VIOLET
The next day…
It's the middle of the night, and Marcello wakes me to tell me that we're leaving for the wedding venue in the Maldives early, as in right now.
Sleepily, I roll over. "Ugh, I haven't even grabbed my passport from my apartment yet," I yawn.
He puts one knee on the bed, dipping the mattress lightly, and brushes some strands of my hair from my face.
"I'll have one waiting for you by the time you need it, sweetheart, now come on, be a good girl."
I stretch, still half asleep, and blink a few times at him. When I sit up, I notice several bags packed by the entrance to the closets.
"You already packed our bags?"
"I'm ready to have you all to myself for a few days."
That gets my attention. That and, as the fog slowly leaves my mind, images of crystal-clear water and palm trees dancing in front of me.
"We're really going?" The last of sleepiness leaves me.
"Yes," he grins.
My eyes fall on Felix, who is rubbing himself against the bags. "What about Felix?"
Marcello looks at him like a nuisance, before a wide grin spreads over his face. "Alejandro will housesit and make sure he's well taken care of. And you know Zia Rosa will spoil him rotten."
I don't know what Alejandro did to deserve this kind of punishment, but I don't care. My heart rate picks up. We're going on vacation.
I've never even left New York. Well, I suppose I was born in Vegas, but I don't think anything you can't remember counts.
A little bit of guilt gnaws on me for leaving Felix, but Marcello is right, Zia Rosa will spoil him rotten.
And Alejandro… he thinks I haven't seen him pet Felix here and there, just like Marcello.
Both try to act like big, bad wolves, but deep down, they're just puppies.
With a squeal, I sling my arms around Marcello, "Yes!"
He kisses me deeply, before he slaps my ass, "Get dressed before we miss our plane."
I can't help myself, "I thought it was yours."
He laughs, "Good point."
I squeal again when he chases me into the shower.
The sun is already coming up by the time we finally get into the SUV.
Over the past few weeks, I've gotten used to driving in one of Marcello's luxurious SUVs, but when we drive onto the airport, onto!
not to—my excitement grows to new levels.
The SUV drives up an airfield toward a hangar, where a plane is parked on the tarmac.
I'm not a complete idiot, I've seen private jets before—on TV—but I've never expected to see one in real life, let alone board it.
"Marcello," I gush when he opens the door for me and holds my hand to help me out.
"Your carriage awaits, principessa," he smirks.
Two more SUVs stop behind ours, and several of Marcello's bodyguards emerge. I recognize a few, mainly Marco and Kurt.
"No Luciano?" I look around.
Marcello gives me a strange sideways look, and it takes me a second to comprehend before I laugh, "Oh my God, Marcello. I'm just asking because I thought he might bring Pippa."
His expression is still dark, as if he is contemplating firing Luciano, or worse. I step in front of him, "Get over yourself. Luciano is a friend, and I was just curious."
"I don't like it when the two of you text each other," he grumbles.
"Well, I don't like it when you kill people, so there. We both have to live with the other's flaws."
He stares at me, dumbfounded, before he throws his head back and laughs, really laughs. I know my words sound blasé, and I don't condone killing anybody, but part of me is… getting used to it, for lack of a better description.
"He's got his hands full with the business," Marcello finally relents and fills me in. "It's just you and me."
And a shitload of bodyguards it seems, but I don't say anything.
Because this is my life now. Honestly, when we climb up the stairs to the plane's entrance and enter, it's all worth it.
Reclining leather seats surround polished wood tables, a deep, patterned carpet, and curtains in front of the windows make this place look more like a long living room rather than a plane.
Marcello steers me into a seat from where I can watch the guards load our baggage into the plane, before they too board. They take seats in the front to give us privacy.
"Excited?" Marcello asks, taking my hand.
I nod. A hundred things should have been on my mind.
The call from my father a few days ago, the fact that I haven't spoken to my mom in over a week, or that my best friend is having the time of her life with Luciano, learning mafia traits.
But none of that can compete. All that matters is the way Marcello is holding my hand, kissing the tips of my fingers. "Very much."
"Good," he grins happily. "I like spoiling and impressing you."
"You do both so very well," I agree.
"Drinks?" A flight attendant saunters over. Her eyes drink Marcello up from head to toe.
"I'll have a Blue Label," Marcello tells her, looking at me expectantly. "Do you want champagne?"
A small giggle escapes me. Because… hell, I'm on a private jet, owned by my gorgeous fiancée, on my way to the Maldives. Hell yes, I want some champagne. "Yes, please."
"If you need anything else, please let me know. My name is Stacy," she says, actually looking at me for a few seconds.
"Thank you, Stacy."
The captain's voice comes over the speaker, announcing that we'll be taking off in a few minutes and that the flight will last a little over seventeen hours, with a stop in Dubai for refueling. I can't suppress another giggle, Dubai!
Stacy returns with our drinks, and Marcello smirks at me, "Cheers."
"Cheers," we clink glasses, and I feel like Cinder-fucking-ella. After she found her prince, obviously.
After a few hours and a delicious dinner, the novelty of being on a plane wears off. Marcello has his laptop in front of him, and I stare at the darkening sky. I fidget a little, looking for a pillow and blanket to settle in for the night.
"Are you tired?" Marcello asks, always observant.
"Getting there," I admit.
"Well, let's go join the mile high club and then get some shut-eye. Tomorrow we'll be in the Maldives." He winks.
"Mile high club?" I ask, looking toward the front of the plane where our guards sit, playing poker or napping. There is a small bathroom there as well as the kitchen where Stacy prepped our dinner and mixed our drinks. I don't see anything private enough for the two of us, though.
Marcello rises, holding out his hand, "Come." His grin deepens, and he leads me toward the end of the plane. I noticed this door before and assumed it led to another bathroom, but I haven't needed to go yet, so I didn't investigate.
My mouth drops open when he leads me not into the assumed bathroom—well, there is one of those, too—but into a luxurious bedroom.
The bed, at least king-sized, if not bigger, seems to hover over the gray carpeted ground.
Light spills out from underneath it, changing the carpet's color to a light blue.
A small vanity table stands on one side, holding my cosmetic case.
Two more leather seats are in another corner, facing, like the bed, an oversized TV screen.
With a squeal, I throw myself on the bed, finding the mattress just as luxurious as the one in our penthouse.
Smirking, Marcello closes the door before he walks over to the bed like an approaching predator.
I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching him undress.
That, just like the man himself, is a work of art.
First, he takes off the cufflinks—his jacket came off after we boarded—placing them on the vanity next to my cosmetic case, then he unbuttons his vest and shirt, exposing that rock-hard, chiseled chest of his.
Slowly, I crawl forward on the bed, not missing how his hot gaze watches my every move.
I raise myself on my knees and help him out of the vest, followed by his shirt.
I begin to kiss the bulging muscles exposed to me, tracing the dark ink on his chest, while he stands still, tolerating my indulgence.
My fingers fumble with his belt and undo his fly before gravity pulls his pants down.
His briefs need a little bit more work, but I manage.
"My turn," he growls in a deep voice.
Obediently, I move to get off the bed, but he shakes his head. "No, stay right there."
The bed isn't very high off the ground, just high enough to get us eye level with me standing on it.
I lift my arms so he can pull my gray sweater off, then he reaches around me to open the zipper of my pencil skirt.
His hands move to my ass the moment the skirt drops, squeezing my cheeks hard enough to elicit a small whelp from me, but not too hard to make it unbearable.
To my surprise, heat floods my pussy at the rough handling.
"You have the most perfect ass in the world," he says, continuing to knead my cheeks.
He bends down, and his mouth reaches for my stiff nipple, still covered by my bra.
That doesn't deter him, as he licks the material and nips.
My breathing elevates just from these touches, and I stutter when his teeth pull the shoulder strap down.
He licks the swell of my breasts before he tugs the material down, exposing my breasts fully.
Anticipation fills me and floods my pussy.
Heat spreads through me before he licks my nipple, flicking it with his tongue.
The moment it makes contact with my flesh, my knees weaken.
The pleasure he's already giving me is simply un-fucking-believable.
"Those tits of yours are heaven," he mumbles around my nipple before he nips at it again. His teeth graze against the stiff bud, and I suck in a sharp breath. The sensation is so intense, it's like all my nerve endings are electrically charged.
My underwear is drenched, and he reaches to pull them off me, spreading my legs, moving lower to lick me in between.
"No," I pant.
His head comes up in surprise. "No?"
"I want your cock, Marcello. I need it. Now," I moan, the ache in my pussy is burning like a fire. I need him to fill and stretch me the way only he can, to take me to the heights of my pleasure. I love coming on his tongue, but right now, I need to be filled.
He grins arrogantly. "I'm not going to deny my fiancée's request."
I step back on the bed on wobbly legs and let myself down. He comes at me on all fours, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes that floods my pussy even more. Impatiently, he flicks my panties off, shredding them at the seams before tossing them to the side.
With bated breath, I writhe under him, spreading my legs shamelessly and lifting my hips to give him easier access. His hand cups my pussy, apparently finding it wet enough for his satisfaction. "Mine!" he growls.
"Yours," I nod. "Fill me."
"With abso-fucking-lute pleasure," he promises.
I stretch against him, waiting for him to fill my aching pussy.
The moment I feel his thick head teasing my entrance, I nearly implode with anticipation.
He presses into me. Inch by torturous inch, until he is fully sheathed, and only then do I take a breath, enjoying the sense of fullness he delivers.
He stretches me to the brink of pain, destroying the vacuum that had been so lonely and empty inside me.
"Your pussy is a gift of the gods," he groans, slowly pulling back, just to ram back into me.
"More," I moan. "More."
He raises my hips, takes my legs, and places them on his left shoulder, then he pushes back into me, and my eyes roll back. His arm holds my legs tightly. He rolls his hips exquisitely, hitting that sweet spot deep inside me that makes my eyes roll back and presses tiny mewls from my lips.
"Ah, like you were molded for me," he praises.
My hands search for purchase but only grab satin sheets that give while he thrusts into me with abundance, moving me up on the bed, before he pulls me back down.
His free hand reaches for one of my tits, grabs it, and squeezes, as tears run down my face.
The pleasure he's bringing to my body is building in intensity, nearly becoming too much.
"Ah shit, tesoro," he grunts, and I feel him impossibly swell inside me. That pushes me over the edge. With a scream, I come, followed by his bellow, "Violet!"
Both of us jerk under the onslaught of pleasure raging through our bodies. The only thing I hear is my panting and the rapid beat of my heart. Everything else is consumed by sensations of burning, pulsing bliss.