21. Gia

Ifeel a flutter of anxiety in my stomach as I shower, rinsing off the sand and salt and sunscreen from our day out. It was a good day. A perfect day, even, considering what I had expected—which wasn't much. I wouldn't let myself expect very much at all. I'd half thought that Salvatore would come up with some excuse to get out of it, some reason why work took precedence, and that he'd lecture me on the importance of keeping me safe before leaving me to my own devices again.

But he didn't do that at all. Instead, he gave me exactly what I asked for. Everything—and more, really, when I think about that kiss.

Our first kiss since our wedding day.

Just remembering the kiss in the market, and then again in the water, sends shivers over my skin despite the heat of the shower. It was so different from the way he kissed me on our wedding day that I can't begin to compare the two. It was?—

It was the way I'd always dreamed of being kissed.

But then we got back, and he didn't follow me into the shower. If anything, it felt like maybe things were going to go back to the way they were before.

I don't want that. Not after getting a glimmer of what they could possibly be. Of what we could have, if Salvatore doesn't close himself off from me again.

The day isn't over yet,I remind myself, as I get out of the shower and dry off, braiding my wet hair before slipping into the canary yellow silk dress that I bought earlier. It has thin straps and is scooped at the neckline, the excess fabric forming soft, draping folds at my cleavage. It clings to me perfectly, slit up either side to my thighs, and it's perfect for dancing if I can convince Salvatore to go out and do that with me tonight.

I slip on the shell earrings, and go out to join him.

"My turn?" Salvatore smiles at me as he stands from where he was sitting on one of the lounge chairs. "I called and asked them to bring us a light dinner tonight. After all, you did say that you still wanted to go out dancing."

Instantly, my mood brightens. "I wondered if you'd still want to do that."

"Why not? You said you wanted to, and today was all about making you happy." The smile is still lingering on his mouth, and I have the urge to step forward and kiss him. But I want him to be the one to make the moves for a little while longer. I want to find out how far he'll let his boundaries go.

"I'm looking forward to it." I see the way his gaze slides over me before he goes to leave, taking in the new dress.

"You look beautiful," Salvatore says softly, lingering for just a moment. And then he disappears back into the villa, to go get ready for the evening.

My heart is fluttering in my chest, and I press my hand over it as I sink down onto the lounge chair. Everything feels like it's changing very quickly, like all the things I wanted are on the precipice of happening. I'm afraid to hope for it, afraid to think that there's a chance at happiness for us. I was so sure, not that long ago, that happiness with Salvatore was an impossibility.

But I'm seeing another side to him. A willingness to try to meet me in the middle. A lighter side to him, too—a possibility that he could be someone willing to let loose and have fun. Maybe he just needed someone to pry that out of him, to encourage him to do exactly that. A reason to relax. Maybe no one ever gave him a reason to before.

I have some idea of how much my father relied on him. It occurs to me how much pressure that must have been—how much it still must be, after his death, with his entire empire resting on Salvatore's shoulders now. And I feel a prick of guilt for accusing him of betraying my father.

If what Salvatore has told me is true about the Bratva, then he's done exactly the opposite. I still don't know which is true. But I find myself wanting to give Salvatore a chance after today. I find myself looking forward to the rest of the night.

Dinner is delivered while Salvatore is still in the shower—salads and shrimp cocktail, with a platter of chilled oysters and white wine. I pour myself a glass while I wait for him to come out, and when I hear the glass door slide open, I feel a fizz of anticipation in my veins.

Tonight is going to be different. I feel sure that it is.

Salvatore is dressed in the clothes I've started to become used to seeing on him. My gaze keeps sliding back to the open v of his shirt, my fingers tingling with the desire to run them over his chest. I imagine hooking my finger in the thin gold chain around his neck, tugging him closer for a kiss, feeling his hard body press against mine. I bite my lip against the sound that threatens to slip out, and Salvatore looks up at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you alright, dolce?"

Sweet.The sound of the endearment startles me. It's not something I'm used to with him. But I don't mind it. I like the sound of it, actually, when he says it like that—without irritation, his voice softer than I'm used to. As if he's enjoying the conversation.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About what?" Salvatore takes a bite of his salad, looking at me with what appears to be genuine curiosity. But I'm not about to tell him what was actually going through my head just now.

I've been rejected by him too many times to put myself out there again like that just yet. I want him to pursue me a while longer, before I do. It's not even playing games at this point, I don't think. It's just self-preservation.

But it is an opportunity to talk to him about the rest of what's been on my mind, as the day has unwound so pleasantly.

"I enjoyed today," I say slowly, picking up a piece of shrimp and dipping it into the metal tin of cocktail sauce.

"I did, too. It's not over yet." Salvatore still has that curious look on his face. "Unless you want it to be?"

"No. That's not what I meant. I just—" I let out a slow breath, taking a bite to give myself a minute to think, and washing it down with the crisp white wine. I taste hints of pineapple in it, and I make a mental note of the label, to see if we can get it back home.

Home.It's the first time I've thought of Salvatore's mansion in that way. I could try to tell myself that I was simply thinking of New York in general, which has always been my home, but I know deep down that's not true. I was thinking of where we'll go, when our honeymoon is over.

I'm not sure if it makes me fearful or gives me hope, that I thought of it that way.

"My father wanted me to have a husband who was a good match for me," I say slowly. "He believed that was Pyotr."

I see Salvatore's shoulders tense, in preparation for retrodding old ground. But I have a different idea about that conversation this time.

"You want to continue serving my father's legacy," I continue, meeting Salvatore's gaze. "To do right by me and what he left behind. What if you could do that by being a good husband to me? By being the kind of husband that I expected Pyotr would be?"

There's a glint in Salvatore's eyes that tells me I'm treading dangerous ground. After what happened yesterday and the day we've had today, I can't imagine he likes hearing me describe how fervently I'd anticipated marrying another man. But at the same time, I want him to understand what I wanted. What I thought I would get out of marriage.

"And what kind of husband is that?" he asks tautly. It's clear from the tone of his voice that depending on how this conversation goes, the rest of our night could fall apart. But I have to hope that we can find a way to talk to each other. That we can learn to communicate like a husband and wife should.

"I know I can be stubborn, and willful. My father knew it, too. He thought that Pyotr would be the kind of husband who would appreciate those qualities in me, rather than being intimidated by them and trying to snuff them out, as so many mafia sons would. He thought that Pyotr would appreciate my rebellious nature, and that, at the same time, he might tame me a little. That we could smooth each other's rough edges. He thought that Pyotr, being about my age, would be able to understand me better than someone older that he might have given my hand to." I see Salvatore flinch at that, but it has to be said. It was part of the conversations my father and I had. "And he thought that Pyotr would see me as an equal. The mafia princess wed to the Bratva prince. A fairytale for our families. We would lead the Bratva together." I trail off, biting my lip. I have some idea of what Salvatore must think of all of this. "Pyotr and I talked, too. I thought he would be?—"

"I know what you thought he would be." Salvatore cuts me off, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Forgive me, Gia, but I don't want to hear another soliloquy about how passionate of a marriage you expected to have with your virile Bratva groom." The bridge of his nose wrinkles, and I shove down a brief flare of irritation. I already know firsthand what Salvatore's innate possessiveness can turn into, and that flare of irritation starts to shift into a different kind of heat. If his reaction to thinking about Pyotr makes him realize that he does want me, I reason, all the better.

"Your father and I disagreed on the match from the jump," he says. "I always thought that whatever front Igor and Pyotr were putting on to convince him of the match, it was exactly that. He didn't trust Igor, exactly, and he never thought that Igor was a good man. But as he was blinded with love for you, he believed that Igor was the same for his son. Your father firmly believed that Pyotr was genuine in his feelings and desire for you, and that Igor would treat you well and uphold the agreements to please his son. Just as he wanted to please you."

"But you didn't believe that." I bite my lip. This is ground we've already covered, but the conversation feels different this time. For the first time, I'm willing to listen to what Salvatore has to say, and not only because all chance of my being reclaimed by Pyotr is gone. Salvatore has shown me enough of himself that I'm no longer certain of what I once believed. And if Salvatore didn't claim me for lust, then it must have been for another reason.

"I believe Pyotr wanted you, as any man offered both the treasure that you are and the inheritance that came with you would?—"

"But not you," I interrupt. "You didn't want me?"

"I never thought of you that way," Salvatore says quietly. "Not until you were already my wife, and I needed to. And I found—" He pauses, and I wait for him to continue. But the silence stretches out longer than it should, as if he's having a hard time saying what's on his mind.

"What?" I murmur, and he looks up at me, his eyes suddenly dark with unexpected emotion. And, I think—desire, too.

"I found that I wanted you." His gaze holds mine at last, and I feel the tension in the air suddenly snap taut, making my skin prickle. "I found that I wanted you more than I thought I ever could. More than I knew I should. And I fought it with everything in me, because you were never supposed to be mine, Gia. I was supposed to protect you, and then give you to another man. But?—"

He hesitates, letting out a slow breath. "I didn't take you for desire, Gia. I married you because I believed, to the depths of my soul, that Pyotr would only hurt you. Emotionally for certain, and possibly physically as well. When I met with him and his father before the wedding, and suggested that we postpone for the sake of your grief?—"

I look at the expression on Salvatore's face, and understanding dawns on me. "He wasn't understanding."

"He was—crude, in the way he spoke about you. He and his father both. Whatever he showed you, Gia, it wasn't the truth. He would never have seen you as his equal. I have never known a Bratva man to treat a woman as such, but perhaps there's someone out there who would. I can't speak for every man. But I can speak to what I saw in Pyotr, and he was not who you and your father believed him to be, Gia." Salvatore breathes out sharply. "If you believe anything I've told you, Gia, I want it to be this. I would never have denied you your wedding and gone against your father's wishes for any other reason other than that I believed you were truly in danger. That your heart and your spirit would both have been broken by him. And I couldn't allow that to happen."

"Why?" I ask softly, and some part of me tenses as I wait for his answer, wondering if he'll say aloud what I can barely imagine him saying at all.

"Because you were entrusted to me," he says instead, and I feel an unexpected stab of disappointment.

I bite my lip, sitting back as I look out over the water for a moment. So much has changed for me in such a short time. And more could change, still, depending on what happens between Salvatore and me.

"If all that is true," I say quietly, turning to look at him, "then it's up to you to give me all of that instead. You married me. It's up to you to fulfill those expectations. That's how you honor my father's wishes, Salvatore. You become the husband that he intended for me to have."

I expect a retort, for him to insist that he was never meant to be that, that he can only give me so much. But instead, he studies me calmly for a long moment, as if he's really considering what I've said. "Do you really think that's possible, Gia?"

Something in my heart lifts at the question. It feels as if, at long last, we're truly having a conversation. Not an argument. We might not fix this in the end, but this is a start. A beginning that gives me hope.

"There's only one way to find out," I say softly. "And we have to try, don't we? If not?—"

"Then what?" There's no rancor in Salvatore's voice, only curiosity.

"I don't want to be miserable all my life. I'm not above trying to leave if you can't—or won't—give me what I want."

A small line appears between Salvatore's brows, but he doesn't flinch. "Tell me what it is that you want, then, Gia."

We're leaning towards each other now, the food forgotten, the only sound besides our voices and our breaths, the slap of the water against the deck, and the rustling of the breeze. The night is turning cool, and I think of the rest of it still to come, of the possibility of happiness in the hours ahead of us.

"I want to be happy with someone," I whisper, letting my dreams unfurl as I think about it, all of my wishes that I thought I might have to give up spilling off of the tip of my tongue. "I want a husband who looks at me with desire. I want someone who teaches me all the things a husband should. I want to learn everything there is about love, both physical and emotional."

Slowly, as I speak, Salvatore's hand moves towards mine. His fingertips brush against my hand, grazing over my skin, and I draw in a breath slowly. "I want children," I whisper, and I see his eyes darken. I know what he's thinking at that moment—not about the end result, but how we get there. "Sons, especially. I want to raise a family, and have joy all around me. It was always just my father and I, and we were happy. But I want a big family. I want to know what that's like. And I want a husband who will be side by side with me in that, sharing in that same joy."

I see Salvatore's throat tighten as he swallows. "It's a lot to ask in our world," he murmurs. "Very few mafia marriages are like that."

"I know. But it's what my father and mother wanted. It's what they didn't get to have. And it's what he wanted for me. It's what I was promised. So if I can have it?—"

Salvatore's fingers curl around my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I thought about a family, from time to time," he says quietly. "I always dismissed it. My life was serving your father. I didn't have time to woo a woman properly. I didn't have time to give any relationship the attention it required."

"Why didn't you ask my father to arrange one? He could have." Not a marriage with someone like me—but there are plenty of women who could have been candidates. Widows, women from lesser families, others who would have been pleased to marry Enzo D'Amelio's right hand, especially with Salvatore's wealth and influence.

Salvatore pauses for a moment. "I don't know," he says truthfully. "I didn't think about it, if I'm being honest. But I think, now that the question is posed—if I was going to marry and have a family, I didn't want it to be an arrangement. I wanted—" He hesitates, and I can feel him tense, almost as if he's afraid of the answer. "I suppose, Gia, that I wanted what you want. A marriage made of love, and a family that I shared in fully. And since I didn't think that was possible, I put it out of my head."

I stare at him for a long moment, struggling to understand. "Then why has this been such a problem, the whole time?"

He pulls back, frowning, as if unsure why I don't understand. "Because I was never supposed to be allowed that with you, Gia. Enzo's daughter, my goddaughter, the woman entrusted to my protection. I stole you at the altar on impulse, because I couldn't let that animal have you. I went to you on our wedding night sick at the idea of what your father would think, if he knew I was going to bed his daughter. I felt ashamed that I wanted you. At the desire that you aroused in me. Everything I felt for you was wrong, from that night on."

But even as he says it, his hand doesn't leave mine.

"It wasn't wrong," I say softly. "I'm your wife. It can't possibly be wrong for you to want me."

Salvatore doesn't speak for a long moment. "It feels like a temptation, what you're asking of me. To want you. To let our relationship grow naturally. To have children with you." His voice rasps on the last word, and I can see the desire in his eyes, hear the ache in his voice.

"We could have that. We could try."

For a moment, I'm not sure how he's going to respond. And then he stands up, slowly, his hand still wrapped around mine. I can see the tension in his muscles, his carefully controlled movements, as if there's something leashed in him. "I promised you dancing," he says, tugging me up out of my seat. "So let's go out, Gia. And see where the night takes us."

I'd half-expected him to take me straight to bed. A part of me is faintly disappointed that he's still able to keep his desire leashed enough to go out for the evening instead. But more than anything else, I'm pleased that he's keeping his promise to me. And I can feel a slow curl of anticipation building in my stomach, promising something else—that the slow burn of desire throughout the evening will pay off far more than the immediacy of passion now.

Salvatore goes to find Vince as we walk back into the villa, and I slip on a pair of sandal heels. Before I know it, we're leaving the villa with security trailing us, the first time I've left it at night. The air is cooler than before, with the tang of salt still hanging in it, and a soft breeze blowing my hair around my face as Salvatore takes my hand, and we walk down the pier.

I can hear music as we get closer to the bars and restaurants in the distance. Down on the beach, I can see the faint flickers of bonfires. The stars are glittering overhead, more than I can ever see at home, even as far out as we are from the city. The sky is a vast, velvet expanse, studded with diamonds, and I tip my head back to take it all in, feeling the tension drain fully from me. For the first time, I feel the spark of hope that everything might be alright. It's too soon to think that, maybe, but I want to feel it. I don't want to dread my future any longer.

We walk to one of the open-air bars—unsurprisingly, not the one where I met Blake—and Salvatore orders us drinks. He brings me mine, a pina colada, and I make a soft sound of pleasure when I take a sip.

His eyes darken slightly at that, and he lifts his own glass to his lips, his other hand coming down to wrap around mine again. "What are you drinking?" I ask curiously, glancing at his, and he looks over at me.

"Rum and cola. I don't drink rum often, but this seemed like a good occasion for it." Salvatore breathes in slowly, as if savoring the ocean air. Behind us, a guitarist is playing soft music. "There's music up here. Or down on the beach, if you'd rather go down there."

I look over at him in surprise. I hadn't expected him to offer that. Getting Salvatore out at a casual beachside bar at night seemed like a startling enough feat, let alone convincing him to dance. I didn't think he'd even consider going down to the beach, with the bonfires and the people milling about in the dark.

But I know for sure which option I'd like to pick.

My fingers tighten a little around his. "Let's go down to the beach."

Salvatore nods, tossing back the rest of his drink, and goes to order us another round before we head down.

We walk down to the beach, the breeze growing a little stronger and the crash of the waves a little louder as we do. I can hear the sound of the music drifting up, and I kick off my heels at the top of the beach, letting go of Salvatore's hand to pick them up. He raises an eyebrow, but he does the same, setting his drink down briefly to roll up the hem of his chinos above his ankles.

My heart starts to beat faster as we walk down together towards the bonfire. This feels thrilling, exciting, the kind of thing I've never done before. The walls of the mansion back in New York feel a million miles away, and I feel free, as if I could lift off the ground and fly away. I had thought that when I had that feeling before, it was not only because I was away from home, but also because I was away from Salvatore. But now he's here with me, joining in, and I still feel that way.

We stop a little ways away from the crowd of people around the bonfire, Salvatore sipping at his drink as he surveys them. I see him glance this way and that, undoubtedly keeping an eye out to make sure Vince and our security are still nearby, but other than that, he looks remarkably relaxed. More so than I've ever seen him.

When he finishes the drink, he sets the glass in the sand, glancing over at me. I see a small smile at the corners of his mouth in the flickering firelight.

"I believe I owe you a dance, since there was no wedding reception." He holds out a hand. "Can I collect on that now?"

My heart trips a little in my chest. "Yes," I say softly. "I think you can."

The music has picked up, and there are other couples dancing in the sand now, too. Salvatore leads me a little closer to the fire, close enough that I can start to make out the faces of the other people around us and feel the warmth of it, and his arm slides around my waist. He brings me closer, the chiseled lines of his face outlined in the firelight, and it takes my breath away to see how handsome he is.

Out here, so far from home, out of his tailored suits and with his expression relaxed as he holds me in his arms, he seems like a different man from the forbidding, stern underboss that I've known all my life. This is, I realize, the version of him that doesn't belong to the mafia.

It's the version that could belong to me.

Salvatore draws me closer, his hand on the small of my back, the other wrapped around mine as we start to dance. Out here in the sand, there are no quick steps or fancy moves, but I think I like this better. The two of us, swaying together with the soft sound of the guitars and the crash of the waves as our rhythm, the slow intimacy of our bodies moving against one another, a promise of what might come later.

My breath catches in my throat, and I lean forward, laying my head against his shoulder as I sway with him. I feel him tense, ever so slightly for a moment before he relaxes again, and then it's my turn to flinch with surprise as he presses a kiss against my hair. We're testing each other out, I realize, nudging at the boundaries with these small expressions of affection. And I want more.

I lean up, turning my face so my lips brush against his collarbone in the open neckline of his shirt. My free hand is wrapped around him, pressed to the back of his shoulder, and I feel his indrawn breath at the touch of my lips. His skin is warm against my mouth, tasting faintly of salt, and I let my tongue graze against the sharp line of bone, sucking lightly.

Salvatore tenses, his hand flexing against the small of my back, pulling me into him. I let out a small gasp as I feel the hard line of his cock pressing into my thigh, and he looks down at me, the two of us still moving together to the music. "Careful, tesoro," he murmurs, and I'm suddenly very aware of the heat of his hand through the thin silk of my dress, the quickening beat of his heart against my cheek. "You'll make it difficult for me to walk back."

My heart flips, heat blooming through me as I lean into him, my breasts brushing against his chest as I look up at his face. "Maybe I like teasing you."

I feel the low rumble as he groans. "Tesoro," he murmurs, his fingers stroking the silk of my dress along my spine. "You've been teasing me since the night I walked into that hotel room on our wedding night." His hands tighten, holding me against him. "Torturing me, even."

"I thought you didn't want me," I breathe, still looking up into his dark gaze. I feel as if everything else around us has vanished, and it's only us on this beach, moving to the strains of music coming from nowhere as the firelight flickers over Salvatore's features. "I thought you resented me."

"The position I was put in, perhaps, from time to time." Salvatore lets go of my hand, reaching down to run his fingers along the side of my jaw. "I wished your father had listened to me from the beginning."

"And now?" I whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

Salvatore's arm slides fully around my waist, his fingers splaying possessively over my hip as he holds me close, and I know what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth.

"Now," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "Now I'm glad he didn't listen. Because if you'd married a mafia son, I would have allowed it. And then, Gia, you would never have been mine."

He leans down, his mouth crushing against mine in a kiss that's harder and more possessive than any he's given me before, his hand on my hip holding me tight. His tongue sweeps over my lower lip, urging me to part them, and I do, gasping as I feel his tongue slide against mine. I taste the spice of his drink on his mouth, and I hear myself moan, my hips arching into his as my hands slide up to clutch at his shoulders, my head falling back. This is how I've dreamed of being kissed, as Salvatore's mouth devours mine, not out of duty or anger or unleashed lust at last, but passion. Because he's finally, finally allowed himself to give in to what he wants.

"Take me back to the villa," I whisper against his mouth when he finally starts to draw back, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel hot and shivery all over, my skin too tight for my body, and I can feel the iron bar of Salvatore's cock against my thigh, his muscles wound tight with need. "Please, Salvatore. I want you."

He nods, his forehead brushing against mine as his lips graze over the tip of my nose. "I want you," he murmurs, and desire floods through me at the admission, my knees weakening with it.

Finally,is all I can think as he steps away from me, his fingers linked with mine as we start to walk back up to the beach. Finally, I get to find out what this will be like.

I can hardly contain the anticipation thrumming through me as we start to walk back to the villa. I feel like I'm in a haze, my mind already there, already in our room, imagining what might happen. It feels like it takes forever before my heels hit the wood of the pier, and Salvatore leads us down the long walkway into the cool, lemon-scented interior of our home away from home.

We walk into the bedroom, and anticipatory nerves flood through me as Salvatore closes the door, going to the one that leads out to the balcony. I watch as he opens it, my hands trembling, feeling like it's the first night all over again. I'm not a virgin any longer, but it's never been like this before—purposeful, intentional, with the promise of pleasure instead of mixed signals and unmet expectations. This is what the first night should have been all along.

"The sound of the water is nice," Salvatore explains, when he sees me glance towards the open door. "And the breeze."

I blink at him, unsure of why he's talking about water and breezes when we're minutes away from being naked together—and then I realize, as I see the twitch of his mouth and the briefly uncertain look in his eyes, that he's nervous. Salvatore Morelli, don of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York, a man twenty-something years my senior, is nervous.

It gives me a sudden confidence that I didn't have before.

I walk towards him, my heels clicking against the floor. I see him tense, eyeing me almost warily, as if he's unsure what will happen next. I kick off my shoes, curling my toes against the cool surface, and press a palm against his chest. I feel his indrawn breath as my palm presses against his warm skin, the soft rub of the dark hair on his chest against my fingers, the quickening of his heartbeat.

I feel like I should say something, but my throat feels tight, as if I can't get words out no matter what I do. So instead, I lean up, and press my mouth against his.

For a brief moment, Salvatore doesn't react, as if being back in this room has brought back all of his doubts and reservations. And for a moment, I almost want to pull away, all the hurt and resentment from the early days of our marriage threatening to return, whispering that nothing is going to change.

But he's trying. And in order for this to work, we both have to try.

So I let my tongue flick out, grazing it over his lower lip, my other hand coming up to press against his jaw. I feel the scratch of his stubble and the hard lines of his face, and I feel him breathing against me, his body wound tight.

His hand comes up, brushing against my wrist, and for a moment, I think he's going to pull my hand away. And then, just as I feel disappointment start to replace the desire flooding through me, his hands drop to my hips, and he pulls me hard against him.

He groans, his fingers digging into my flesh through the thin silk of my dress as his mouth opens against mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I can feel every hard line of his body against my softness, melding into me, his cock so hard I can imagine I feel it throbbing through the layers of our clothes.

I reach down, fumbling with the buttons of his linen shirt, gasping against his lips as he reaches up to tangle a hand in my hair. The kiss is turning desperate, the need that I can feel surging through him as intense as the day he dragged me back here from the bar, but without any of the anger. This is Salvatore finally letting go, finally dropping his control and giving in to what he wants, and it's dizzying.

It feels as if he could consume me.

I yank the last button free, his shirt falling open as I run my hands over the hard planes of his chest, down to the thick, ridged muscles of his abdomen. He moans against my lips as my fingers drop to his belt buckle, and I break the kiss abruptly, a smile curving my mouth as I look at his handsome, taut face, his eyes dark with need.

And then I drop to my knees in front of him, yanking his belt open as I drag his zipper down.

Salvatore makes a choked sound. "Gia, you don't have to—" His eyes are wide, almost shocked, as if he both never expected me to do this and is seeing a fantasy come true right in front of his eyes. "Get up, Gia."

"You want me to, don't you?" My voice lowers, husky, as I slip my fingers into his boxers. He doesn't need to answer, I can feel how much he wants it the moment my hand brushes against his hard, straining cock, the flesh like hot velvet draped over iron. I wrap my fist around him, freeing him, and the moment I see his cock so close to my lips, I let out a gasping moan.

He's huge. I knew how big he was, but like this, it's almost a little unsettling. I'm not sure how I'll fit him all in my mouth. But I look up at him, eyes wide as I run my hand up the length of his shaft, and the look of arousal on his face is something very close to pain.

"You like this," I whisper, pressing my thumb against the underside of the tip, feeling the damp pre-cum against my fingers. "Me on my knees, looking up at you while I suck your cock. You want this, don't you, Salvatore?"

He jerks at the sound of my name on his lips, his cock throbbing in my fist, and I lean forward, my lips close enough for my breath to ghost over the tip. I pause, waiting, and I know that he knows what I'm waiting for him to say.

His hand slides into my hair, fingers twining in it, hard enough to hold my head in place, but not hard enough to hurt. "Yes," he rasps, the admission tearing from him as his hips push forward, pressing the swollen head against my mouth. "I want you to suck my cock just like this, Gia."

A smile spreads over my lips, and I part them, wrapping them around the tip of him as my tongue flicks out to lick the soft flesh beneath.

The sound that Salvatore makes is half-pleasure, half-pain, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at me. Standing above me, he looks like a god, his tanned body cut as if chiseled from stone, his forearm flexing where his hand is wrapped in my hair, his shirt hanging open and his pants hanging off his hips, his thick cock just barely in my mouth. Arousal throbs through me, and I tighten my mouth around him, licking away the pre-cum and humming a soft sound of pleasure at the taste of him.

I've wanted to do this for a long time. I've wanted to know what it's like. And now that I do, I'm not sure I can get enough.

Salvatore gasps, his breaths coming hard and fast as I start to slide my lips down the length, and when I press my free hand against his thigh, I can feel that the muscles are flexed as hard as a rock. His fingers brush against my scalp, tugging ever so slightly at my hair, and I taste another flood of pre-cum over my tongue as I let him sink deeper, the head pressing at the back of my throat.

"Oh god," Salvatore groans, his voice choked. "Fuck, dolce?—"

His hips move despite himself, pushing his cock into my throat, and I momentarily feel as if I can't breathe. I try to swallow around it, my throat flexing around the swollen head, and Salvatore jerks backward as if I slapped him, suddenly pulling free of my mouth.

The sight of him standing there, panting with his cock glistening from my mouth and visibly throbbing with his arousal, is enough to make me want to push my own hand between my legs and take care of the ache building there. I know if I touched myself right now, I'd be dripping wet.

"I can't—" Salvatore rasps, and he shudders, shaking himself as he reaches for me and pulls me up to my feet. "I'm going to come in your mouth if you do that again, tesoro," he murmurs, pulling me close as he tips my chin up with one hand and reaches for the skirt of my dress with the other. "And that's not where I want to come."

He crushes his mouth against mine as he slides my dress up, his other hand falling to my hip and yanking my panties down at the same time that he pulls my dress over my head. I'm not wearing a bra, and as both fall to the floor, I look at him, entirely bare in front of him from head to toe.

Salvatore groans, shrugging off his shirt as his hands grasp my hips, backing me towards the bed. "I'm going to return the favor, tesoro," he rasps. "And then I'm going to keep you in this bed until there's no doubt that you're going to be pregnant by the time we get home."

Arousal jolts through me, and I moan as he spills me back into the bed, the rest of his clothing completing the trail that marks our pathway here as he follows me onto the mattress. He looks down at me, his cock so hard that it's pressing against his abs, and his hands skim down the sides of my ribs as he devours me greedily with his eyes.

"I remember you asking me to make you come with my mouth, dolce," he murmurs, his hand pressing against my inner thigh, spreading me open. "I think it's time you found out what that's like, don't you?"

My head falls back on a moan as I feel him spread my legs wider, feel his weight moving down the bed as he goes to lie down between my thighs. "Yes," I gasp, my chest tight with anticipation. "Please."

I moan as I feel his fingers slide up my folds, and I hear the low sound he makes in his throat before he's even parted me.

"God, you're so wet, tesoro," Salvatore groans. "And all for me."

I nod, unable to say anything, to make any other sound except a helpless whimper as I feel him spread me apart, his thumb sliding up through my wetness to rub against my clit.

It feels like electricity, jolting over my nerves. I cry out at his touch, gasping, my hips arching up desperately as he slides two fingers into me smoothly, rolling his thumb over my most sensitive spot until I feel like I'm going to come before he's even barely begun. I can't imagine anything feeling better, that there could be more than this.

And then he leans in, and his tongue replaces the pad of his thumb.

My vision narrows, the room swirling around me until I squeeze my eyes tight, my entire body shuddering with ripples of pleasure as he slides the firm, wet heat of his tongue over my clit. I hear myself crying out, my legs splaying open as I arch upwards again and again, grinding shamelessly on his mouth as I ride his tongue to a climax. I'm not even sure when the orgasm begins, if I'm actually coming, or if the pleasure is that intense, but it doesn't seem to end. It rolls over me in ceaseless waves as his tongue laps at my clit, his fingers working inside of me, and my hands fist in the sheets as I cry out his name.

And then I feel his fingers curl inside of me as he adds a third, a sudden weight building deep in my abdomen and unfurling, and I scream as the orgasm hits me.

Everything blurs. I feel his hand on my hip and his tongue lashing at my sensitive flesh, fluttering, licking, the strokes of his fingers inside of me as he keeps going through my climax, the pleasure so intense that it's almost unbearable. I want him to stop, because it's too much, and I don't want him to stop, because it could never be enough. I never want to leave this bed. I never knew it could be this good, and I want to do this forever. I'm writhing under him, riding his tongue as I buck against his face, and I'm still shuddering with pleasure when I hear him murmur my name.

"Gia."

I open my eyes to see him leaning over me, one hand against the pillow next to my head now, the other on my hip. I feel his knee between my legs, his cock laying heavy and hot against my stomach as he waits for me to come to my senses, his face taut with need.

"Salvatore," I whisper his name, and his expression contorts, his hand flexing on my hip. It shifts, moving between us, and I moan softly.

"I need to be inside you," he whispers, his voice choked with desire. "Are you ready for that, tesoro? Do you want my cock in you?"

I nod breathlessly, hooking my ankles around him, winding myself around his body as I spread my legs for him. "Please," I choke out, tipping my chin up to look at him, and Salvatore groans as he angles the thick head of his cock against my entrance.

I'm soaking wet, soft, and open from the orgasms, and he's still an impossibly tight fit as he begins to push into me. He sucks in a sharp breath the moment his swollen tip slips inside, gritting his teeth, his eyes closing as his muscles tense and he shudders.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, his reaction bringing a sudden clarity through the fog of pleasure, and Salvatore nods.

"You feel so good, tesoro," he breathes, his hand fisting in the pillow next to my head. "I could come right now, you feel so fucking good. So wet and tight, wrapped around me—" He groans, his hips twitching, pushing him deeper, and I moan in response at the feeling of him filling me up, arching upwards for more. "God, I need to come?—"

He leans forward, his mouth crushing against mine as he kisses me hard, and I taste myself on his lips as his hips snap forward. He sinks into me to the hilt, the taut flesh of his pelvis rubbing against my oversensitive clit, and I moan into the kiss as I writhe under him. He holds himself very still for a moment, his head turning to break the kiss and bury his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder as he breathes me in, his mouth moving over my skin.

"I need to fuck you," he groans. "I can't wait any longer?—"

I reach up, wrapping my arms around him, my fingers curling into the hard muscles of his shoulders. "Then don't," I whisper, and I feel him shudder against me.

He pulls back, looking down at me as he starts to slide back, every inch of his cock rubbing against my sensitive nerves. The look on his face is something close to awe as his gaze trails down the length of my body, all the way to where his cock is buried inside of me, and I see his eyes darken as he takes in the sight. His hands slide up my thighs, unwrapping my legs from his as he pushes them back, holding my knees nearly to my chest as he looks down at where we're joined.

"You're mine, tesoro," he rasps, his hips beginning to move as he pushes into me again. "My wife. My treasure. Mine."

"Yes," I whisper, my voice breaking on another jolt of pleasure as he sinks into me, and starts to slide out again, all the way to the tip as he rubs himself inside of me, small strokes back and forth. "I'm yours, Salvatore. All yours."

He groans, yanking my legs up over his shoulders before surging forward, his lips claiming mine again. All pretense of trying to go slow vanishes, his hips thrusting against me in a hard, ceaseless rhythm as his mouth claims mine, each jolt of his body against mine pushing me closer to another orgasm. "Come for me again," he groans against my lips, rolling his hips against me so he rubs against my clit, his cock buried deeply inside of me. "Come one more time, tesoro, and I'll give you what you want. I'll fill you up with my cum, dolce."

That alone tips me over the edge. He rocks against me once more, pushing himself deeper, his tongue tangling with mine as I feel him throbbing inside of me. I know he's so close to the edge, and I moan into the kiss, my nails biting into his shoulders as I arch into him and let myself go flying over the precipice of pleasure once more.

I feel myself tighten around him, rippling down the length of his cock as I come, crying out his name against his mouth. My back arches, and I gasp, moaning with a sound that's almost a sob as the pleasure tears through me, ripping me apart at the seams. It feels like nothing I ever imagined. I never thought anything could feel as good as this, as I come hard on Salvatore's cock, his mouth against my ear, whispering soft words in Italian as I cling to him through my orgasm.

The moment the waves of pleasure start to ebb, he pulls back, his gaze fixed between us as he pulls out of me. I nearly protest, wanting him to come inside, but I watch as he grabs my ankles in one hand, pushing my legs back as he fists his cock in hard, urgent strokes with the tip pressed against my pulsing entrance.

"Oh god, Gia—" he moans my name, hips twitching, and then his jaw tightens, his hand flexing as his entire body goes taut. "Oh fuck?—"

I feel the first hot spurt of his cum against my swollen, sensitive pussy. I look down to see the second spurt splash hotly over my clit, and my body jerks at the sensation, another sharp wave of pleasure bursting over me as he pushes himself roughly inside of me. He pushes his cum into me along with his cock, his hips thrusting hard as he sinks into me all the way, the heat of his cum filling me as I feel his cock spasming. His head tips back as he thrusts, his hand hard around my ankles, his muscles flexing as he groans my name aloud.

It feels so fucking good. Salvatore shudders, moaning once more as he rocks against me, his eyes finally opening as he looks down at my trembling, flushed body underneath his.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice a hoarse rasp. "That was?—"

I nod speechlessly, still shaking and breathless from the aftershocks. He reaches down as he lets go of my ankles, letting my legs drop and fall open on either side of him. I moan with startled, surprised pleasure as he sweeps two fingers over my clit, gathering the cum clinging to my skin. And then, I watch as his cock slides free, and he presses his thumb down on my clit as he pushes his two fingers inside of me, getting every last drop of his cum inside along with them.

Salvatore leans in, his tongue sweeping over my lips as he claims my mouth in one more hard searing kiss, his thumb working my clit as he fucks his cum into me with his fingers, sliding them free only to gather up whatever is left on my pussy and push it deeper still. "Come for me again, tesoro," he demands. "Make sure you take all of my cum."

I gasp against his mouth, so exhausted I can hardly move, but my body effortlessly obeys his commands. I feel myself clench around his fingers, my oversensitive clit throbbing under his touch, and I come once more for him, moaning his name as he leans into me, the warm weight of his body enveloping me.

"Good girl," Salvatore murmurs against my lips, and I whimper, clenching around him once more as he slips his fingers free. He chuckles softly, rolling to one side as he tugs the blankets down, his arm going around me to pull me into the curve of his body. He's warm, and the feeling of his arms around me makes me feel safe for the first time in so long.

I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined Salvatore Morelli snuggling me. But he holds me against his chest, tucking the blankets in around us, and I feel my eyes growing heavy with sleep. I feel wrung out from pleasure, warm and comfortable, and in that moment, I feel sure that I never want to leave this bed.

I feel hopeful, I think, as my eyes start to drift shut. I like the side of Salvatore that I saw today. I enjoyed our entire day together, and I enjoyed what happened after, too. If every day could be like this, I think, I could be happy.

It's the last thought I have before I fall asleep on his chest.