CHAPTER THIRTY
“Mmm, amore mio bellissimo…” he spoke low, his hand sliding down my chin and neck, making me shiver.
As he moved closer, enveloping me in his warmth, the distinctive smell of his skin mixed with a hint of cedar smoke from the fireplace.
We were back at Luca’s house. The primary had become our haven and the best escape.
I shifted my legs, and he watched me, then looked down and licked his lips.
We both knew what I wanted. He buried his head between my legs and sucked on my pussy.
I gasped, my hands gripping the top of his head, my body unsteady as pulses of pleasure went through my bloodstream.
My hands held him, and I ground my hips against his tongue as he licked and sucked.
My body stiffened and shook. Rocco dug his hands into my ass, his tongue lapping harder, stroking, fluttering, and sucking on my clit.
The sensation enraptured me; I lost all composure, grabbing his head roughly and gripping his hair tight.
“Oh, Rocco…Rocco,” I moaned, trembling, and he thrust his tongue inside me, tunneling it deeper, and pleasure ran me over.
I couldn’t stop the feeling, the sensations, oh so intense.
The hot, breathy sounds of his wet licks, his hands pushing me wider, a savage push of his dominance.
I trembled down to my toes. “Oh…oh. Rocco, I’m coming.
” I spasmed hard against his mouth, and he swallowed me down, and it shattered me.
There was nothing he wouldn’t take; every part of me was his.
“Oh, Bella,” he said, his voice husky and sensual as he released me. I was sure my gaze echoed his, and he could see what was in them: love, but also a wild desire to keep him close and never let go. “I love you.” Tears flowed down my face.
He leaned in and kissed them away. My skin tingled, and it grew warm.
His lips met mine tenderly, and our passion flared.
He pressed harder, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and I sucked on it, tasting myself.
Our moans mingled between our lips. I pulsated as he rocked his cock against my pussy, rubbing it back and forth, over and over, massaging my clit.
My body went tight. “I can’t…I can’t hold. On. Ohh.”
“Yes, Bella. I feel it. Let go. Let go.” He pressed his cock in hard, sliding it against my clit as I shook. My legs went around him, and I rocked my hips against his stiff dick.
“Christ,” he groaned.
My breath went out in a hiss as he moved his cock in.
I gulped in more air as he pushed in further, and I felt so full of him inside me.
His body tightened as he pulled out to the tip, then thrust back in.
I arched as he started fucking me, clasping his ass as he changed his drives to hard, and my mouth gaped open as I puffed in air, pleasure spiking with every pump.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said between heavy breaths.
I could feel my body clench with another orgasm coming.
My nails dug into his back. The sound of our breathing and slick bodies was all I could hear.
I felt my body tighten and clench. I cried out; his thrust was sharper, hitting the spot inside me that shattered me.
“I’m coming,” he roared, moving inside me faster; his cock flexed and throbbed as he came.
My body vibrated. I panted, moving my hands to wrap them around him.
Then he slowly pulled out, and I drew my legs together.
Then he moved to his knees and lifted my legs up to rest on his shoulders.
Every time could be the time that changed our world.
Buzz. The alarm jolted us out of our afterglow, and we groaned in unison. “How much time do you have left?” I asked, forcing a cheerful note into my voice. Rocco sighed, a smile flickering. “Not too long. I’ll pick you up tonight, and maybe we can catch a concert together?”
I sat up. “Yeah? Who’s playing?”
He sat up and stretched his neck. “A few bands, a mix of groups. World Music Live. Have you heard of it?”
“World Music Live?” I nearly shouted.
He tried to keep his serious expression, and I poked his side. “You know what it is.”
Rocco laughed and leaned in to kiss me.
Buzz.
We both sighed and dragged ourselves out of bed. He disappeared into the shower while I padded over to the claw-footed tub, twisting the faucet open.
“You have time for that?” he asked. “Can’t be late for Santiago.”
Today, he would start his first sketches of me at the house, weaving me into the Marini family’s legacy. My portrait would fill the empty spot in my Florence bedroom where Aurora’s once hung. Marinis went back many generations, and it had me curious. “Where are all the family paintings kept?”
“At a private museum our family owns.”
“Just like the Medicis?”
“Yeah. One of our ancestors centuries ago thought it would be a good idea, and we’ve kept the tradition. But sometime later, the museum was made private.”
“Oh, I’d love to see it.” I turned off the tap and got into the tub, sinking under the water before coming up, pushing my hair back, and wiping my eyes.
“Now I’m awake.” I grabbed a sponge and started washing as Rocco stepped out of the shower.
He came over and raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten the rules?”
The painter Santiago and his team were sticklers for his rules. We received a list: no wet hair, makeup, or perfumes are allowed. “I know. Isla said a stylist would be there. It’ll be dry.”
“Okay…Oh, and as for the museum, there’s not much to see,” Rocco said. “The murals are faded; some are almost unrecognizable. I think we even have one in a Cubist style.” He wrinkled his nose.
I giggled. “Now, you’ve got me intrigued.” He leaned in closer, the faint aroma of his aftershave mingling with the scent of the water. As his lips met mine, a slow intensity built that rippled down to my toes. When we broke apart, his stare turned concentrated.
I smiled nervously. “What?”
“You,” he said. “You’re inspiring a vision. I can picture you as Ophelia drifting in a stream, flowers all around.”
I grimaced. “Too tragic. Let’s imagine something happy.” A quick thought of a future filled with laughter flashed through my mind. That was what I hoped for.
“Life can rise from horror,” he said. “That’s what I think.”
“You’re too deep,” I teased. He dunked me under the water with a grin, and when I surfaced, he stole a quick kiss before heading off to work, leaving me laughing and breathless.
I slipped out, threw on a scoop-neck shirt and jeans, and hurried down to where Zane waited by the car. “Ready.”
“Wet hair,” he warned.
“You too? Et tu Brute?”
We laughed together and made it back to the house just in time.
I dashed upstairs, my heart skipping at the sight of the wedding gown designed by Nadia Crane.
It had long sleeves and embroidered lace, flowing into a tulle skirt reminiscent of fairy tales.
Suddenly, I was back in this room, nerves and excitement tangling inside me, trying to convince myself our arranged marriage was just a contract.
It might have been if Rocco hadn’t gone out of his way to sweep me off my feet.
The stylist wasted no time parting my hair into sections.
Two assistants wove fabric through my hair, then pinned it up as they helped me into the bodice.
I stepped into the tulle cloud, grateful for their help with the satin buttons trailing up the back.
The stylist brushed my brows and added a hint of gloss to my lips, just enough to bring out their natural pink.
When I finally looked in the mirror, my hair was a froth of curls, and my dress was long and elegant with lace flowers.
I truly felt beautiful. Yet, it was more than just the reflection staring back at me.
In that moment, I realized that the beauty I felt was not only external but also in the resilience it took to get here and embrace this new life.
I made a silent vow to create my own happiness and not just do what was expected. I would make today my new beginning.
There was a knock at the door. I turned and saw Magda smiling, her eyes shining. “You look so beautiful, Adelina.”
“Thank you,” I said, walking over to clasp her hands. “How was your trip?”
“Wonderful, but nothing is like home,” Magda said.
As she spoke, the faint strains of a traditional tarantella drifted in from a nearby room, blending with the aroma of rosemary and thyme that always clung to her clothes.
From a mere glance out the window, we could see the Tuscan hills, which only deepened her sentiment.
Florence was my home, too. “Yes, there’s nothing like it. ”
“Oh, and Santiago is here,” she added with a light laugh, and I joined her.
“Thank you, Magda.”
As Isla and the stylist put the final touches on my hair and gown, I made my way to the stairs.
Santiago stood below, a striking figure in a kurta, barefoot, with his long hair and beard giving him the air of a modern-day mystic.
Yet, the flurry of assistants trailing behind and cameras clicking reminded me that this was a carefully orchestrated production, but his eyes were locked on me.
“Stop,” he commanded, holding his hand up.
I froze in place.
“Bella donna. Oh, I see you, Adelina Tessa Marini. Place your hand on the handrail and lift your chin.” He hurried up the stairs. “Oh. Hmm.” He studied me and frowned. “This looks good, but I need a story. How do you feel about wearing your wedding dress without a wedding?”
I kept my smile steady. Santiago clearly knew more than he let on, and I found myself wondering just how much he understood about us.
My thoughts tangled with memories of the dress and all the beautiful things Luca had created, which seemed lost after his death.
Yet, when Rocco appeared in my grandparents’ home at the foot of the stairs, his eyes locked on mine, and everything else faded away as he spoke before everyone…