W-Wait!
I suddenly remember that I’ve gotten older. Like twenties-to-forties older, and of course that means my body’s changed, and what if he doesn’t realize that—
Nicolo cups my face, and it’s just like before. It’s like he hears my thoughts. Or maybe he just knows me...because he loves me.
“Stop thinking,moglie mia.”
His voice is rougher than I've ever heard it, and the accent he's spent eighteen years hiding is in every word now, and my toes are curling at the sound of him.
“It makes me feel I am doing a bad job at driving you crazy.”
His words catch me off guard, I didn’t...I never thought it that way, but when I open my mouth to apologize, I don’t get the chance to speak. The moment my lips part, Nicolo takes advantage, and his tongue slips in, tasting and claiming me, and all my thoughts finally fade, passion sweeping me up like a tidal wave.
Even breathing becomes a challenge as he finds—
RIIIP.
I have my answer, I think dazedly. He's a ripper, since he's just torn the sweater off me.
“Never ever wear something again that's from another man,” he grits out against my mouth, “or you will really not like the consequences.”
How does he know?!
I want to ask him. I intend to. But when his mouth leaves mine, I end up whimpering instead of speaking, because he turns out to be both. A ripper and an unbuttoner. His fingers have found the buttons of my blouse, and he's undoing them so, so slowly.
He's taking his sweet time.
Like he really wants me to lose my mind.
One...button...at...a...a...aaah!
The blouse falls to the floor. I don't even have time to cover myself, because he's already unclipping the front clasp of my bra, and he's...he's really good at this.
I can't guess when he's going to be slow or fast. Ripper or unbuttoner. All I know is that one moment, I'm still covered. And the next moment, I'm completely exposed to my husband's gaze.
And I just start crying.
Because the way he's looking at me...
The eighteen years were harder for him.
Because he did what he did, I really was able to just walk away. Never look back. Move on with my life.
But it wasn't the same for him.
Because he knew the truth. He waited for me all those eighteen years. Loved me all those eighteen years. And the moment the danger was over, the danger he refused to let reach me even if it meant turning himself into a bad guy in my eyes—
Oh, my love.
The hunger, the reverence in his eyes...
I feel like I don't deserve this at all. But I have no chance to tell him that, because he's kissing me again, this time with all the hunger that's grown in all those eighteen years.
I don't know if he's taking me or I'm giving myself to him.
It feels like both.
Like he's surrendering all of himself to me and I'm taking everything because he's mine, too.