30. Gigi

30

GIGI

"That piece of lace comes with privileges, Gigi," Stephano says as he cups my face, forcing me to look up at him. " Husband privileges. And you wore it as an invitation."

I blink up at him, playing innocent, but really playing with fire. A smirk toys on his lips, and before I can even think what's next, he's dropped to his haunches. His hand ghosts from my cheek down my neck, and when his fingers trace lines over the swell of my breasts, my nipples tighten painfully.

He keeps on staring into my eyes, though, and all I want is to close them and float on the feelings his touch sparks. His other hand slips off my high-heeled sandals and now glides up my leg to the treacherous garter. When he lowers his head to place a kiss on my knee, I lean back on my elbows, wanting only to open for him.

He nips and kisses and bites his way up my inner thigh, and I'm melting into the bed with need. When he reaches the garter, he tugs at it with his teeth and drags it down with such slow, deliberate intent, his warm breath kindles goose bumps all over my skin as desire seeps from my sex.

I'm a lost cause as his fingertips run along the edges of my thigh-highs and pull them off as his gaze holds mine. Only my panties remain, covering Franco's cruel signature on my skin.

Stephano stands, the garter hanging limp from his hand. He runs the lace over my leg, ever higher, stalling over my sex, letting its weight just rest there for a few seconds before he glides it to my breasts and lets it skim my nipples.

He tosses the garter to the side and leans over me, with a hand next to my head, as he cups my face with the other. Instead of kissing me as I long for, he turns my face to the side to kiss my neck and ever lower.

A hot blaze of arousal zaps through me with every kiss and suck he caresses over my breasts, my nipples, down to my belly and the edge of my panties, his hand following his mouth. Then he looks up again with a soft squeeze to my hip.

As our gazes lock, his finger burrows underneath my panties. His touch is so gentle, so intimate, I want to squirm away, but I still as he carefully traces the lines of Franco's scars.

I struggle for breath, trying not to cry. But tears seep from the corners of my eyes as I watch him swallow hard, his shattered breath flowing over my skin.

Then his fingertip finds the start of my slit, and he pauses there for a moment, seeming to war with himself.

"He'll never touch you again," he murmurs. "In fact, once I've dealt with him, he'll never touch a woman again."

I still at those words. Stephano might be Mafia and the last type of man I've ever wished to get involved with, but he is true to his word. When he hooks the crotch with his finger and eases off my panties, I drop back and close my eyes, knowing he could do anything to me now and I'd let him.

"Fuck, Gigi," he hisses, and I look at him.

He has my panties pressed to his nose. I know he knows: I'm drenched for him.

I'm so drugged with desire, I just let him do as he pleases, and it pleases my husband to lift my foot to his hip, pressing my other leg open with a hand on my knee. Like this, I'm spread wide for him, and when he brushes his fingers over my sex, I quiver.

"You're so fucking wet," he says as he circles my clit and dips a finger into my sex. "And so fucking tight."

"Please," I beg, squeezing around the paced invasion.

"Please who?" he says as he slides into me again.

I know what he wants to hear. Stephano is into this. He was into this the night in Cannes, but this time, it's different for both of us. This is a woman who can't walk away later tonight as she has with every other sexual encounter she's ever had. This is a man who is going to fulfill every promise he made earlier today.

"Please, husband."

"With pleasure, my darling, beautiful wife."

At his sweet words, I close my eyes, and with his lips back on my skin, shudders run through my body. It won't take much to tip me over the edge. His tongue works its way from my inner thigh, ever closer to my clit. His fingers fuck me, and the buildup rises from deep within my core. It will take just one little flick of his tongue?—

At the last second, he pulls away, and I still, my breathing labored as I've arched into the bed, gripping the sheets, ready to fall.

"Steph," I moan, and open my eyes only to see him stripping out of his shirt.

"It's our wedding night, angel. I'm not rushing."

I drag in a shaky breath. "We're not supposed to be having sex at all," I protest, too weak with lust to stick to my own resolve.

"I see you have a misunderstanding of the concept. This isn't having sex, angel."

God, he's high-handed. And I love it and hate it at the same time. Never mind his words—his naked chest has diverted all my attention. I knew he was built. Everything about Stephano Scalera screams man in his prime , but watching him unwrap his muscled chest and abs leaves me breathless. I was expecting more tattoos, but bar the one on his forearm, which I still haven't deciphered yet, his skin is smooth with no ink. There are scars, though, several with origins I can't place in the low light.

He's busy with his belt, and my gaze magnetizes to the bulge battling his fly. I want it. I've wanted it for weeks. He loosens his belt and pulls down the zipper, and when he palms his cock and frees it from all constraints, I blink. Holy…fuck. Every cell in my body quivers at the visual, twisting tight with an intense craving to be stretched and filled with him.

"Scoot up, angel," he says, and I oblige, keeping my eye on the prize.

As soon as I'm higher up, he kneels onto the bed, and I reach for him. He catches my hand, though, and a warning flashes through his eyes.

"This is me taking care of my wife as I've promised to do, but I don't expect you to return any favors here."

"Steph—"

"Hush, angel," he says as he traces my lips, zipping up any further protest. "I've got us both."

He reaches for some pillows. Every movement catches the flex of his muscles in the last of the evening light, and I can only stare, so much so, I'm caught off guard when he tucks two pillows under my butt and presses my legs open and up. I've never felt this exposed before, but the way he looks at me, as if he's about to worship a goddess, swells my heart.

"I want to fuck this sweet little pussy so bad," he grunts as he drives his fingers into me again, hard and with purpose this time as he jerks his cock. "But she said no sex ."

But she's regretting it now.

"You're a control freak," I hiss back, my orgasm rounding up again from all corners of my body at the visual of him pleasuring himself.

"Fuck, yes, angel, that I am, and if nothing else, I'll stick to the terms and conditions of this arrangement."

I want to stall my peak, keep myself from crashing into bliss, but he dips his head and licks and sucks on my clit, and it's all too much. I shatter.

And shatter more with a gasp as he curls his fingers, pressing that secret spot inside me. He drags out my orgasm as he hits every swollen nerve deep within me. My legs are shaking and my body trembles with release as he straightens and spills his own, right over every scratch Franco's made on my skin, as if he could erase it with his cum.

We still, the moment passing in slow motion as we catch our breaths. Stephano lets go of my legs, but I'm too weak to close them up. Instead, I watch as he zips his pants and buckles his belt. That was it. The only bit of Stephano I'm going to see out of control tonight.

"Come," he says as he eases the pillows away and scoops me into his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up."