36. Gigi

36

GIGI

I wake up, and Steph is next to me on his side. His eyes are closed, but his fingers are playing with strands of my hair. I blink into the light.

"How did this happen?" We're not downstairs on the sofa, but in the loft and in bed.

"That sofa is uncomfortable as all fuck," he says, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Maybe we're both asleep and in a dream. "You carried me upstairs?"

"Hm-hmm."

I didn't notice any of that happening.

"I was exhausted," I murmur, but I couldn't fall asleep until he was with me.

I'm latching onto this man as if he's a drug. And it only took one hit.

The covers are pulled down to his hips, and with the morning light from the windows, I can see every punch he took yesterday. Inwardly, I wince as I can almost hear his body's resistance with each hit. "Tell me the other guy looks worse?"

"They both look worse."

Both? He fought two guys? My heart pounds in my throat at the mere thought of it.

I run my forefinger down his biceps to his pec and lower where he's bruised on his ribs.

He catches my hand as he rolls on his back. "Don't go there, angel."

But I want to go down there desperately. I'm literally thirsting for him. I get up on my elbow, lean in, and trail soft kisses on his shoulder and over his chest, kissing it better. I press my nose to his warm skin, inhaling the intoxicating scent of this man. He smells so good, I want to lick him. So I do.

He lets go of my hand, and my fingers caress his sides and the ripples of his six-pack as he contracts into my touch. "Let me go there, please, Steph."

He exhales slowly as my fingers spread wide enough to go beyond his navel, toying with his happy trail.

"Fuck, Gigi. Asking so nicely. The next thing you're going to tell me is it isn't sex ."

"It isn't."

I giggle as I pull the duvet away from where his erection tents it. Oh my… No pants, no sleep shorts, no nothing. I bite my lip... I'm so going to gag on him, but even that thought is arousing. I run my tongue around my lips before I take the tip and circle it, slowly, savoring his taste and the way his cock jerks against my lips.

Stephano grunts and drives his fingers into my hair. "God, you're my perfect fantasy, you know that? So fucking perfect… And I bet you're going to take me deep, aren't you, angel?"

His words make me slow down. His perfect fantasy . He's never called me a whore…that was me. My words. My mind always veering towards the worst when it comes to men in the Mafia. "Is this what you thought of me? That night in Cannes?"

He fists his hand in my hair and steers me away from his cock, forcing me to look at him.

"Yes. I never thought of you as anything but a fantasy actually coming to life." He cups my face with his other hand and traces my lips with his thumb. "But you're more than that, angel. I love my wife being this strong, kick-ass woman to the outside world, but a needy, wanton goddess in bed for me, and me alone. Being weak for my cock, wanting and needing it at all hours. You're more than the perfect fantasy, angel, you're so real, and I'm the only one who knows you like this."

I swallow, his words seeming to steal their way down my body to my clit where I pulse with desire.

"And then there's more. Do you know what it does to a man to know that his wife needs him so fucking much, she can't sleep when he doesn't hold her close?"

"No?"

"It makes him want to burn down the world to protect her," he murmurs. "Now go down, take what you want, angel, and finish what you've started."

He softens his grip on my hair, and something in me shifts. I'm already his, to do with as he pleases. Maybe I am a whore, for this man only.

I hum as I close my lips around him and drive down, wetting his shaft and dragging up again.

"Good girl," he sighs as his touch turns into a caress.

I go deeper with every pump of his cock until he hits the back of my throat which is way too soon. Stephano is big, my eyes are tearing, and I haven't even taken in all of him. I wrap my fingers around the base for extra pressure and find my rhythm, sensing him tense as his hips grind up to meet me halfway.

"Fuck, angel," he hisses as he pulls my head away, sits up, and forces me to kneel. "I need to touch you."

His hands skim over my breasts to my T-shirt's hem, and he tugs it off in one sweep. He cups my face, gathering my messed-up hair away as he stares at my lips. They tingle with the need to be kissed, but instead, he homes in on my breasts, heavy with need for him to suck and toy with my nipples.

"You're so perfect," he whispers as he glides his hands down my chest, fondling my breasts as he circles his thumbs over my nipples.

I snatch in a breath at the intense desire flooding through my body at his touch, which travels ever lower until he slides his finger down my slit and right into me.

"Steph—"

"Open wider, angel," he says as he shifts to lean into me, his lips on my temple, my ear, down to my neck with slow but greedy kisses that only make me widen my knees and sink down onto his hand.

"How can a man not love his wife when she's drenched like this for him," he murmurs as he fucks me with his fingers. "Every single time, angel, when I touch you here, it's as if this is the only thing you've been thinking about the whole day."

I swallow as I drop my head back, too aroused at his words and the workings of his fingers deep in me to lie. "Maybe it is the only thing I've been thinking and dreaming of."

"Day and night?"

"Day and night."

"On your back, angel," he says as he extracts his hand, and this is it.

This is the moment he is going to finally succumb and fuck me raw as I've wanted from the moment we met. Break his vows and finally make me his.

"Like this, to open your throat."

He guides me by my shoulders, so my head is tipping over the edge of the bed and then he's there, standing behind me, his massive cock hovering over my lips. I suck him into my mouth, and he grunts as he pushes deep, not gentle either, testing my limits already. He holds still as his hand glides down the column of my neck, down between my breasts and all the way to where my legs are spread open in invitation.

"Good girl," he hums as he slides his fingers deep into my sex, curling them to where I feel the build-up he coaxes out of me so easily.

I caress my hands over his thighs to his butt and urge him to move in sync. He curses as he starts to piston into my mouth, his hand working me in the same rhythm. He's going so deep now, but there's space, and I dig my nails into his butt as my toes curl into the mattress.

"Fuck, Gigi," he grunts as he drives faster and harder, his free hand cupping my chin gently. "You feel so fucking good. You're good?"

I hum back, my orgasm already riding in, his palm hitting my mound with just the right pressure on my clit to break down every resistance. I moan as I come, and his fingers still as he curls them hard against my inner wall, and my muscles pulse and squeeze against his hold.

The ripples of his own orgasm ride down my tongue, and he spills into my throat, and when I swallow, he hisses something about most perfect, most beautiful wife of mine , but I'm so dazed, it could have been anything.

He eases out of me, first his hand, then his cock as he circles his fingers around my wrists. I struggle up, my head swaying, but he sits on the edge of the bed with me, his hands cupping my face.

"I knew that mouth would be the sweetest thing on the planet," he whispers as he slides his fingers over my lips.

I taste and smell my release as I dart my tongue out, licking his fingers where they're toying with my mouth, dipping in and out.

"We should fuck like that again," he murmurs as I open my eyes and meet his gaze.

His hand has stilled on my cheek, his thumb paused on my lips. He's staring at me, so intently, and I know he's going to kiss me.

It's all I want. A kiss. From the man who used the words love and wife twice this morning in the same sentence, each time making my heart beat faster with a weird joy I've never felt before.

He comes closer and presses the softest, most gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth, just shy of my lips.

"I've got to get going," he says as he presses his forehead to mine. "Party's starting."

I have no clue what he means, but I stare as he walks naked to the bathroom. I blink and do a double take. Those are scratches on his fine ass, down his thighs.

My scratches , adding to the image of a broken, tortured soul painted on the canvas of his skin.