27. Vivi
VIVI
Iknow Gio is talking. Responding to something I’ve said. But words have lost definition. They do not compute.
Which is appropriate, since I’m having a break with reality.
I came to Gio’s room to say thank you. That’s it.
The morning after I told him about Millie and her mom, I found my keepsake stone on my bedside table. Casually sitting there, as if I’d never lost it.
At first, I thought I was seeing things. Another illusion to add to the list that includes hearing voices and hallucinating little girls. Plus, I had been drugged. It made sense; my mind was playing tricks on me, turning my deepest longings into mirages.
When I reached for the stone, I expected to touch air.
Instead, my fingers found the smooth surface, and I was hit with such intense relief I couldn’t hold back a sob. I had the silly little thing back and, after the story I told him, there was only one person who could be responsible.
Gio.
If he’d come to my room, I would’ve thanked him then. And thanked him for returning Little Bird now that I can look after her again.
No big deal.
But he didn’t come. He hasn’t for three days. So I bit the bullet and came to him.
At no point on my walk from my room to his suite did I plan on opening my stupid mouth and asking him about pregnancies and babies.
I mean, talk about an act of insanity.
Yes, our relationship has shifted over the past month. We’ve had real conversations, gotten to know each other a little better.
Or, rather, he’s gotten to know me. Why my parents sent me to the convent. How nonexistent my relationship with Tino really was. I even told him about my first period.
But babies? Bodies?
I was planning to keep that bit of ignorance to myself as long as possible—or until I could find a less humiliating way to get answers. But all that flew out the window when Gio opened his door looking like that.
Partially dressed, beautifully disheveled, unpolished and exposed in a way I’ve never seen before.
And wearing glasses that somehow made him more accessible and insanely sexy.
I could smell whisky on his breath, and the atmosphere on his private terrace was so intimate, and I let myself fall into a false sense of safety.
From the moment the question popped into my head, there was no going back.
Now, Gio is stripping me bare with his eyes, and I can feel how hard his penis is against my belly, and I’m so hot, the place between my thighs so slick, and I think I’ve stumbled onto my new favorite topic of conversation.
Because there’s no chance I can feel sad or lonely or unloved when my husband is looking at me the way he is right now.
Like I’m the single most precious thing on the planet—and the most desirable woman he’s ever seen.
He starts touching me. A finger from my chin to the top of my nightgown. A line of pure electricity that charges my pulse, makes every bit of me hypersensitive.
Down that finger goes, over the fine fabric to where my breasts hang loose behind my nightgown. He gets to the top of my cleavage, stops.
I open my mouth, about to protest, when he murmurs, “Shhh, passerotta mia. I know what you want.”
He starts to draw a lazy pattern around one breast, charting a line up and over the swell and back down again. With each pass he gets closer and closer to my nipple but doesn’t touch.
I’m dazed. My eyes are drooping, my brain going quiet until he takes one of my hands and presses it to the juncture between his thighs. The place where he’s so large, so hard.
“Do you know what this is, bella?”
A wave of embarrassment hits me. Instinctively, I try to jerk away, but he runs a thumb along the inside of my wrist. Calming, soothing, and slowly the tension melts from my spine. My fingers relax. I let him curl my palm around the heavy rod that’s straining against his pants.
“It’s your penis,” I answer, breathless.
He laughs. There’s an unexpected glint in his eye. “Technically, yes, but not the sexiest word ever. In this situation, let’s go with cock, hmm?”
A smile plays on his lips. He mouths the word, wanting me to repeat it. Thrusts himself ever so slightly against my hand.
“Your cock,” I murmur.
The anatomy in question responds, kicking slightly. Gio’s eyelids droop, but he nods, encouraging. “Exactly. My cock. A key component to your question.”
I press against it a little harder, fascinated by how it feels. The length, the power of it. “It’s very long. And thick.” It is. It stretches well above the span of my hand, and I don’t think my fingers would wrap around it. “Does it hurt when it’s hard like that?”
Gio groans, his hips rocking into the pressure once and again before he pulls my hand away. “Yes, bella, but in the best fucking way.”
Something about the way he says it makes me giddy, a new sense of excitement bubbling inside my chest. “Does it feel good when it’s hard and I touch it like that?”
This time when he groans, it comes from deep in his chest. Half desperate, half enraptured. “Fuck, yes, bella, it really does. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We need to focus on you.”
I drag my lower lip between my teeth. Want to figure out how to make him groan like that again. “We do?”
“Mmm.” The finger on my breast reaches my nipple. Gio traces it. A shiver tears through me. I gasp, the bud hardening for him. “You’re so soft, Vivi. So beautiful.”
He watches his own finger go around and around my nipple, the movement meditative. Appreciative. My breasts get heavy, more sensitive as he bathes them with attention.
Gio shifts to my other nipple. Drags his thumb across it. Captures it between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezes.
My head falls back on a gasp, eyes staring sightless at the starlit sky.
“So soft,” he repeats. “So responsive. Tell me, bella, do you like how this feels?”
He cups both breasts in his palms, plumping them as his thumbs brush over both nipples. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. A low ache builds in them, a weight that travels to my stomach then lower, between my thighs. It feels liquid, luxurious, and I can’t lie. “I do like it, yes. Very much.”
“Va bene, bella. And how about this?” His espresso-colored eyes turn mischievous as he bends, lifts one breast to his mouth, and wraps his lips around my nipple, fabric and all.
I stare at him, shocked, amazed, the ache exploding into need when he pulls the linen-covered nipple between his lips and sucks.
He moves from one breast to the other, sucking and licking, and I’m starting to tremble in his hands. My knees losing structural integrity as I lean my weight against the wall and let my eyes drift closed.
Somehow, my hands find their way to his head. I’m digging my fingers into his soft hair, tugging and coaxing him to keep going. To lick harder. Suck more.
“Che roba, Vivi. Your tits are so fucking amazing. And, fuck…I think you love when I play with them.”
I giggle, embarrassed and delighted. Because it’s true. “I-I do.” My voice stutters as he pinches one peak between his teeth. It sends a bolt of electricity straight between my legs. If he keeps this up, I’m going to end up a boneless mess on the ground.
I pull his hair. He lifts his eyes, and I try not to fall in love with the masculine delight stamped on his face. “I do love it, but what does it have to do with making babies?”
His grin is wicked. The definition of sinful. And, God help me, it makes him so gorgeous my knees actually buckle.
“So impatient, Vivi.” Gio shakes his head, teasing. “Trust me. I’m getting to that.”
Trust him.
Until this moment, it hasn’t crossed my mind not to. Not in this.
Nothing he’s done has made me nervous or uncomfortable. There’s so much I don’t know about him but, oddly, I don’t fear him. Gio is gentle with me. Caring. Protective. I trusted him with my history with Millie. With my odd little stone.
With parts of myself I’ve never told another soul.
So, yes. I do trust him. Trust that the way he’s fisting the fabric of my nightgown and exposing my thighs is going to get me the answers I want.
With one hand still playing with my breasts, Gio kisses me quick, hard. His tongue surging deep before withdrawing just as fast. I lean toward him, chasing his lips.
He retreats, eyes burning into mine.
The fingers of his other hand have reached my hips, the nightgown bunched between us. The night air slides across my skin as Gio presses his cock against me, reminding me how hard he is.
“To get you pregnant, bella, I need to be hard like this. And you need to be soft. Wet. It’s so much better for you if you’re really wet.”
I’m about to ask what he means when my husband drags his fingers around the top of my thigh and tangles them in my patch of hair. Tangles, then slides them down until he’s covering me. Touching me.
My knees do buckle then. I grab his shoulders, his strength keeping me from collapsing.
“The wetter you are here,” he says, “the better the fucking will be.”
“Fucking? Like what we talked about before?”
“Sì, bella. The term the nuns wouldn’t have used. And the answer to your question about how I get you pregnant with my child.”
As he says it, Gio’s entire body seems to get larger. The energy around him intensifying until the air is charged, heavy, like right before a storm. I can feel his cock throb against me. The way his chest expands on his next breath.