10. Luca
Luca
“Did Polina tell you to do this?”
“No.”
“She answered my questions. This is my choice.”
I remove my palm from her waist and step away, leaving a full stride between us. “And what are you asking me to do?”
Her brows pull together. “I told you.”
“I need to be certain you’re asking for what you want.”
“I’m not fragile. I’m not incompetent. And I’m not stupid.” Each sentence comes harder than the last. “I’m twenty years old. I’m your wife. I want you. If you don’t want me, say so, but don’t treat me as if I’m incapable of choosing.”
The rebuke lands cleanly. I deserve every syllable.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She presses her lips together. She waits.
“I want you enough that I’ve spent half our marriage avoiding being alone with you in a bedroom.” I take one step closer. “My questions weren’t meant to insult you. I won’t ask whether you’re capable of choosing again. I’ll ask what you choose.”
Her shoulders settle. “That’s better.”
Dry amusement threatens despite the ache behind my zipper. “Thank you for the performance review.”
“You’re welcome.”
Christ, she’s magnificent. I stop within reach. “I’m going to put both palms on your waist. Firm pressure. Is that good?”
“Yes.”
My palms close around her waist. Her body stays loose beneath them.
“Now I’m going to kiss you.”
“On my mouth?”
“Unless you want another location.”
“My mouth.”
I bend and press my lips to hers. She parts for me at once, offering no coy pause or calculated retreat designed to make me pursue her. Giada wants my tongue, so she opens and takes it.
My palms stay firm at her waist while I kiss her. Her hands settle on my shoulders. When I draw away, she follows for another kiss.
“Again,” she says. “More pressure.”
I obey, and her mouth opens wider beneath mine.
Her fingers curl into my jacket as I take her mouth. The clean demand strips away every polished seduction I’ve endured. She offers no performance for me to decode. Every answer is true. Every request gives me another piece of her.
Her honesty leaves no room for games, and I want more of it. I end the kiss before I lose control. “I’m going to undress you. Tell me before I touch each place, or do you want me to tell you?”
“Tell me.”
I undress her above the waist, warning her before my knuckles pass her ribs. Her bra is pale pink, plain and soft. The sight of her breasts held in it brings my cock hard against my trousers.
Giada looks down. “Your penis is hard again.”
“It’s been hard since you told me to make you come.”
“Good.”
One blunt syllable threatens my control. My cock pulses beneath her palm.
I set her palm against my erection. “Firm pressure.”
She cups me through the fabric. My hips drive into her palm once before I stop them.
“You’re large,” she says.
“You haven’t met all of me yet.”
“I want to.”
“Not tonight.”
Her hand leaves me. “Why?”
“Tonight is about what you asked for. I’m not putting my cock inside you during the same conversation where you had to correct me about your right to choose.”
“I am choosing.”
“I believe you. Our first time deserves more than five minutes after you walk through the door.” I unfasten her bra. “Tonight, you learn what makes you come. I learn how to give it to you.”
Her breasts spill into my palms. I tell her before my thumbs pass over her nipples, then rub them with firm circles. She arches closer.
“Harder.”
I pinch both nipples. Her mouth opens, and a sharp cry escapes.
“Good or bad?”
“Good. Again.”
I do it again, harder. She presses against me, asking for pressure with her whole body.
“I’m going to put my mouth on your breast.”
“Yes.”
My tongue circles her nipple before I suck it between my lips.
“Your tongue is softer than your fingers,” she says.
I release her. “Do you dislike it?”
“No. Suck harder.”
My wife may kill me before I ever fuck her. I suck until her nails dig into my shoulders. Each instruction makes my restraint thinner. I want to throw her on the mattress, spread her thighs, and bury myself inside her. Instead, I listen.
When I reach for the waistband of her skirt, I pause. “I’m going to undress you from the waist down.”
“Yes.”
I slide her skirt and panties down her legs, then guide her onto the bed. She lies against the pillows, naked except for her socks.
“Do the socks stay?”
“My feet are cold.”
“Then the socks stay.”
I remove my jacket and kneel between her knees. Her thighs press together.
“I’m going to open your legs.” I put a palm on each knee. “Firmly.”
“Yes.”
She yields to the pressure. Pink, wet flesh waits between her thighs. My mouth waters.
“I’m going to touch your pussy with two fingers. I’ll keep the pressure firm.”
Her eyes fix on my hand. “Do it.”
I stroke through her wetness and circle her clit. Her hips lift from the mattress.
“Keep doing exactly that,” she says.
I keep the same rhythm. She gives directions with startling accuracy: more pressure, a fraction higher, no teasing strokes along her thighs. I follow each one. Her legs open farther. Her wetness coats my fingers.
“I’m going to put one finger inside you.”
“Will it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t. Tell me if it does.”
I enter her with one finger while my thumb stays on her clit. Her body tightens around me.
“More pressure.”
I curl my finger and press against the soft front wall of her pussy. She cries out and clamps both hands around the blanket.
“That place,” she says. “Do that again.”
I give her the same stroke. Her thighs tremble on either side of me.
“I want to taste you.”
“What will you do?”
“Put my mouth on your pussy. Lick your clit. Use my finger inside you at the same time.”
Her lips part. “Yes.”
I press an open kiss against her wet flesh. She jerks once. I stop.
“Bad?”
“Unexpected. You said you would lick me.”
“You’re right. I’ll use my tongue now.”
She gives one nod and opens her legs farther.
I lick her clit, slow and firm. Her hips rise into my mouth. I keep my tongue where she needs it and slide my finger into her again.
She tastes clean and sweet. Her pleasure has none of the rehearsed sounds or flattering lies women have used in my bed. When I miss the place she wants, she tells me. When I return to it, she praises me with a broken moan.
“Luca. More pressure.”
I flatten my tongue against her clit and curl my finger inside her. Her heel digs into the mattress.
“Yes. There. Don’t change it.”
I don’t move a damned inch. Her thighs close around my head. I brace one forearm across her hips and hold her against the mattress, giving her the firm restraint her body seeks. She cries my name as I work her clit and finger her harder.
“I’m going to come.”
“Come in my mouth.”
Her body locks beneath me. Her pussy squeezes my finger in hard pulses, and a raw cry tears from her. I keep the pressure consistent until her legs relax.
I raise my head. Giada lies with both hands flat on the blanket and her lips parted. A flush covers her skin from breasts to cheeks.
“I want that again,” she says.
I laugh once and climb over her. “Greedy wife.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me.”
I kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She kisses me with the same frank hunger, then reaches for my belt.
My hand closes around her wrist before she touches the buckle. “Not my belt.”
“You’re aroused.”
“Painfully.”
“Pleasure should be mutual.”
“It will be.” I set her palm against my erection again. “But my cock stays outside you tonight.”
“Why can’t I touch it?”
My control frays down to one thread. “You can.”
“Then show me.”
I stand beside the bed and open my trousers. Her attention follows each movement.
“I’m going to put your hand around my cock.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers close with firm pressure. My hips jerk toward her.
“Is that good?”
“Yes. Move your hand up and down.” I cover her hand with mine and show her the rhythm. “Keep your fingers tight.”
She follows my direction without shyness or false innocence. Her attention stays on my cock as her hand strokes from root to tip.
“Faster,” I say.
She obeys. Pleasure burns along my spine. I plant one palm on the mattress and bend over her, fighting the urge to thrust into her fist.
“Your face changes,” she says.
“You’re making me come.”
Her hand moves faster. My balls draw tight, and I spill across her knuckles with a rough groan.
She examines the mess on her hand. “I liked doing that.”
I clean her with tissues from the bedside table, then lie beside her and pull the blanket over us. “Good.”
“You said it deserves more than five minutes after I walk through the door.”
“It does.”
She turns onto her side. “Next time I want all of you.”