20. Antonio
Chapter twenty
Antonio
M y jaw clenches. And my palms itch to touch her. But I don’t move. I wait to see what Lucia has planned next. This is the first time she’s wanted control, so I’m willing to suffer the torment of her teasing. It’s a shame the pretty lingerie will be ruined the moment she starts begging for me.
She drops to her knees, and I swallow deeply.
I’ve not fucked her mouth, and now my heart is racing so fast at the thought of it, I might have a heart attack before I do.
This is the stuff of wet dreams. My wife looking up at me through thick dark lashes while she wraps one hand around the base of my cock and cups my balls with the other.
“Oh fuck, Luce.” My hands grip tighter around the marble edge like I might slide from the stool if I don’t hold on. One swipe of her tongue across my crown, and that’s all the warning I get before she seals her lips around me. “Do you know how stunning you look with my cock in your mouth?”
She shakes her head, then sucks me deeper.
“Sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” And when she flattens her tongue to slide it along my length my eyes roll back into my head.
Oh fuck , and that’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever felt. It’s sensory overload, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last.
She sucks me in deep again, then pops me out so she can lick me like a melting ice cream in the summer. All while her fingers continue to massage my balls.
“You like me doing this?” she asks.
“Mmm.” My jaw is so tight it’s the only sound that comes out.
“What about this?” she asks before attempting to swallow me whole again.
“Luce! Fuck! I don’t know that I can …”
But she doesn’t stop. Her head bobs as she slides up and down my shaft, faster and faster as she works me over with her mouth and hands.
“Lucia! Fuck! Ah fuck, I’m going to come.” The words tear from my mouth just as my vision goes hazy. I’m coming down her throat, pulsing over and over again. And my beautiful wife takes it all, not spilling a drop.
Depleted, I slump down on the stool. While her tongue administers soothing licks around my cock.
And when she eventually looks up, her eyes are glassy emerald pools of light, my cum a wet smear on her lips. I’m so in love with my beautiful wife my chest feels like it needs to expand to contain my thumping heart.
I unglue my hands from the counter, flexing them a little, then bend to lift her up and into my arms. “That was fucking fantastic.”
Our gazes catch and hold. The sweet smile tipping up the corners of her dirty mouth, a perfect contradiction.
“You liked that?” she asks. Her features soft, all beautiful innocence, when she just milked my cock with her throat.
“I loved that.” The urge to tell her I love her almost has the words falling from my mouth. But now isn’t the right time. Later.
Instead, I dip my head and press my lips to hers. She opens to me, and our tongues meet. A gentle coming together. And when we separate again, I murmur, “The tour continues in our bedroom.”
“ Our bedroom . I like the sound of that.”
We walk hand in hand back into the hall and follow it to the end. She’ll like the bedroom, but what I think she’ll like more is the bathroom. Especially when that’s where I intend to show my wife exactly how much I love her in the double shower.
It’s a while before I’m back in the kitchen, leaving Luce to finish dressing in our bedroom.
From the cupboard, I pull out a pan and place it on the stove, then go to the fridge to get the fresh ingredients. I’m banging about, making so much noise I don’t hear Lucia until she’s behind me.
“How can I help?” she asks, and in my rush to turn, the garlic bulb falls from my full arms, hits the floor, and rolls to her feet. She bends to pick it up, and I’m tempted to drop the rest of the ingredients to hold her instead. Black Lycra leggings and a fitted black tee look fucking hot on her.
How is it possible that I’m already wanting her again when I was only just inside her less than ten minutes ago? I give myself a mental shake.
“Where did all this food come from?” she asks, straightening again.
“My housekeeper picked up what I needed today.” I place the ingredients on the counter beside the stove and take the garlic from her hand while giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.
“Your housekeeper? How did I not know this about you?”
“What, that I have one? I guess I never thought to go into that much detail about my domestic arrangements.” I place the butter in the pan on low heat to melt.
“Mary started right after I moved in. She cleans, and when I’m in the city, she cooks for me during the week.
But now it’s up to you how often you want her to do that. She’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
Luce leans her back against the counter beside me, watching as I add the cream to the pan. “What are you making?”
“Alfredo sauce.”
“Yum, my favorite.”
“I know.” And this time my kiss lands on her lips. “Do you want to make a salad?”
“Of course.” As she gathers the salad items, I pull out a bowl and chopping board from a nearby drawer, placing them on the counter.
“Who is this man?” she asks with a wide grin. “He looks like Antonio Barbieri but moves like he actually does know how to cook.”
“Okay, truth. I asked Mary to teach me how to make this and a couple of other simple things.”
A smile lights up her face. “Well, the kitchen suits you.”
Side by side, we work on preparing the meal, the same comfortable silence between us just like in Capri. This really can be our everyday life.
My gaze tracks sideways from the simmering sauce on the cooktop to where Luce is slicing tomatoes for a balsamic, tomato, and basil salad. I reduce the heat and turn to face her.
“A glass of wine?”
“Sì, grazie,” she replies, not shifting her focus from the chopping board.
As I pass behind her, I reach around and snag a slice of tomato, then pop it into my mouth. “Hey, you have to wait till I’m done,” she complains, but the smile she aims at me belies her tone.
We move around the kitchen, as in sync as a ballroom dancing pair, Lucia dressing the salad while I place a pot of salted water on the cooktop beside the sauce. Then go to fix our drinks.
“Your wine,” I say, holding out the tall-stemmed glass to her before picking up my own. “Cin cin.” We clink our glasses together, and our gazes hold for a second before we take a sip.
“How much longer?” she asks, staring down into the water.
“You know a watched pot never boils.”
“Of course it does … eventually.” The sideways look she gives me comes with a faint smile.
I reach out to cup her jaw and kiss her more thoroughly this time. Her body melts against mine, and it’s the gentle bubble of the water that pulls us apart. “See, if you don’t watch the pot, it boils.”
A laugh spills from her lips as she pushes me away. “You think you’re so funny,” she admonishes, a grin spreading her cheeks wide. “Now make yourself useful and get me the pasta. I’m hungry.”
I gather the strands of fresh fettucine from a local deli and plop them into the simmering water. Then, retrieving my glass of wine, I prop myself beside her against the edge of the marble counter.
“If you set the table, I’ll toss the fettucine in the sauce,” she suggests. I refill our glasses, then grab the plates from the cupboards and silverware from the drawer.
While my dining table seats ten, most times I prefer to sit on the stools at the counter. “Table or stools?” I ask.
“Stools,” she says while placing the two plates with heaped swirls of pasta down in front of me.
When she’s seated beside me, I pick up my glass. “A toast.”
She tips hers toward me.
“To us being home,” I say, and our eyes lock in a silent commitment. The words I’ve been keeping in my heart no longer able to be contained. I reach out to thread the fingers of my free hand into her hair, and she tilts her head into my palm.
“I love you, Lucia. Not like I loved you as a friend. This is so much bigger, so much more. It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe.
” I swallow deeply. “But I feel it in every breath that’s filled with your scent, every beat of my heart, and every light touch of your skin that sends sparks of heat flowing through my veins.
I belong to you completely. And I hope that’s enough. ”
Her full lips gape and her eyes turn to liquid pools, but her gaze doesn’t waver from mine.
“You’ve always been enough for me, Antonio. I love you too. I always have,” she whispers, and a single tear slips down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb before it reaches her chin.
“Really?”
“Sì.”
I shift on the stool to bring her onto my lap. My mouth finds hers as her fingers dig through my hair.
Fuck. Lucia just told me she loves me as much as I love her. I think I might cry too.
It’s a long while before we’re back on our own stools. The bowls of Alfredo fettucine zapped in the microwave to reheat and are now ready to be eaten.
I give her shoulder a gentle nudge. “You aren’t eating. I’m going to think you don’t like my cooking. And no lie, it will be the best Alfredo sauce you’ll ever taste.”
A laugh bursts from her. “Really, that’s a very high bar.”
“I know. It’s an amazing skill of mine.”
“Just one of many,” she concurs with a wink before lifting a forkful to her mouth. “Hmm, it is good.”