19. Lucia
Chapter nineteen
Lucia
“ I don’t want to leave,” I grumble into Ant’s shoulder. The sun streaming through the window and hitting our entwined feet.
The sound of his laughter sends a wave of goose bumps skittering across my skin. It’s deep and rumbling, like it’s come from his belly, and I want to make him do it again.
“And why’s that, wife?” he asks, before rolling onto his back and bringing me with him so I’m lying on top. Antonio is a tactile person. I did know that about him before, but now I can appreciate it so much more.
“I’m just not ready to return to …” I want to say what we had before, but instead I add, “work.”
We’re due to fly back to Florence this afternoon, and the truth is, I’m nowhere near ready to share my husband with the outside world again.
“I wish we could stay too,” he says, nuzzling into my neck. It tickles, and my shoulders pull up to my ears. His lips explore new pathways down my neck, and I melt beneath the caress.
These five days have been perfect—the best I can remember.
Filled with moments I’ll never forget. Like the press of his tongue on my clit, the hungry kisses he’s peppered over every inch of my body, and the delicious tenderness between my thighs.
It’s changed everything. I’m Antonio Barbieri’s wife in every sense of the title.
Every whimper, every gasp, and every orgasm belong to him and only him. I thought I knew this man well, but never like this. Never with lust-filled, smoky eyes pinning me to the bed as he thrusts into me.
I never imagined that one man could consume my every thought, leaving no space for anything but him.
His touch. His taste. Ant has become my lover and there’s no going back to what we were before.
Returning to separate rooms at the hotel in Florence or, in reality, our separate lives doesn’t seem possible when I now know how good we are together.
I want more, and I’m going to fight to get that. I place my hands on Ant’s bare chest and rest my chin on them. His hand landing in the center of my back with the heat of a branding iron.
“I guess it’s time we talk about how this marriage is going to work,” I say, peering at him through half-shuttered lids.
A wrinkle forms between his brows. He’s as confused as I am about what comes next. “How do you want it to work?” he asks, and his palm traces a path down my spine to my bare butt cheek. The warmth of the possessive touch makes my body sizzle and my next thoughts jumble.
I want my husband to love me half as much as I love him, but I don’t dare say the L-word, because I’m not sure he’s there yet. It would hurt too much to hear him repeat that he loves me as a friend.
My bravery to have this conversation wavers as I lift my head. “Well, first, I don’t want to sleep in a separate bed from my husband. I’d like to wake up next to you in the mornings,” I say, while circling a finger on his chest.
“Definitely doable. I like the way you wake me up.” He waggles his brows suggestively.
I swat him playfully on the chest before continuing, “And I’d like you to take me on date nights.”
“It would be my pleasure.” The cheeky grin I adore stretches wider. “What else?”
“Sex. I want sex with my husband. Lots of it.”
“W-w-well …” His head tilts like he’s seriously having to consider this point, and I slap him lightly.
His deep, rumbling laugh fills the room again like thunder announcing a coming storm.
I get my wish, except this time, it’s better because he lifts his head to seal his lips to mine, and I capture some of it in my mouth.
The kiss is passionate, satisfying, and totally off topic.
But right as I think our conversation is over, Antonio pulls back.
His eyes bluer in the bright morning light as his gaze holds mine.
“I definitely want to keep making love to my hot, sexy wife. In our bed or any other nearby flat surface, for that matter,” he says, reminding me of last night when he splayed me out on the dining table and fucked the breath from my body.
“Making love?” I ask, liking the sound of that.
In the blink of an eye, I’m flipped onto my back, and Antonio hovers over me. “Lucia, what we’ve been doing here is not just sex.” His brows pull down low. The laughing man of a moment ago long gone. “Do you know what I want?”
I shake my head, my mouth gaping in stunned surprise.
“I want a real marriage. No more faking it, because I’m fucking crazy about you. Obsessed, even,” he growls. All of his words make my body hum with desire. It’s not the L-word, but obsessed sounds like a damn good substitute.
My hands snake up the firm ridges of his chest and over his shoulders to link back together behind his neck. “I want that too.”
The kiss he places on my lips this time is soft and sensual, a light brushing that has me reaching for more.
But he lifts his head higher. “Come with me to New York this week. You know I need to be there for these contract negotiations, but I hate the thought of being away from you for possibly weeks.”
“New York, hmm. I think I can. My next runway show isn’t for a few months.”
“Great,” he roars, and his smile shines brighter than the sunbeams now hitting us at thigh level.
In one deft movement, Ant hooks my leg over his arm, spreading me open. His cock already nudging my entrance, slipping in. Sliding home.
“This is making love,” he murmurs close to my ear, where he’s placing kisses that tickle with each brush of the scruff on his jaw against my soft skin. “Am I too scratchy?”
“N-n-never,” I stutter, before the air whooshes from me with another firm thrust of his hips, shifting me up the mattress.
Everything about my husband steals the breath from my body. My heart races and my core clenches as, again, I chase my next orgasm.
***
New York
Click, click, snick. Antonio swings the door open for me to walk through. This is my first time visiting the Upper East Side apartment he bought a few years ago.
“This way,” he says, and I follow him, our tread a muffled tap against the parquet wood flooring. “I’ll show you around while we wait for the porter to bring up our luggage.”
To the left of the lobby, a double-width door opens to a sprawling living area that’s flooded with light from the banks of windows running the entire length of the wall.
The city sounds that assaulted my senses on the sidewalk below are no longer audible in the twenty-first-floor apartment.
Serenity reigns supreme here in the muted natural color scheme of dark wood, cream walls and furniture, and accessories in tan, gold, and chocolate brown.
It’s an understated luxury. Nothing gaudy or over the top.
With mere hints of indulgence in the room’s proportions, which are dominated by an enormous leather sofa that rests on a deep-pile rug and the oversized original artworks hanging on the walls.
“The living area,” Antonio announces with a wave of his arm, his chest puffed out with pride.
When he was decorating, he asked me to help him choose the sofa, rugs, and lamps. Now all of my choices are laid out before me like I’d decorated it for myself.
I turn to face him. “This room is—”
“Just like you imagined?” he interrupts. Then, turning away from my stare, he shrugs. “I trusted your opinion, and I was right to do so. This apartment is the one place that feels like home.”
My heart squeezes at his admission. I’ve fallen completely and hopelessly in love with my husband. The acknowledgment forming as a lump in my throat. I run trembling fingers through my hair to brush it back over my shoulder. Emotion renders me temporarily speechless, and I swallow it down.
“This room is huge,” I mutter, as if this is what I intended on saying all along. It wasn’t. I’m fighting an internal battle not to blurt out that I love him.
He turns and closes the distance between us, resting one hand on my hip. “That, my beautiful wife, is because I’m a big guy.”
Just like that, the mood shifts, and we’re back to teasing banter. This I can do.
With my hands on either side of his face, I pull him down for a kiss that soon has us both gasping for more.
“If the porter wasn’t going to be knocking on my door shortly, I’d have you stripped naked, bent over the back of the sofa, and well on the way to me filling you with cum.”
My giggle echoes around the room, reaching into the corners of the lofty ceiling. “Your dirty talk has certainly been a revelation from our honeymoon. I like it a lot.”
“You inspire my dirty thoughts, so it’s only fair that I share,” he boasts as he releases me but keeps hold of one hand. “Let’s continue the tour.”
I’m happily dragged into the kitchen. A bank of cupboards runs along the back wall, with a floor-to-ceiling wine fridge at one end and a butler’s pantry at the other.
The island is a single slab of dark Emperador marble that is stunning in its richness of brown tones.
It’s like looking down into a three-shot cappuccino.
The fingers of my free hand trail across the polished surface. “This is gorgeous.”
“An inspired choice.” He gives me a wink, acknowledging that this was also my suggestion. He moves to stand close behind me, his body caging me in against the smooth edge. “It would be even more gorgeous with you spread out on top of it like a sumptuous feast.”
Warm palms cup my shoulders as his right thumb slides the sleeve of my top down before he places a string of kisses from my collarbone out.
“You’re insatiable. I’m still recovering from my initiation into the mile-high club.” The first-class flight across the Atlantic was one to remember.
“I don’t believe those were complaints you were shouting into the pillow. In fact, you were begging for more.”
A soft moan slips out. He’s right; I’m putty in his hands.
He moves to nuzzle my neck, and I tilt my head to give him all the access he needs.
“Hmm, you smell so fucking delicious.” He nips me at the base of my neck, and my shoulders twitch. I can feel his smile against my skin. “I was thinking I would cook tonight, with it being our first night together in our home.”
There’s so much to unpack in his statement, but I choose the easier option. “You cook?”
“Leo isn’t the only one in the family who knows his way around a kitchen.”
“I thought all those fancy gadgets in the butler’s pantry were just for show. Besides, you seem to be forgetting that I know everything about you. You can’t cook.”
“I can do pasta and make a salad.”
“I guess, at a stretch, that’s cooking. But I wouldn’t mention that to Leo.”
“See, you don’t know everything about me. Your husband is multi-talented.” He scoffs, “I’m not only an amazing lover, sweetheart. I can feed you in multiple ways.”
“What if I’m starving now and it’s not for food?” I tease.
The sharp intake of breath, then soft exhale against my skin, sends a rush of heat to my core.
He turns me within the circle of his arms. His eyes narrow on my mouth.
I can play his game of teasing just as well as he can.
And like him, I’m good with follow-through.
My fingers glide to the buckle of his belt, undoing it then, pulling it through the loops of his pants.
But right as it comes free, a knock sounds at the door.
“Don’t move. Or lose those thoughts,” Ant growls before stepping back.
“Ahem, you might want to hide that.” I point to the outline of his erection stretching against the fabric of his pants.
“I might just leave it for the porter to see how much I want my wife,” he taunts me.
“And I might just make you wait.” I pop a hip and place my hand on it.
He chuckles while tugging his shirt out of the waistband, then turns and strides away to disappear into the hallway, still laughing.
I wander into the pantry, which is surprisingly fully stocked, then open the double doors on the fridge to find it also filled with fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat.
How is that possible when Antonio hasn’t been here for weeks?
A bunch of green grapes catches my eye, and I pick a few, popping them into my mouth.
Mmm , my mouth waters with the crisp tanginess, definitely fresh.
I grab the bowl and return to stand at the island to wait for Ant.
And it isn’t long before he’s striding toward me, the buttons on his shirt already half undone, the flaps at the bottom flying open.
“Stop right there,” I demand right before he reaches for me. His eyes widen as I pull a stool out from the island. “Sit down.”
A smile tugs on his lips.
“I think it’s my turn to take control.”
He sits. “That’s fine by me.”
“Good boy,” I say, and he throws his head back laughing. But I’m not about to be distracted, and my fingers quickly undo the remaining buttons and pull his shirt off, throwing it behind me.
I pick a couple more grapes, popping one into his mouth, then one into mine, before stepping back to remove my top and long skirt.
I leave my heels on because he made it very clear on the flight that he likes me in sexy lingerie and a pair of Louboutins.
Knowing this is my husband’s weakness, I’m not above using it to my advantage.
The red lace bra and G-string set I’m wearing were bought in Capri especially for these moments.
Smoky eyes follow my every move, making me bolder than I would have previously been before my husband taught me to be naughty. Antonio has opened me up to being more adventurous and demanding when it comes to sex. And given the tent in his pants, I’d say he likes it.
He reaches for me, and I step back. “No. You need to place your hands behind you on the counter and not move them.” Slowly, he stretches his arms behind himself, curling his fingers around the edge.
“Like this?”
“Perfect.” And then I pop another grape into his mouth.
My fingers quickly undo the button and zipper of his pants. “Lift.” He tilts his hips forward and up, not moving his arms, and I pull both his pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles. “Sit.”
His obedience makes me smile as I remove his shoes and clothes.
My gaze feasts on every naked inch of him . It’s hard not to stare at my husband’s sexy body. Especially when his arms and legs are spread wide in an open invitation and the swollen head of his cock is brushing against his stomach.
“Mannaggia, sei proprio sexy,” I whisper.
“And it’s all yours.” He grins.
“Assolutamente!”