Chapter Nine
EMELIA
T hat was the most intense oral sex Nico and I have had. There are new territories we are entering tonight. Sure, we have touched the surface on some of these things, but there is something hidden behind the acts. A desperation to claim or better yet, reclaim what we have. To be unhinged and unashamed of what we want. Pleasure and desire are often never explored, because you are too afraid that you will always be chasing for a new high and never get the satisfaction you need. My desires can be met by Nico, I know that, and he and I will never have to look outside our marriage. You can’t lose one another when you submit so completely to each other. You never have to chase a high when the high is all in the love you have for your partner. The acts aren’t what truly make this as intense or pleasurable, more so it is one another and the connection we built and the love we designed specifically to each other.
Room three. We make it there. Nico and I stand across from one another now. He and I are both naked and dripping in water from the shower. We forewent the towels and moved like spirits in the night, almost. Two delicate beings, tiptoeing to a place where we are with one another in clouds of hushed whispers and euphoric cries.
We both study one another. Our eyes exploring one’s bodies. How lucky am I to not only love the size twenty-eight body I am in, but for my husband to also treasure it. To lust after it and worship it. Where he is defined and toned, I am soft and curved. Where he is taller, I stand shorter under his god-like stature. We are opposites that somehow make the perfect puzzle pieces that fit.
I move first, going to the bed and grabbing the cuffs off the pillow.
“Can we cuff our wrists together?” The gritty and raw was left in the first two rooms and right now, I want to round out this moment with us. I was his whore. His passion. And now, I want to be his wife. There is a need now to seek out my husband from the shadows we casted on this night.
“Like our fucking souls, mio moglie.”
“Like our souls,” I repeat.
He comes to me. Sauntering slowly and effortlessly, naked and like a god among men. Taking the cuffs from me, he grabs my wrist gently and locks one cuff into place, before doing the same on his. Laying us down on the bed, he takes our cuffed hands and places them above our heads. Our soaked bodies were growing cold, but with each second they stay touching, warmth replaces the chill.
I lift my legs up and out, opening myself to him and without a word, he slides inside me. Home. We are home again. We share a similar groan, and lazily he slides in and out of me.
“Emelia,” he pleas. The way he says that is an actual cry of desperation.
“Yes, baby,” I coo, cupping his face with my free hand.
“I want another baby. I need you to give me one more.” We have been trying for one more and it hasn’t happened yet or so he thinks.
“Nico?” I smile. This past month, I have held a secret close to my chest, waiting to tell me sweet love when the time was right.
“Yes?”
“I’m pregnant,” I tell him. His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of deception. But there is none.
“You’re pregnant?”
I nod, smiling.
“ Il mio re , you are going to be a father again.” The world around us, the one who knows the killer—that crumbles and the version of my husband only I get to see comes out. A lone tear. The man meant to make others cry, cries over his love and joy for his family.
He slides in and out slowly, but the pull and drag is intense against my sensitive center. With all the orgasming and constant aching of arousal, I am overly tender.
“Mi rubi il flato e spero che non lo restituirai mai.” You steal my breath and I hope you never return it.
“I won’t. You have built a legacy with a wife and children who love you so much, Nico Dante Valiente,” I whisper and moan collectively.
“You made me a home. Filled my life with more purpose. Thank you, sweet love.” He praises. And with no more words. We spend the next hour chasing and pulling back at the cusp. Only finally orgasming when we are ready for rest to take us under.
Room four will have to wait until our bodies have recovered.
The sunlight casts a halo around my sleeping husband. I woke before he did this morning and I watched him peacefully rest. It is rare that I get to see him in a state of ease. Usually up before dawn and asleep after me, I get this in rare glimpses. Watching someone so powerful and living a life of crime and brutality, find peace in slumber is a sight to behold.
“Watching me sleep or waiting for me to have you again.” He opens his eyes and rubs the sleep from them before stretching. I am covered in a plush bathrobe and I have a glass of orange juice in my hands.
“You look peaceful. Waking you seemed selfish.” I smile, extending my hand and offering him a drink. He sits up on his elbow and takes the cup. Taking a sip, he hands it back to me then sits up. His body looks so stunning in the morning light. I see every bullet hole, knife wound and defined slab of muscle on his chest, abs, and arms. The sheet hides the bottom half which matches the top perfectly.
“Never selfish when I know my morning can start out here.” He moves and I giggle and squeal, he moves us under him and slides my robe open from my thighs to just under my breast. He caresses my legs first, then my hip and finally my stomach. Balancing above me on one outstretched arm, he looks at my round belly to my face.
“Do you think we have another boy, or is my angel girl growing in there?” Nico so desperately wants a girl. Me? I will take a healthy baby and sure, he would be just as thrilled with another boy, but I know having a girl will fill that hard heart with just enough softness that I won’t be the only one he has wrapped around his finger.
“This pregnancy is slightly different. I haven’t been sick yet, and with the boys, you know I was awfully ill,” I remind him. I could barely leave the house each pregnancy. I was constantly nauseated or throwing up. This time around, I’m just tired and my hormones are higher. Clearly.
“I am happy to know you’re feeling well, my love. How far along?”
“About eight weeks.” I run my hand up and down his large arm.
“Thank you for one more.” He moves his hand from my stomach back to my thighs and opens my legs one at a time. His cock is hard, and he is ready for me again.
“Thank you,” I add, and he slides inside.
“Ohh,” we both moan.
“Nico, I am so unbelievably sore,” I add.
“I promise I’ll be really gentle.” He leans slightly, looking down at our connection.
“Is that right?” I giggle.
“Baby, I promise. I’ll be so good to you this morning,” he promises, softening his voice.
I lay back and enjoy him. Nico slides in and out at a leisurely nearly lazy pace, but it still feels incredible. My core is tight and aching and I have no idea how I will do room four. We should have gone last night when I was less sore.
“Right there. Don’t stop.”
He rolls his hips like a wave, my skin and his skin bare and gliding tightly along one another.
“Squeeze me tight, good girl,” he praises. I flourish under his words.
“Oh yes, I am coming, Nico. Keep going!” I moan, holding on tight and losing sight of where the soreness ends and pleasure begins.
“You aren’t ready, greedy girl. You want a little more. Don’t you?”
I nod, biting my lip to the point I nearly draw blood.
“Yes!”
“Come.”
He pulls out, and I scream at the loss. “Nico!”
“Fucking come, baby.”
He reaches between us and pinches my clit and I do exactly that.
I cry so loud, the chandelier above the bed would rattle if I was even an octave higher. Just as I am coming down from it, he slides back in and my tight grip is all he needs to reach his peak.
“So good. So fucking good.” My stomach goes warm with each drop of come he pours into me. I don’t want this to end. I want to stay in this bubble for just a little longer and thank god we get to, but with how much more time? Nico has to get back to work and I want to get back home to the children.
“Take me to the fourth room, now,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and pulls from me. “Emelia, we did everything. I used handcuffs, we used toys, I have fucked you so damn good, rooms one to four met all of the above and then some,” he tells me, sliding on his boxer briefs. I shake my head. Wait? What?
“No, I know but we still have one more thing.” He looks at me, sliding on his jeans and buttoning them up. Wait a minute. No. Please do not do this.
“Nico?” I challenge because I have a feeling I know exactly what he is going to say.
“Emelia. I know you want to let people watch, but I have to shut that down. There are so many things you and I are willing to do for one another, but I can’t—I won’t share you.” My heart starts to thunder in my chest and the tears sitting at bay threaten to make their pesky appearance.
“You aren’t. Watching me and touching me are different things. I have never let someone watch me completely.” It isn’t because I want strangers to watch simply for them being strangers, but it’s the mystery and the ability to please one another and them being able to see us enjoy it. For them to see what Nico does to me.
“No. That is the end of this discussion, Emelia. I won’t let any man watch you. You make a choice. They can watch but I immediately put a fucking bullet in between their eyes. Your body is mine. You are mine. No one gets to see it. The one time with a gun was already pushing my fucking boundary.” I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me. “No. Now get dressed. We’re going home.” He leaves me. A gust of wind on his trail. My head drops and a lone tear falls. It’s not other people I want to watch me, for them to desire me. It’s for them to see that only he can do these things to me. For them to wish they could bring that pleasure to me or anyone, but know they can’t. That Nico and I are a force, and nothing can come between that.
I stand and wipe at my tears. It has to be me. Is he ashamed? Is my body only something he lusts after but worries about what other men will do? Does he think they will laugh? Or be disgusted? I don’t know if it’s the hormones or if I am truly believing for the first time that my husband doesn’t really believe that the world would desire me like he says. It isn’t jealousy he fears, it’s him shielding me from embarrassment. Oh god. Now I am sick. I hold back as best I can. Stopping the tears and taking deep breaths to avoid vomiting.
I’m slow to get dressed in my yellow sundress. It hugs me tightly and I feel like it’s too tight. My mind is spinning a mile a minute and this feeling of not being good enough is overpowering me. I put on a pair of white sandals that tie up and around the ankle and I pull my long blond hair back into a high, slicked-back ponytail. I keep my makeup light. Some blush and bronzer on my cheeks and a little bit of mascara. I will just cry it off anyway. Stepping into the living area, I see the strawberries and cherries sitting there. Right next to the cash.
My stomach turns and I once again have to keep myself from losing what little contents are in my stomach. Nico steps out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans, a long sleeve cotton shirt and his casual dress shoes. His hair isn’t slicked back completely but he combed it back and out of his face. My tears threaten to resurface, but I turn to look away. I walked in this room pretending my husband was a stranger and right now, with all the ruminating thoughts taking up space in my head, filling me with doubt, I feel like I am leaving with a stranger.
He doesn’t say anything, just grabs our bags and opens the door. I step out and head to the elevator. I feel his eyes watching me from behind and I wish I could crawl out of my skin. It feels like he is looking at me and thinking all my glaring thoughts. I am enough for him, but I’m not enough for the rest of the world to find desirable. This is the most embarrassing thing I have felt. Ever.
The car ride home, even worse. He didn’t ask me anything. Didn’t try and say sorry or explain himself. He didn’t put his hand on my thigh where it always belongs. And the second we get home, I put a wall so far up between us, it will take a bulldozer of truth from his lips to possibly break it down.