Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Antonella
The mattress dips under my palms as I grip the sheets, my knees threatening to buckle. Bruno's hands spread my thighs wider from behind, his breath hot against my skin.
"Six more weeks," he growls against my flesh. "Six fucking weeks of watching you walk around this house, knowing I can't have you properly."
I gasp as his tongue drags through my folds. "The doctor said—"
"I know what the doctor said." His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me back toward his face. "I was there. Counting every goddamn day."
After the pregnancy confirmation, doctor recommended we abstain from penetrative sex until the first trimester ended.
Bruno had taken the instruction like a personal challenge, finding creative ways to drive me insane without technically breaking the rules.
His mouth. His fingers. Watching me touch myself while he sat in his wheelchair, eyes burning.
Today we have a new position testing.
"Clothes off," he'd said. "Now."
I hadn't argued.
Now I stand bent over the edge of our bed, completely bare, while Bruno sits in his wheelchair behind me. His face is buried between my ass cheeks, his tongue working me with single-minded determination.
"Bruno." His name comes out strangled.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he grips my thighs harder and pulls me back, sealing his mouth over me completely. The sound he makes—a low, hungry groan—vibrates through my core.
My arms shake. The position leaves me completely exposed to him, unable to see what he's doing, only feel it. His tongue pushes inside me, then withdraws to circle my clit. Over and over. Building a rhythm that makes my vision blur.
His tongue pushes deeper, and I cry out.
"Quiet." His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp slap. "Lily's still in the house."
"Then stop—" Another slap cuts me off.
"Stop what?" He spreads me wider with his thumbs. "Stop eating my wife's pussy? After all day?" A dark laugh. "Not fucking likely."
He dives back in with renewed intensity. I bury my face in the mattress to muffle my moans, my fingers clawing at the sheets. Bruno's tongue is relentless, alternating between deep thrusts and teasing flicks that make my thighs tremble.
"You're dripping." His voice is rough with satisfaction. "All over my face."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Bruno—"
"I love it." He licks me clean, then starts again. "Love how wet you get for me. How your body responds before your mind catches up."
My hips rock back against his mouth without my permission. Bruno rewards me with a groan, his grip tightening on my thighs.
"That's it." He pulls back just enough to speak. "Fuck my face, baby. Take what you need."
The permission breaks something loose in me. I push back against him, grinding against his tongue while he holds me steady. The obscene sounds of his mouth on me fill the room.
"Bruno, I'm—" The pressure builds too fast. "I can't—"
"You can." His tongue circles my clit. "You will."
He seals his mouth over me and sucks hard. The orgasm crashes through me without warning, my whole body seizing as I scream into the mattress. Bruno doesn't stop. He works me through it, his tongue gentling but never leaving, drawing out every last tremor until I'm shaking and gasping.
When he finally pulls back, I collapse forward onto the bed, my legs giving out completely.
"Beautiful." His voice is hoarse. "Fucking beautiful."
I hear the creak of his wheelchair, then feel his hand on my lower back, stroking gently.
"Turn over."
My limbs feel like water, but I manage to roll onto my back. Bruno sits at the edge of the bed, his mouth wet, his eyes dark with hunger. The bulge in his pants makes his arousal obvious.
"Come here." He pats his lap.
I push myself up on shaky arms. I slide off the bed and move toward him, my legs still trembling from the orgasm. Bruno's hands find my hips the moment I'm within reach, guiding me onto his lap.
I straddle him in the wheelchair, my knees on either side of his thighs. The position puts us face to face, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
I free him from his pants, wrapping my hand around his length. He's hard and hot, already leaking at the tip.
"Antonella." My name comes out like a warning.
"What?" I stroke him slowly, watching his face. "You made me wait too."
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. "I'm not going to last."
"Good."
I slide off his lap and sink to my knees between his legs.
"Antonella." His voice is strained. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." I look up at him through my lashes. "I've been thinking about this all day."
His jaw clenches. "All day?"
"During the party." I wrap my hand around his base, feeling him pulse against my palm. "While you were cutting the cake. While Lily was making you wear that ridiculous hat."
"Fuck." The word comes out rough.
I lean forward and drag my tongue along his length, base to tip. The taste of him spreads across my tongue.
"You were thinking about this?" His voice is barely controlled. "With my entire family in the room?"
"Yes." I circle the head with my tongue, collecting the moisture beading there. "Couldn't stop."
His hand moves to my hair, fingers threading through the strands. Not pushing. Just holding. Like he needs something to anchor himself.
I take him into my mouth slowly, letting my lips stretch around his girth. Bruno groans, his head falling back against the wheelchair. The sound sends heat pooling low in my belly.
"Your mouth." He's panting now. "Jesus Christ, your mouth."
I take him deeper, relaxing my throat the way I've learned he likes. His hips jerk involuntarily, pushing him further into my mouth. I gag slightly but don't pull back.
His eyes snap to mine, dark and burning. "You like when I fuck your throat?"
"Yes."
"Then take it."
I open my mouth and let him set the pace. He pushes into my throat, shallow thrusts that make my eyes water. I breathe through my nose and focus on the sounds he's making—low groans and muttered curses that tell me exactly how close he is.
"Look at you." His voice is wrecked. "On your knees for me. Taking everything I give you."
I moan around him, and his whole body shudders.
"Do that again."
I hum against his length, and his hips stutter. His grip on my hair borders on painful, but I don't care. I love this—love reducing him to this desperate, needy version of himself. Love knowing I'm the only one who gets to see him like this.
I pull back to catch my breath, my hand working his shaft while I recover. Saliva drips down my chin, and I don't bother wiping it away. Bruno watches me with hooded eyes, his chest heaving.
"You're so fucking beautiful." He traces my swollen lips with his thumb. "My wife. On her knees. Covered in spit."
I turn my head and take his thumb into my mouth, sucking gently. Bruno's cock twitches in my hand.
"Antonella." Warning laces his tone. "I told you I wasn't going to last."
I release him and smile up at him. "Then don't."
I take him back into my mouth, deeper this time. My nose brushes against his pelvis as I swallow around him. Bruno's hand fists in my hair, holding me in place.
"Fuck. Fuck, baby, I'm—"
I don't pull back. Instead, I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, my tongue working the underside of his shaft. Bruno's thighs tense beneath my hands.
"I'm going to come." His voice breaks. "Antonella, I'm going to—"
I moan my encouragement, and that's all it takes.
Bruno comes with a shout, he spills down my throat. I swallow everything he gives me, working him through it with my mouth and tongue. His hand in my hair trembles, his whole body shaking with the force of his release.
When the last pulse fades, I pull off slowly, making sure to lick him clean. Bruno slumps back in his wheelchair, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed.
I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth. "Happy birthday."
Bruno laughs. "Come here."
I rise on shaky legs and climb back onto his lap. His arms wrap around me immediately, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
"You're incredible." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "You know that?"
"You might have mentioned it once or twice."
His hand strokes down my spine, gentle now where it was demanding before. "I mean it. Every day with you is—" He stops, struggling for words.
I lift my head to look at him. "Is what?"
"Better." He cups my face in his hands. "Every day is better than the one before. I didn't think that was possible anymore."
His hands slide down to my stomach, resting over the slight curve that's just beginning to show. "Now you're everything. You and this baby. My whole fucking world."
I cover his hands with mine. "I love you."
The words slip out before I can stop them. We haven't said it yet—not directly. We've danced around it, shown it in a hundred different ways, but neither of us has spoken the words out loud.
Bruno goes still beneath me.
"Say it again."
"I love you." My voice is steadier this time. "I love you, Bruno Sartori. All of you. The darkness and the light. The man you were and the man you're becoming."
His hands tighten on my stomach. For a long moment, he doesn't speak. Then he pulls me down and kisses me—deep and desperate and full of everything he can't say.
When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against mine.
The plastic dinosaur is missing a leg.
I turn it over in my hands, examining the jagged edge where the limb broke off.
One of the younger boys chewed it during story time last week.
Sister Catherine mentioned they'd need to throw it away, but I set it aside instead.
Maybe I can find a replacement, or glue the leg back on if we locate it.
A dozen toys are scattered across the table in front of me—building blocks, stuffed animals, picture books with bent corners. I've been sorting them for the past hour, separating the damaged from the salvageable.
Behind me, the children's voices rise and fall in the adjacent room. Sister Catherine is leading them through a song about farm animals. I can hear little Mia's voice above the others, enthusiastically mooing off-key.
I smile and reach for a stuffed rabbit missing an eye.
Something cold presses against my spine.
I freeze. My fingers tighten around the rabbit's soft body.
"Don't turn around." The voice is male. Low. Accented in a way I can't place. "Don't scream. Don't do anything stupid."
The cold pressure increases. Metal. A gun barrel. I know the shape of it even through my sweater.
"You're going to put down the toy." His breath is warm against my ear. Too close. "Then you're going to walk with me to the back door. Slowly. Quietly."
Every instinct screams at me to run, to scream, to fight. But I can hear the children singing in the next room.
If I scream, they'll come running.
If I fight, the gun might go off.
These children have already seen too much. They've been abandoned, neglected, hurt in ways that keep them awake at night. They don't deserve to witness this. They don't deserve another trauma carved into their memories.
I set the rabbit down on the table. My hands are steady. I don't know how, but they're steady.
"Good girl." The man's voice carries a smile I can't see. "Now turn around. Slowly."
I turn.
He's tall. Dark hair. A scar runs along his jaw, pale against white skin. His eyes are flat and empty—the eyes of someone who's done this before. Many times.
The gun stays pressed against me, now aimed at my stomach.
My stomach. Where my baby is growing.
Something cold and sharp crystallizes in my chest. Not fear. Something harder. Something that tastes like iron and feels like teeth.
"Walk." He jerks his head toward the back hallway. "Service entrance. There's a van waiting."
I don't move. "Who sent you?"
His lips curl. "You don't ask questions. You follow orders."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who sent you."
The gun presses harder into my belly. "You want to die here? In front of all those kids?"
The singing continues in the next room. They're doing "Old MacDonald" now. Someone is making pig noises.
"Fine." I keep my voice flat. Controlled. "I'll come with you."
The man's eyes narrow, suspicious of my easy compliance. "No tricks."
"No tricks." I hold up my hands, palms out. "Just don't hurt anyone here. These are children. They have nothing to do with whatever this is."
"Move." He grabs my arm, fingers digging into the flesh above my elbow. "Now."