2. Delphine

2

delphine

That night the kids are fast asleep when Salvatore makes me come so hard, I’m biting into the pillow to stifle my scream.

My pussy clamps down on his dick as my orgasm breaks over me in a hot wave of pleasure. Salvatore’s only a few deep pumps behind, his hips fast at work. He spreads my ass cheeks, watching his dick slipping in and out of my pussy until he can’t hold on any longer.

I moan feeling the warmth of his seed fill me up. The quake of his strong body as he loses control and collapses with me in the wrinkled sheets.

My husband wraps me up in his arms and kisses me all over, caught in a post-sex haze. I’m in the same dewy, blissful fog, kissing him back.

We’re in no rush, soaking up the little piece of alone time we get together.

During the day, we’re usually so involved with work and the kids that we don’t have much time for each other.

For just the two of us.

But the night time belongs to us.

“We need to stay like this forever,” Salvatore murmurs, pressing his lips to my throat. “Just the two of us. Nobody else.”

I smirk, shuddering at the feel of his kisses. Even the small ones. “Have you forgotten we have three beautiful babies? And you’re the don of a whole mafia organization?”

“Hmmm… but this feels so damn good.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“The nannies will look after our beautiful babies.”

“And the mafia organization?”

“Stitches… or somebody else has got it. I don’t fucking know. All I know is we need to keep practicing for beautiful baby number four.”

I erupt in laughter as he pulls me even closer and drops kisses up and down the column of my neck. He moves onto my shoulders and then chest.

After so many years of being together, one thing has remained the same about Salvatore—his appetite for me is never ending.

It’s been a real boost to my ego, especially postpartum, when I’ve had to adjust to a changing figure.

Salvatore doesn’t care. He found me beautiful and sexy when I was slim and trim and he couldn’t keep his hands off me when I was about to pop at nine months pregnant, my belly so big I couldn’t see my feet. When I was self-conscious about the tiger stripes on my body after pregnancy, he kissed each one and told me they only made me sexier.

They were proof of how I bore his children.

And though I’m aware of how he’s joking about staying in bed forever and letting the nanny raise our babies, I also know a part of him is serious about beautiful baby number four.

We settle against the pillows once he’s through kissing and groping my naked curves all over again. He lies beside me, his arm propped up, staring contently into my face as if we haven’t known each other for twenty years.

I fascinate him now as much as I did when we were teenagers.

I’m eyeing him in the same vein. I reach up and stroke his bearded jaw. “I was thinking we could take the kids to go see Santa this weekend.”

The glint dies out in his blue-green gaze. He goes from staring at me like I’m the moon in his night sky to a vacant expression that feels detached. “You and Sasha normally take all the kids together, don’t you? Bryce likes to go, and he and Dom are practically best pals.”

“That was the last two years. Because you were busy with work.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums. “And?”

“And you won’t be busy this year,” I point out, still stroking his beard tenderly. “You’ve said it yourself. All the business dealings have been sorted out and things’ll be slow ’til next year.”

“Phi…”

“Jon, the kids would love it if you came with us.”

“Dante doesn’t even know who or what Santa Claus is yet.”

“But Dom does. Rena does. You know your little girl, Jon. She’s going to want you there.”

“You mean your mini me?”

“I mean the adorable little girl you spoil rotten every chance you get.”

He grins, his eyes sparking again with genuine affection. “She deserves the best. Just like her mother.”

“So give her the best. Be there with her when she visits Santa Claus. She’s been too young to appreciate it the first two times. This year she’s four—she’ll be more excited,” I explain softly, scratching at his beard. I sense the change in his demeanor as his defenses fade. “We’ll make a family event out of it, with pictures.”

“Alright,” he concedes before pressing his lips to mine. “Alright, I’ll be there. But you know I’m not… I don’t do the festive stuff. It’s not…”

As he trails off, I wait patiently for him to sort through his mental block. If there’s been one area Salvatore has struggled with throughout our relationship, it’s been expressing himself and his emotions.

The emotions he sometimes suppresses.

He’s done the work to improve over the years, but there’s still times like these where he gets stuck. He gets lost in his own head or erects a wall to prevent himself from divulging things he’s programmed his mind never to say.

Usually, it has to do with his upbringing. His family.

…his father.

He almost never speaks about him. I don’t ever push him about it, understanding the complexity of the relationship they had.

But as Salvatore struggles to continue, I know it’s what’s on his mind.

Guilt niggles away at me, posing the question of whether Sasha’s right. Maybe I should accept the holidays will never be something Salvatore enjoys. He shouldn’t have to pretend simply because we have children now.

At the same time, another part of me aches for him. The fixer in me wants to help somehow. Heal the trauma that runs deep and show him the holidays can be given a new meaning. It doesn’t have to evoke the same terrible memories from his childhood.

New memories can be made; happy memories of us and the kids.

“I know you’re not a holiday person, Jon,” I say after his long pause. He leans back against the pillows as I curl into him. My hand slides up from the side of his jaw to his hair, my touches still soothing and gentle. “But you can talk about it with me. You can tell me. Maybe… maybe it’ll help to get it out.”

“What else is there to say, Phi, but it’s the same shit? The holidays were just like any other day in the Mancino household. Just with a Christmas tree and some bright lights strung up. It didn’t stop him from popping me in the mouth and making me spit up my own blood.”

“He was a weak man exerting himself over his wife and son.”

“I know that already. Doesn’t mean I’ve got to like Christmas... or any other holiday.”

“Jon—”

“I’m gonna head downstairs and check in with security,” he interrupts, sliding his arm out from under me. He gets up out of bed and slides into his pair of sweatpants but remaining shirtless. “You get ready for bed without me. I might be a while.”

“But, Jon?—”

“Get some rest.” He drops a kiss on my brow before he’s at the door within a few quick steps.

I don’t even have a chance to utter another word. The door snaps shut, and I find myself sitting up alone in bed, with only the sheet to cover myself.

A slow sigh puffs out of me.

I hadn’t meant to upset Salvatore. I was only trying to get him to talk through his aversion to the holidays.

But it seems like maybe I did more harm than good.

“I have to find a way to make this time of year better for him,” I whisper. “But it’s not going to be through words. It’s got to be through actions. I’ve got to show him how it can be.”