Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I orgasm a little just from his words. My pussy pulses in time with my heartbeat, my clit throbs with need. Empty, empty. My pussy feels so empty. I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard, even with his hectic thrusts.
“Enough. I need you underneath me.” He grasps my upper arms and lifts me to his chest, holding me against him and kissing my damp head. He strokes down my naked back, cupping and kneading my ass.
He pushes me backward, onto the bed. Crawling over me, he pins my arms up by my head. I arch, lifting my lips and moaning wantonly.
“You want me to fuck you properly?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I moan.
“I’ll pound into that greedy little pussy until you can’t walk straight,” he warns.
“Oh God.” I struggle against his grasp on my wrist, thrust my pussy toward his cock. “Do it now, Carlo.”
A smile glimmers. “After your clit torture.” He releases my wrists and crawls down between my legs, wrapping his arms around my thighs to hold them open. He licks and flicks, sucks and nibbles at my clit until I writhe in agony, desperate for release. I know it probably serves to give him time to get hard again after his climax, but it seems so cruel when I’m desperate for him.
“Penetration. I need you inside me. Oh please, Carlo, why won’t you fuck me?”
He chuckles. “I will definitely fuck you, bambina. I can’t wait to feel your hot little cunt squeezing my cock.”
“Now, Carlo.”
“Up on your knees and forearms,” he commands. Grasping my hips, he buries his cock in one deep stroke, but there’s no pain. I’m long past wet and ready. I’m the slip-and-slide at the waterpark, and he’s pumping into me, the slick sounds of our contact accented with the smack of flesh against flesh.
He thrusts into me hard, ruthlessly. He bends my wrists behind my back and grips my elbows for leverage, giving me the feeling of a forced sex act.
My eyes roll back in my head. Even before my orgasm, I rocket to outer space, losing all rational thought, all coherency, flying higher and higher until he cracks me open, and I explode into pure sensation—ripples of release, even more gushing fluid, the endless squeezing of my muscles around his cock.
He gives a shout and finds his own finish, buried balls deep, pushing me down to my belly, where he covers me like a blanket.
“Mine,” he murmurs.
“Yours.”
He eases out of me eventually and gathers me up into his arms. “Marry me, principessa.” His stare is intent. Loaded. “We’ll get you a ring tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
His face breaks into a smile.
“Si?”
“Si. Yes, I will marry you, Carlo Romano.”
“Soon. I want to marry you soon. No long engagement and a year’s worth of planning.”
“Afraid I’ll change my mind?”
He grins. “Maybe. A little. Or maybe I’m sick of waiting. It’s been four years.”
My eyes fill with tears, and once again, I wonder how I could have missed this miraculous affection he held for me.
He cups my face and strokes his thumb along my cheek with a tenderness, a reverence. “I love you, Summer LaTorre.”
“And I love you.”
Chapter 17
Carlo
I stand in front of the hotel mirror and tie the bowtie on my tuxedo. I checked into the honeymoon suite before the wedding to bring up our suitcases and put the 1988 Moet and Chandon Dom Perignon on ice for later.
I pick up the boutonniere—a pale pink rose—and pin it on my lapel. Summer chose pink roses as her wedding flower because that’s what I always bring her. Not wanting to disappoint, I had the suite filled with dozens of them and petals scattered on the bed, across the counter of the sink and in the tub.
I check my phone. It’s early, but there’s nothing left to do. I might as well head to the church where I can greet the early arrivals. I pick up my keys and head to the elevator. We were lucky enough to nab a reception hall at the Ritz Carlton, thanks to a last-minute cancellation. Normally the hotel is booked nine months out.
Carmen was disappointed about the short engagement, but Summer was perfectly serene in facing down her mother. Actually, she’s perfectly serene in general. Any last misgivings I had about her not really loving me, only needing me, evaporated as I’ve watched a quiet happiness bloom in her.
Not even the stress of wedding planning bothered her—she approached it all with enthusiasm. Carmen wanted things big and fancy, and Summer had her own ideas, but they found ways to compromise.
Her career shifted, too. All on her own, she picked up several teaching gigs, working mostly with children, and she plans to finish business school and then to apply to a Master’s program in Dance/Movement Therapy at Columbia.
In the car, I remove my gun and holster and stash it in the glove box. I’ve worn a gun in church before, but at my own wedding, it seems wrong. My bride shouldn’t have to be reminded of the danger in my life on the day she commits to make a life with me.