38. Happy Wife, Pain in My A
Happy Wife, Pain in My A**
Bianca
Agirl could get used to life on a sailboat.
Shit.
And my husband’s tongue.
“Mmm, sir.” I rock over his mouth with a death grip on my kewchie. The jaws of life on this man are dangerous.
I faceplanted into my gelato that quickly became a face mask once another orgasm hit. He told me to eat it, then put this good kitten on his beard, which has been glistening for seven days.
Benny is in pussy-eating heaven. His eyes are closed under the shades blocking the sun, his feet swinging back and forth from a sniper position over the sunbathing mattress.
His arms tighten around my waist for deep, sweeping strokes of his tongue.
The faucet between my open legs and I erupt into his mouth, jerking my hips and dropping my gelato on the deck.
Benny’s low rumble of laughter tickles my skin as he presses soft kisses to the insides of my thighs before he licks me clean.
I roll away and adjust my bikini. Best believe I would talk my finest shit if I weren’t panting like a big dog in the summer sun. The slow glide of his fingers down my belly pulls my side-eye. What kind of stamina drugs did he put in his breakfast?
He reaches between my legs to twist the jeweled anal plug. “Almost ready.” His fingers brush my pussy, dipping through my parted lips in lazy swipes.
Freak.
“The day is yours,” he says with a kiss on my shoulder. “What would you like to do? Snorkeling again? Fishing?”
“I see you have jokes this morning.” I shoot a look for his bottom lip to meet his top. “My body still hurts.”
Benny erupts with laughter. His back hits the mattress and his abs shake. Just chortling in my face. Even the dick print in his swim trunks is laughing at me for jumping overboard to save the fishing rod that fell. I scared the fish on the rod and myself by how I had belly-flopped into the sea.
A mess.
“How about we leave the fishing to me?” He pulls me to his side.
“What about a tour?” I laugh at his groan. “Don’t roll away.”
“We did walking tours. Food tours. A wine tour. Gallery tour. Cultural tour. I can’t take another without killing someone, love.”
“The fact that I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious is why you need therapy.” I remove his sunglasses. “Did you not just say the day is mine?”
“Not for another fucking tour,” he mumbles.
“Benny?”
He deadpans when I pinch his cheeks. I smile. “Happy wife, happy what?”
“A pain in my ass.”
I smack his chest, igniting a rumble of laughter. He holds my stare, his fingers rubbing circles over my bikini strings. “Do I make you happy?”
My answer is the brush of my lips over his. He deepens our kiss, pulling me closer for our hearts to touch.
Our honeymoon in Mazara del Vallo has been perfect. A luxury sailboat has been our home for the week. No crew, work, or distractions. Just us.
Benny showed me Salvatore on this trip. I’ve seen him in small doses, glimpses of the man who learned his nonna’s recipes, his mother’s affection, and his father’s pursuit. I enjoy learning my husband and I want more.
“Okay,” he sighs. “Where are we going?”
I kiss his jaw. “Show me the part of you that helps others.”
“Salvatore!”
“Ciau, Domenico.” The two hug with heavy-handed back pats.
Benny’s face lit up when we arrived at the port. He couldn’t contain his smile and hasn’t stopped since speed walking down the dock toward the burly man in some type of fishing overalls.
Their animated Sicilian exchange turns to English after Benny motions toward me. “This is my wife, Bianca.”
Gray brows rise to a receding hairline. “Wife? Where was my invitation?”
Benny’s sandal digs into a slat. “It was spur-of-the-moment. Don’t tell Sarina.”
Domenico laughs. “I have to live with my wife, not you.” He lifts my hand to kiss and covers it with his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Domenico. I run his fishing fleet.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say.
“How long will you be in the area?”
“Our honeymoon ends tomorrow.” Benny threads our hands together. “Bianca wanted to meet the people involved in our rescue operations.”
Domenico’s eyes soften. “Let me give you a tour.”
Hours pass on boats and meeting the crew. They were all happy to see Benny, sharing jokes at his expense to my delight. He’s a complex man with many layers, but he’s loved.
“How have the runs been?” Benny asks Domenico once we settle into his office. It’s a simple space with a desk and chairs, overlooking the port.
“Lost three days of work,” he says, scratching the white whiskers coating his chin.
“We had another run-in with Libyan authorities, but no detainments. Our government is contesting the court rulings against it, imposing detention and fines on migrant rescuers. In my years at sea, I’ve left no one behind.
I’ll never stop rescuing people who need help. ”
Domenico is one of many fishermen who defy government orders to help migrants in distress. They’ve saved thousands, at the risk of their own capture and having their vessels confiscated.
“I’ll cover the lost wages for the rescue,” Benny assures his friend. “Andrea is working on a software update to alert teams if local authorities approach. If you need any help on a run while I’m here...”
“No.” Domenico shakes his head. “Enjoy your honeymoon. We’ve been splitting shifts with a few others. We’re okay.” His gaze flicks to mine. “How are you enjoying our town?”
I smile. “It’s amazing. The company isn’t bad, either.”
Benny kisses my hand from the chair next to me, threading our fingers together. Someone likes PDA.
Domenico’s wooden chair creaks under his weight and the wide grin pulling his lips apart. “I never thought I’d see the day Turi settled down. Welcome to the club, kid.”
We say our goodbyes and take our time walking back to the Turkish motor sailer he rented.
Domenico was full of stories of Benny as an acne-faced teen whose voice hit all kinds of high notes.
Benny laughed more today than I’ve heard since fate threaded our lives together through crime and mistaken identity.
“I like Domenico,” I say.
Benny’s sharp laugh skips into the night sky.
“I’m sure you do. I wish you could’ve met Sarina.
She’ll be out with the mobile clinic around the province for most of the night.
That’s the mission center she works at.” He points at a small stucco building in the distance.
“The migrants Domenico and his team rescue go there for services.”
“That’s amazing.” Rocks kick up under my sandals on the stone pathway. “I met a server at Eden who wants to be a social worker to help migrants.”
“I’ll put her in touch with Sarina. They need help.”
Clouds skate across buckets of stars out of reach. Wind from the sea blows my backless dress. “Thank you for today.” I rub circles into his waist.
He squeezes me against his polo shirt with a kiss. “The break has been nice.”
“It has.”
“Want to stay for a few more days?”
“Is that a real question? Yes, if it doesn’t involve fishing for dinner.”
“We need to work on that.” He snickers. “You can’t be the wife of a fisherman’s son throwing your rod in the water.”
“It slipped!” I sulk. “Your parents would’ve loved me, regardless.”
“I love you.”
Those three words float to the constellations glittering above us. Goosebumps prickle my forearms. My heart sprints in rapid-fire beats, tripping my breath.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he says lowly, in an unsteady whisper. “There are parts of me that aren’t good.”
“I love them all because they give me you,” I admit.
Life has a funny way of telling you to aim high with your desires. Being with Benny feels more and more like home. There’s no place I’d rather be than in his arms.
My captor.
My protector.
“I love you too,” I say.
Coming to Sicily and falling in love was never part of my plan. At some point, it happened, and I want to see where it takes us.