EPILOGUE
Eight years later
Some more loving
— CATERINA —
“Where’s mommy?” Clemente asks in a tone I know very well.
He’s spurring Rocco on to go as fast as he can to get to me, and he does.
Rocco dashes through the garden and I brace myself to catch him.
I don’t know who started this or came up with the crazy idea to play rocket ball with the dog, but Rocco loves to run back and forth between Clemente and I and then jumps straight at us, blindly trusting us to catch him.
A grunt leaves my throat when I scoop up Rocco and hold him for a moment before putting him down. He’s all excited and rushes off to get his ball. Clemente stalks toward me, concern in his eyes.
“Are you okay? I didn’t think.” He glances down to my belly as if he can check on the little one growing inside.
I give him a brief smile and straighten my shirt. “I’m fine.”
I’m twelve weeks pregnant but I don’t have a baby bump yet. They say the second kid usually shows earlier than the first but it was years ago when I was pregnant with our firstborn. We have a son, Emilio, who is seven years old and currently spending the night at Gracy and Henley’s.
Henley and Gracy have two sons—William and Lucas—who both spend lots of time here. Our kids are tight friends. I remember all too well how happy Clemente was when Gracy told him he was going to be an uncle for the first time. I also remember all too well how happy he was to become a father.
Though our first pregnancy wasn’t all roses and sunshine.
I suffered from morning sickness for months and complications at birth.
This was one of the reasons why we waited a few years before trying for a second child.
Along with the fact that I had a miscarriage several months after Emilio was born.
Everything added to the stress, pain, frustrations, and a lot of other things that put pressure on our family. As always, life is messy and you have to muddle through the worst parts to keep your eyes on the things that bring you the joy of living.
And with the support of my friends—Donya, Gracy, Flora, Ivy, and even their men and Leandro too—we managed to come out stronger. And yet it doesn’t take away all the worry, hence Clemente’s reaction just now.
But I’m twelve weeks pregnant, no morning sickness, and I feel amazing. Okay, my hormones might be all over the place but that might also be because Clemente hasn’t so much as kissed me ever since I told him we were pregnant. And I want him to touch me.
I crave him. Sex never was a problem between us and the heat only intensified. But the miscarriage and complications during my other pregnancy made him one worried man the second we became aware I was pregnant again.
And this is also why Gracy picked up Emilio to spend the night at their place, allowing me a chance to de-stress Clemente. Hopefully myself along with it since I was hoping it involved multiple orgasms for both of us. And I know it’s late afternoon, but I don’t want to waste any time.
Gracy is nine months pregnant and can pop out kid number three any minute.
And yes, I said pop out. Every person is different and so is each pregnancy.
Gracy had no difficulties during the birth of her first two children.
The second one happened so fast, they didn’t even have time to go to the hospital.
They even warned her about this one delivering fast as well.
She joked about it today, how kid number three would fall right out the second her water breaks.
But all craziness aside, she’s due any day and I really want to make every minute I have alone with Clemente count.
I grab his hand and start to tug him along.
“Where are we going?” he questions.
I don’t bother to look at him and slip inside the house while I simply say, “I need to show you something.”
I swear he says something along the lines of, “I’m already looking at something.”
And when I glance over my shoulder, I see his eyes are pinned on my ass. That’s a good start. We head up the stairs and into the bedroom where I leave him standing in the middle. His fingers rub his jaw and the heated glare in his eyes tell me he must know the reason why I brought him here.
He’s wearing the large ring I gave him, the one molded with the word love. My love. The history behind it and so much added value to a ring other than the platinum component. His thick black hair, smooth as ever and the signature black suit and white shirt always make my heart beat faster.
The attraction between us will never fade.
He can flame up the place between my legs with one look and make my heart skip a beat with one single touch.
He’s everything to me and the way he treasures me and tells me repeatedly how much I mean to him; I know our mutual feelings are strong and mirrored.
It’s the same with the fierce need to protect what we have. The vow we made each other not to throw ourselves in front of the other in case of a life and death situation—which he practically demanded—also proves we don’t want to spend one moment of life without the other.
Though both of us are very aware one cannot make a vow like that and stick to it, because every situation life throws at you is different.
There’s a natural instinct as strong as the love flowing through your bones.
Protect what you have. Protect what you love.
Protect the essence that makes life complete.
And for me that’s him. And I will always fight for him, the same way he fights for me.
With a twist of my hand I let my dress fall to the floor. I’m standing before him in olive colored lace and see the desire overtake the heat in his gaze, which in return makes me shiver with need.
“I see,” he murmurs huskily as he steps forward.
His knuckles brush the silk of my bra, allowing electricity to light up my skin and pucker my nipples into hard points to beg for more attention.
He leans forward and trails his nose along the line of my neck.
I tilt my head to give him more access. My breathing picks up and my heart starts to pump in a rhythm he’s setting.
“Is my gentleness and protection smothering your needs, mia cara?” His breath and words are scorching my very soul. “Is my woman all achy and wet, longing for the caress of my fingers, the attention of my mouth, and for my cock to slide deep inside your precious body?”
A whimper escapes me and it’s as if he’s playing, taunting, knowing very well what he’s been doing all those weeks. My body goes rigid and anger starts to burn.
His hands grip my hips and he drags me against him. One hand sneaking up to cup my breast. “Oh, no, you don’t. You have my full attention now.”
His lips latch onto my neck and he starts to suck, lighting up sparks of flaming hot pleasure that settles between my legs where I need him the most.
All anger forgotten, I shamelessly beg, “Please, Clemente.”
“My woman never has to beg. You always have my attention but I guess I’m flawed for needing you to open my eyes to see your needs. Though, I did notice. I always notice. But I will also always place your health over said needs, even if it kills me.”
Nipping. Sucking. If I thought I was balancing on hormonal imbalance and craving an orgasm mere moments ago, I’m now basically threatening to go mentally insane by the amount of need for release.
“Clemente,” I growl in a low moan so fierce it sounds as if I’m spitting at him in anger.
The fearless man has the nerve to chuckle, raising the thought in my head to knee him in the balls. Gosh, this man can still be the asshole he was when I met him. And yet he’s my kind of asshole and always soothes me in all ways. Like now when he falls to his knees before me.
Strong. Ruthless. But the heavenly sweet touch makes my knees buckle as he gently strokes my inner thighs to create a space for him between my legs. His breath heats the olive silk, seeping through and making my pussy tingle with the upcoming promise of pleasure.
Another whimper rips from me and he whispers, “I know, love, I know,” right before he grips my panties and in one rough pull rips the fabric away, allowing his tongue to lick my center.
The aching intensifies and spreads. My hands dive into his thick black hair to keep him in place.
Just a few weeks without sex and yet it feels as if I’ve been deprived for years on end.
I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him, of our connection, of our love which has molded us into the solid team we became.
“So close,” I moan.
“You’re going to come all over my face, are you now,” Clemente croons.
“Let me taste your pleasure, love. Sweet, sweet pleasure. I can almost taste your orgasm, Rina. You better give it to me now.” His voice switches to a growling demand and the moment his teeth graze my clit is when I surrender to the white bliss he lights me up with.
Pleasure. Love. Devotion. Orgasm super-freaking-nova.
I’m still in a daze when my body is being lifted and placed on the soft mattress.
With the remnants of my orgasm still smoldering in my veins I watch how my husband slides out of his jacket.
His hands fist the fabric of his white shirt and the way he rips it from his chest shows how badly he wants to get inside me.
I reach for the clasp of my bra and shrug it off to throw it on the floor. Clemente is clawing at his belt when I slide my hand between my legs and stroke my clit.
“Motherfucker,” he growls low in his throat. “You keep that fire burning, make it hotter for me.”
He’s standing before me naked, palming his thick and hard erection. Slow strokes mesmerize me as I watch his thumb spread the wetness of his pre cum coating the thick red head of his dick.