32. Vivi
VIVI
Gio’s groan comes from a different plane, all-encompassing and hypnotic. He starts to stroke, and I can’t look away, captivated. He’s so rough with himself, his fist choking his cock as he fucks into it.
Another bead of liquid pools at the tip. My breath stutters as Gio spreads it across his skin, making it slick.
I’m hypnotized by his rhythm, the rocking of his hips, and don’t realize I’ve gone still until he says, “You too, bella. Don’t stop. Touch yourself, beautiful.”
I do. One hand fondling my nipple as I drop the other beneath the water.
I touch a finger to my clit. My hips jump, my breasts shaking.
Gio’s mouth drops, the tendons on his neck straining as he picks up speed. I pinch my nipple harder. He can’t stop staring.
“Tell me,” he groans. “Tell me how your pussy feels.”
I dip a finger lower. Revisit the arousal I felt earlier. I don’t know how to get the words out, but I want to answer him. Please him. I refuse to think, just speak. “I’m wet. Wetter than before. Soft. Swollen.”
My husband drags his fist to the base of his cock. Squeezes. His thighs tense, the muscles in his stomach clenching. “More, Vivi. Tell me more. Where are your fingers now?”
“Inside.” I press the tip of one finger into my body. “I’m putting one finger inside.” The warmth is immediate. My body draws me in, hugs my digit. I pull it out, slowly, and the friction makes my toes curl. My neck arch.
“Slowly, bella. Go slowly…”
Gio’s movements are anything but. His hips are shunting his cock up into his hand, more arousal leaking across the head with every stroke. His pupils have blown wide, and he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.
Oh, and fuck, I think I want him to. I want to feel him, feel more.
“Tell me what to do, Gio. I need…I need more.”
“Two fingers. Fuck your wet pussy with two fingers.”
I do as he says, stretching myself even wider as I pulse two fingers in and out. The pressure is building, growing—but it’s not enough.
“Your clit,” he says. “Rub it, find what feels good, bella. Touch your clit until you come.”
I can barely keep my eyes open, my fingers working furiously, pleasure building in my body. My husband’s voice, his gaze, amplifies every sensation.
I bite my lip, beg him with my eyes. ”You have to come too.”
“Fuck, yes. Bella. With you. I’m going to come with you.”
I’m going to get to see what I only felt the other night. I want to, badly. Almost as badly as I want to come.
My nipples are tender and rosy as I pull, mimicking the rhythm below the water, my finger against my clit. Stars are forming behind half-closed lids. The promise of a galaxy if I just close them all the way.
But I won’t. Can’t.
Not when Gio is so close too. His fist is a blur around his cock, his movements rough, borderline desperate. His jaw hangs open, his gaze hooded as he watches me get myself off.
His pleasure, mine. They are inextricably linked, and knowing that pushes me past the brink. I gasp, water crashing against my breasts and my hips jerk, and I come hard, long.
Gio watches me let go. Is helpless to do anything but follow.
With another groan, his shaft jerks in his hand, his release erupting from his cock. Thick, white, his cum makes a mess of his skin, the edge of the tub, the bathwater.
It’s filthy and perfect and absolutely amazing.
Gio strokes himself through it, his ass clenching as his orgasm continues, his release coating his fist, his cock.
I’ve still got one hand on my pussy, and I’m not even thinking before I push a finger inside, mirroring Gio’s strokes as he finishes himself off.
An aftershock bolts through me. A second orgasm, not as strong as the first but heady. Intoxicating.
Finally, Gio drops his hand. His breathing is wild, erratic. His eyes so lust-drugged they’re almost black. “That was…” He stops. Starts again. “You were fucking amazing, bella.”
“You too,” I say, smiling shyly.
He hears the catch in my voice. The sudden hesitation. “Uh-uh. Nope. No hiding. Not after that.” He wags a finger at me. “Come here.”
I do, slowly, my body sluggish with pleasure. When I get to his end of the tub, Gio helps me to my feet. Standing in the bath, our height difference isn’t so pronounced. So I have a clear view of Gio’s mouth as he drags my hand up to his lips and sucks my orgasm from my fingers.
His eyes flutter shut. His lips curling in satisfaction. “You taste so fucking good, bella.”
Another ripple of pleasure runs through me. Gio feels it, his grip tightening around my wrist. He gives his head a rough shake. “Whatever delightful things you’ve got going on in that gorgeous head, save them for later. It’s almost four. We have things to do.”
The next thing I know, Gio has me out of the bath and wrapped in a robe. His hands are clean, his clothes straightened, and he’s escorting me to my bedroom.
“What sort of things?”
He grins. “We are having a party.”
My groan escapes before I can stop it. “Oh, no. Not a party.”
Gio’s face falls. “You don’t like parties?”
“I mean, not really. I’ve been to exactly one. The club opening. Two, if you count our wedding. Neither ended well.”
My husband grimaces. “This is not going to be that type of party. It’s more a small gathering. Close friends and immediate family. There’s someone I really want you to meet.”
“Who?”
“Nuh-uh.” He mimes zipping his lips tight. “Everything else about this party is a surprise. Starting with…”
He trails off, heads for the door. Which saves him from seeing my look of sheer panic at the mention of a surprise. Like parties, my experiences with those are pretty crap. They’re definitely not my idea of fun. And on my birthday, of all days.
I’m about to become the biggest party pooper ever when Gio returns. He’s carefully balancing a tower of boxes in each hand and has a bottle of champagne tucked beneath one arm.
“What are those?”
“Party supplies.” He places them on the bed and sets the bubbly on the vanity. “Come. Sit.”
That’s when I notice that an addition has been made to my room. A beautiful, filigreed dressing table with matching mirror and a plushy upholstered stool in a dreamy sky blue. “What’s going on?”
“We’re getting you ready.”
My bum hits the soft seat, and I’m struck by a sudden impulse to hide. “We really don’t have to, Gio. I don’t need to get ready, not like that. Just give me a minute to put on a dress, and I’ll be good to go.”
Gio drops to his knees beside me, so tall his face is level with mine. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Try to hide away? Vanish into the woodwork. You deserve to be seen, Viviana. You are gorgeous. Smart. Sexy. Caring.” He flicks his gaze to where the concealed door has been re-covered by plaster. His lips quirk. “An incredibly mediocre artist and, quite frankly, so clever you kinda terrify me.”
He clasps my hands, presses a kiss into each palm. “You are worthy of attention, of taking up space. Of having your own spotlight. If you want it. Do you, Vivi?”
The question hangs there, and I let it. Give myself a moment to really think about what he’s asking—and what my answer is.
Finally, I say, “I don’t like being stared at. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like strangers watching me.”
“Fair.” He strokes the inside of my wrist. “Is there a but coming?”
“But…” I haul in a breath. “I wouldn’t mind getting dressed up once in a while. I wouldn’t mind being the center of attention very occasionally, if it’s the right kind of attention. And I do think I kinda love nice clothes. Or I think I would, if I ever had the chance to pick them out myself.”
Even as I say it, the statement draws me up short.
I think about it, the truth dawning. “You know, I’ve never selected my own wardrobe.
Not ever. My mother picked my clothes when I was a kid.
The nuns did it at the convent. You’ve done it here.
I didn’t even get to choose my wedding dress.
I’ve never had a say in what I wear, or the opportunity to figure out what I like.
So, yeah. I would like that. I’d like to know what it feels like to be comfortable in my skin and my clothes. ”
Gio’s face is grim. “Mi dispiace tanto, bella, for the part I’ve played in that. And I’d like to start repenting today. Right now, actually.”
“Okay…?” Clearly, I don’t understand.
“In a few weeks, when some business matters have been dealt with, I will take you anywhere you want to go, to pick and choose from the most beautiful clothing money can buy. Milan, Paris, London, New York, Tokyo. Any or all, it’s entirely up to you.
My plane, my bank account, and my presence are at your disposal. In the meantime…”
Giovanni picks up several of the boxes and spreads them across the bed. He removes the lids in succession, folding back gossamer-thin tissue to reveal one stunning gown after another.
There are five in total, each one a real, honest-to-God color. No black or white in the bunch.
My hand flies to my mouth. “What did you do?”
“The belle of the ball needs a dress. I was working on short notice, but hopefully there’s something here you love.”
Stunned, I go to the bed and run my fingers across the beautiful fabrics. They’re all stunning. Gowns in jewel tones, made with careful tailoring and the highest quality silks and satins.
“Try them on.” Gio encourages. “I’ll help you with zippers, buttons, hooks, whatever you need.”
“Seriously?”
His expression softens, genuine joy creeping into the lines around his eyes. “Seriously. It’s the literal least I can do.”
I pick three of the five dresses and start the process of wrangling myself in and out of them.
An hour ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing this in front of Gio, especially when I see he’s purchased a strapless bra and lace underwear for me to wear underneath.
But after what happened in the bath, a dwindling sense of modesty is a stupid reason to try to get in and out of these works of art all by myself.
The first dress features a long, multilayered skirt in various shades of blue, one of which is a perfect match for my eyes.
There’s a dress in emerald green, with a halter-style bodice that is cleverly constructed to accommodate both my bra and my breasts.
But it’s the gold one I keep coming back to.
A column-style dress that I never would’ve thought would work, but the skirt is cut perfectly, with more than enough space for my bum and hips before it cinches in at the waist. The bodice has an off-the-shoulder neckline that frames my shoulders and neck, and dips just enough in the back to make it feel incredibly sexy even while it keeps my bra covered.
The slit up the side is the perfect finishing touch, enabling me to move without feeling like I’m being attacked by my clothes. Best of all, there are pockets.
We both look at my reflection in the mirror. “This one,” I say. “Definitely this one.”
“è la perfezione. Perfection.” Gio kisses my neck. My shoulder. Lingering.
I laugh before swatting him away, pointing at the tower of unopened boxes. “What’s in those?”
“Shoes. Jewelry.”
He undoes the top few, and I’m struck by how much thought he’s put into the selection. Not only are the dresses styled perfectly for someone my size and shape, but he’s picked heels that aren’t ridiculously high and jewelry that won’t make me feel like I should be on display in a museum.
I pick the strappy gold shoes with the block heel. I’m reaching for the necklace—a delicate chain of diamonds that will nestle right above my clavicle—when Gio stops me.
“Not yet. There’s something else first.”
“Gio, you’ve turned this place into a full boutique. What else could there be?”
His only answer is to guide me to the upholstered stool. Once I’m seated, he wraps a robe around me, carefully pulling my hair free. He’s reaching for a hairbrush when I finally put two and two together.
“Gio, stop. I don’t need to do my hair.”
He presses a light kiss to my temple. “I know you don’t need to. You look gorgeous regardless. But I thought you might want to. If I help.”
I’m so stunned it takes me a moment before I can say, “Excuse me, what?”
He meets my eyes in the mirror. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or if he’s genuinely nervous.
“Bella, you don’t need any of these things to be beautiful.
If you wanted to go down to the party right now in a bathrobe and your hair tied up in a knot, you’d still be the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
But…” He pauses to collect another box from the floor.
Inside is a collection of high-end makeup and hair products.
“But, if you want to try some of these things, I can help.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “How?”
He opens his mouth, pauses…
And…holy crap, he is actually nervous. Brutal, powerful, always controlled Giovanni Marchetti is holding a makeup palette in his hand, his palm dwarfing the tidy row of grays and pinks and golds, and he’s nervous.
“I’ve watched a lot of videos,” he blurts out. “Too many, Alik says. But his wife made sure I paid attention at the right parts, and she’s confident I can do this. I am too. Mostly.” His smile is so genuine there’s a genuine risk I’m going to dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
“You’re going to help me do my hair and makeup?” I state out loud, for the record, just to make sure I haven’t fallen into an alternate dimension.
Never in a million years did I think the same man who threatened to slice open a man’s neck at our dining room table would offer to help me style my hair.
He nods, his runway-worthy jaw set in a determined line. “If you want, yes,” he confirms, voice husky. “For you, bella, I’d do just about anything.”