11. Antonio
Chapter eleven
Antonio
T he beautiful woman sleeping beside me is my wife. But what’s even more shocking is that the same woman is my childhood friend.
If I was honest, the thought that I might one day end up sleeping with Lucia isn’t a new one. It was a possibility soon after we reconnected, but as time went on, the chances of it happening faded. However, marriage was never on my radar—to her or any other woman.
Yet here we are, husband and wife, and this morning I can’t wipe away the memory of her orgasming on my tongue multiple times last night.
It’s all fucked up. I’m fucked up. Because all I can think about is doing dirty things with her. Then my big brain steps in, overruling the one in my dick, and I remember what a bad idea it would be.
I don’t want to ruin our friendship with the complications of sex. And after a night of tossing and turning in the bed beside her, I need to remain strong on the agreement we made. What we did last night can’t happen again. Not in the foreseeable future, at least.
Slowly, I roll out of bed, careful not to disturb Lucia.
She doesn’t need an eyeful of my morning wood.
No, I need to deal with this in the shower—alone.
Just like I did last night in the other en suite while she soaked in a tub of bubbles.
It was the only way I was going to be able to sleep beside her and keep my promise.
Stripping off my boxer briefs, I turn on the waterfall shower and dive under it before the water can even warm. Luckily, I don’t mind a cold shower in the morning, as I expect I’ll be needing a lot of them in the coming weeks if I’m going to keep my hands and mouth off my delectable wife.
The full force of the water hits hard on my back, and bracing an arm against the marble-tiled wall, I close my eyes.
I grip the base of my cock with my other hand and stroke firmly up the length.
Images of Lucia spread out on the bed last night run like a film reel behind my closed lids.
Her voluptuous tits bouncing when I pulled her closer.
Her glistening pussy when I lifted her leg.
And my favorite memory of all, the taste of her arousal on my tongue.
A deep groan rips from my throat, echoing off the tiles and rebounding back at me. I pump my fist faster. Remembering her shouting my name as she came apart on my tongue pushes me to completion. Thick threads of cum paint the tiles. If only it could be Lucia’s gorgeous tits I was coating.
When my breathing steadies, I finish my shower, washing away all evidence of my release, then wrap the large white towel around my waist.
One step back into the bedroom, and I realize my mistake. All I can see of Lucia is the top of her head. Her green eyes sparkling as bright as the large emerald I placed on her finger yesterday. She’s holding the sheet up to her nose, and I know she’s laughing—or at least grinning—beneath it.
“You think that’s funny?” There’s no point denying what I’ve been doing. She obviously heard me.
The sheet shifts over her as she giggles. “You still want to go slow?” she asks.
With only a shake of my head, I walk over to my bag. “You should jump in the shower too; we need to leave in an hour.” And with my back turned to her, I unhook the towel at my waist, letting it drop.
Her gasp stretches my smile wider. With clean boxer briefs in my hand, I glance over my shoulder to find my wife standing statue still in the middle of the room, her mouth wide open.
I turn fully to face her, and her gaze drops.
She shouldn’t look so adorable wearing my T-shirt that hits high on her thigh.
“I think you need another shower, big-guy,” she teases, and her tongue darts out to run along her bottom lip.
I can’t argue with her when my cock is as hard now as it was when I woke. All it took was for Luce’s eyes to land on me.
“Lucia … Shower. Now,” I growl, eliciting a giggle from the mouth I’m imagining fucking.
“Wow, someone’s a bit grumpy this morning,” she says, lifting the T-shirt up and off over her head before tossing it on the bed. She’s as naked as me now.
“Fuck, Luce. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
One brow rises higher than the other, and a cheeky grin lights up her entire face before she spins on her heel.
“I’ll use my bathroom so you can … finish.” She struts out of the bedroom, through the shared sitting area, and into the second bedroom. My hand drops to the base of my cock again to give it a few leisurely strokes. I want to fuck my wife so badly that it physically hurts.
Good intentions and the reality of my sexy wife provoking me will make this a whole lot harder, literally. And while still tugging on my shaft, I return to the bathroom to deal with the situation.
***
Our flight to Florence is long and increasingly quiet the closer we get to our destination. It’s a different kind of silence to our flight to Vegas. Not awkward nervousness, but one of heavy dread. We both know meeting with Lucia’s father is going to be a shit show.
And by the time we’re following the housekeeper along the hallway of her father’s house, I’ve had enough time to psych myself up to face the man who’s hated me for more than a decade.
“What is he doing here?” Franco Romano demands once we’ve stepped one foot through the doorway of his office.
I was right to expect this kind of reception. If nothing else, the man hasn’t changed much. His hair may be grayer and his belly rounder, but his personality is still as prickly and bullish as it was back then.
For me, I don’t give a shit, but the way Luce has stopped in her tracks at the sound of her father’s angry tone has my jaw tightening. I refuse to let that misogynistic asshole hurt her any more than he already has.
“And it’s good to see you again, too, Signore Romano.” Sarcasm drips from my greeting, and I take a step forward, holding out my hand to shake his.
He looks down his nose at it, like it’s covered in filth. I shrug my shoulders, returning my hand to my pocket, not bothered by the rejection. It’s as expected, and at least I’m now positioned a little between him and his daughter, who remains frozen and silent beside me.
Uncurling the tight fist of my other hand, I reach for Lucia. Her fingers are stiff and cold as I link mine through them.
Her father’s eyes darken to obsidian beads as his gaze focuses on our entwined hands. I don’t give two fucks, though, as I straighten to stand taller and lift my chin defiantly high. I’m ready to do battle.
“What are you doing?” He spits the words at Lucia before gathering more steam to add, “Giovanni Barbieri is to be your husband. Not him.” He can rail against us all he wants; it won’t make any difference.
I’ve had enough experience with an overbearing parent of my own to know exactly how to deal with Franco Romano. Unwavering commitment and authority is the only way to face this level of arrogance. I only hope Lucia doesn’t mind my blunt approach.
“Lucia is not marrying my brother,” I say, mustering the stern tone I use in the boardroom when addressing my father, succinct, factual, and remaining just within the bounds of politeness.
“She’ll do as I demand of her. For her family.”
This conversation is starting to piss me off. We’re not living in the fucking eighteenth century, and his attitude is ridiculous. It’s time I shut this bullshit down definitively.
“With all due respect, it’s too late. Lucia is already my wife. So my family now.”
Lucia drops my hand and takes a step closer so she can slip an arm around my waist, tucking into my side like this is exactly where she belongs. Automatically, I wrap a protective arm around her shoulders.
“This is the part where you congratulate us, Papa.” Lucia addresses her father for the first time, and I love the strength in her tone.
Of course, he won’t, but at least for her sake, I hope he accepts that there’s nothing he can do to change the fact.
“Neppure per sogno,” he says with a tight jaw, diminishing my hope that he’ll accept the fact.
Lucia’s fingers twist in the fabric of my shirt. “Well, that’s too bad for you, because Antonio Barbieri is my husband. And you can’t say or do anything about that. I’m no longer your responsibility.” Her voice wobbles only a little on the last words, and my chest swells with pride.
Lucia is finally standing up to her father, something I’ve encouraged her to do over the years. Better yet, my wife is claiming me as hers, and it’s hot as fuck.
“Do you want to make the announcement, or would you rather we do it?” I ask, and her father’s face glows red with anger. His heavy brow would be menacing to most people, but for me, I think, bring it .
My wife has made her choice, and she chose me. If he can’t accept her decision, then he’s the loser.
When he doesn’t see me capitulating under his glare, he directs his ire at his daughter. “You are making a mistake, Lucia. This man will never deserve you. He is treacherous and weak. By marrying him, you have disrespected the family and me.”
Her shoulders tighten, but before I can jump to her defense, my wife shows her fortitude once more. “No, Father, you disrespected me when you tried to force me into an arranged marriage with Giovanni.” Her voice rises but remains strong and clear.
Lucia’s on a roll, and nothing is going to stop her saying her piece. “Look at it this way. You got what you wanted—me marrying a Barbieri.” She blinks up at me, her thick, dark lashes shutting out the determination in her eyes only for a moment. “And I got to marry my best friend.”
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s riled up.
“Vattene!” Franco Romano roars at us to leave before turning his back and walking toward the window behind his office desk.
Lucia slumps against me, all her fight gone. We’ve been dismissed, but I refuse to let him have the last word.
“We’re leaving, but don’t let this be what destroys your family.”
And with those parting words hopefully ringing in his ears, I lead Lucia out, holding her closer within the protection of my arms.
I would fight a war for my wife, so dealing with her overbearing father is easy.