22. Valerio
VALERIO
We make it thirty feet before I lose the last of my restraint.
The reception noise fades behind us. Music, laughter, crystal glasses, the polite machinery of a wedding pretending a family scandal didn’t just happen in front of three hundred people.
Federica’s hand is still in mine. Her fingers are warm now, tight around me, and she’s laughing under her breath as we turn into a service corridor.
I stop so abruptly she bumps into my chest.
She looks up. “What?—”
I kiss her.
I don’t ask. I should but I don’t. But her mouth opens on a gasp. Her hands grab my jacket, and within seconds, she’s kissing me back with every bit of fury she has thrown at me since this began.
Good.
I can take fury. I can take teeth. And I can definitely take the small sound she makes when I press her against the wall and slide one hand into her hair.
“Rio,” she breathes against my mouth. “What are we doing?”
“Leaving, like I said.”
“This is not leaving.”
“Consider it a detour.”
She laughs once, breathless and shaken, and I kiss that too. I kiss her because I heard her take my side. I kiss her because she called me her husband, because I have spent years surviving on restraint, and tonight she looked at me across a ruined reception and took my hand.
Her palms flatten over my chest. “Why did you really marry me?”
I go still.
Her eyes search mine. There’s lipstick on her lower lip, smudged from me. I want to ruin the rest of it.
“Tell me,” she says.
The truth feels too large for the corridor. I give it to her anyway. “Because I’ve been in love with you for years.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
For once, Federica has nothing sharp to say.
“Years?” she whispers.
“Yes”
I can see her head spinning. “Why... Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Camillo was my best friend.” I hate the old excuse the second it leaves me, but it’s still true. “You were his sister. You were off-limits.”
Her laugh breaks a little. “I told myself the same thing about you.”
The corridor disappears. The wedding, the guests, the blood still humming in my fists from Camillo, all of it falls away. I only see her.
“You wanted me?”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “I wanted you so badly it made me stupid.” I kiss her again, and this time I don’t hold back. She arches into me. Her skirt shifts under my hand. My palm finds her thigh, warm through silk and lace, and I feel her shiver.
“Someone could come by,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s your answer?”
“That’s part of the appeal.”
“You’re crazy.”
“About you, yes.”
She swallows. I feel the movement under my mouth when I kiss her throat.
My hands find the top of her dress. Expensive satin, delicate work. I’ll pay for another. I tug, hard enough to loosen the seam, and she gasps my name. The sound hits lower than reason.
I lower my mouth to the curve her torn bodice exposes, and her fingers tighten in my hair.
“Rio,” she whispers.
“I know.” I press another kiss to her skin. “Let me take care of you, bellissima.”
I kiss lower. She tips her head back against the wall, and the movement gives me more of her.
“When?” She pants. “When did you know?”
“Since your eighteenth birthday,” I groan between kisses. “Since you put your head on my shoulder and I had to spend the rest of the night pretending I didn’t want to turn my face into your hair.”
She goes still under my mouth. “All this time?”
“All this time.” I look at her again. “Every man who stood too close to you made me want to break something. Every time I walked away, I hated myself for being honorable.”
Her hand slides down to my jaw. “I wish you’d been less honorable.”
The words snap the last thread of patience in me.
I drag my mouth along the line of her collarbone, then lower. She arches into me, gasping and moaning as my mouth finds a nipple and pulls.
She moans higher. “Rio?—”
I stop with my mouth against her skin. “Tell me to stop.”
Her hands slide into my hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I kiss every inch of skin I can reach. I bite and suck at her breasts, so full and delicious I could see myself doing this forever. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
And she’s mine.
When my hand slips beneath her skirts, she bites her lip so hard I pull it free with my thumb.
“No,” I murmur against her ear. “I want to hear you.”
“We’re in a corridor.”
“I know.”
“Valerio.”
I sink to my knees.
For one perfect second, she just stares down at me with her dress gathered in my hands and disbelief all over her face.
Then I lean in.
Her fingers grip my hair.
I bring my hands to her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her closer until her mound presses against my mouth.
I inhale sharply, the scent of her—sweet, musky, filling my nostrils and sharpening my hunger.
Without hesitation, I press my tongue flat against her slit, dragging it slow from the base of her opening up to the swollen nub of her clit.
She gasps, a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the sterile walls, and her fingers tighten in my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
I keep the pressure firm, letting the tip of my tongue flicker over the hood of her clit before sucking it gently between my lips, feeling it throb under the suction.
Her hips jerk upward, seeking more, and I respond by widening my strokes, lapping at her inner lips, spreading her wetness, tasting the salty sweetness of her arousal.
Her breath hitches in ragged bursts, each exhale a moan she tries to swallow, but the sound escapes anyway, a low whimper that vibrates through her core.
I slide one hand down to cup her ass, squeezing firmly, while the other slides up to rub circles around her entrance, feeling the heat radiating from her core.
“Cazzo.” I slip a finger inside, curling it to press against the front wall, and she arches, a choked cry tearing from her throat as the combination of tongue and finger sends shockwaves through her. “Sei bellissima. Stupenda.”
I increase the pace, my tongue lashing rapid, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her slit, then diving deep to lap at her entrance, sucking the juices that flow freely.
Her thighs quiver around my head, and she pulls my hair harder, urging me onward, her body trembling with each flick of my muscle.
I can feel the tension building in her, the way her muscles tighten, the way her breath comes in short, desperate gasps.
“Valerio… please…” she whispers, voice hoarse, barely audible over the distant hum of the ventilation system.
I answer only with intensified suction, my mouth sealing over her clit, drawing it hard, then releasing to let my tongue swirl around it in slow, deliberate circles.
She tries to keep quiet, but fails woefully.
Her whole body shudders, a wave of pleasure cresting, and she cries out, a raw, unrestrained moan that reverberates off the corridor walls.
I keep moving, relentless, my tongue flicking, sucking, lapping, while my fingers pump in and out, finding the spot that makes her see stars.
Her walls clamp around my digit, pulsing in rhythm with my motions, and I feel the first hot spill of her release against my palm.
She arches off the wall, back pressing hard against the tile, her legs locking around my head as she rides the peak.
Afterwards, she collapses back against the wall. Chest heaving, eyes half-closed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. A fucking banquet.
And I’ve been going hungry for years.
Before my wife can catch her breath, I hoist her up and carry her to the wedding suite.