her clit, my fingers moving inside her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. "Quiet now. You don't want to wake the baby, do you?"
My tongue laps at her, my hands grip her hips, my eyes never leave her face as she writhes and pants.
Her thighs are trembling now, her body a live wire of sensation, her breath coming in ragged, desperate pants. I can feel her getting closer, her muscles clenching around my fingers, her body arching off the bed.
"Vito," she whimpers, her nails digging into my scalp, her hips bucking against my face. "Vito, I'm going to scream."
"No, you're not," I say, my voice a low, commanding growl that has her shivering. "You're going to be a good girl, Teresa. You're going to come for me, but you're going to be very quiet."
Her eyes are wide, her pupils blown with desire, her lips parted in a silent gasp. She's close. So close.
I can see it in the way her body is tensing, in the way her breath is catching in her throat, in the way her hands are gripping my hair, her knuckles white.
That's all it takes.
She comes with a strangled cry, her body convulsing, her back arching off the bed, her hands clenching in my hair. I hold her close, my tongue and fingers working her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's a quivering, whimpering mess beneath me.
I don't give her a chance to come down.
I'm on top of her in an instant, my body covering hers, my lips finding hers in a searing kiss that's all about possession, all about claiming. She tastes herself on my tongue, and I know it drives her wild.
I know it makes her want more.
I kiss her deeply, my tongue exploring her mouth. She kisses me back with a desperation that matches my own, her legs wrapping around my waist, her hips pressing against mine. Her fingers tangle in my hair and keep me close.
I can feel her wetness against me, can feel the heat of her, can feel the desperate need for more. My body is screaming for release, my cock so hard it's painful, but I hold back.
I want to savor this. I want to savor her.
I break the kiss, my lips trailing down her jaw, my teeth grazing her earlobe.
"You taste so good," I murmur, my hands roaming her body, my touch a brand. "Especially when you're all turned on like this."
Her breath hitches, her body arching into my touch. "Vito," she whispers, her voice a husky plea. "Fuck me."
I smile against her skin, my hands cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Patience, baby," I murmur, my lips finding hers again. "We've got all night."
"Now," she begs, her hips bucking against me. "I need you inside me. Now."
I love it when she begs for me.
I love the desperation in her voice, the raw, unfiltered need that she's not afraid to show me.
I love that I am the only one who gets to see this side of her.
That's what finally breaks me.