I dropped my shorts, then moved over her, my dick anxious to drill into her velvety-soft flesh. My hands tugged on her hips, and I adjusted her underneath me, her head on the pillow, her hands on my forearms, and her eyes on my big dick like she wanted it bad.
Her diamond ring flashed every time she made the slightest movement, a flawless gemstone I couldn’t get on the island but had to have shipped from Paris because I wanted her to have the best of the best.
I hooked my arms behind her knees, and I tilted her back as I made my way between her thighs, my dick so excited to be in a place I’d already claimed in my name at least a hundred times. My dick found her entrance, and I sank inside with the least resistance I’d ever felt because she was so fucking wet.
Like that ring turned her the fuck on.
I moaned when I entered her balls-deep, my dick’s home for the rest of my life, my oasis between her legs, my heaven on earth. I wanted totake it slow and savor the growing heat, but fuck, I was turned the hell on and unable to control myself.
She didn’t seem to want it slow either, her nails scratching into my arms and down my chest, moaning when she felt every inch of me and didn’t wince at all as I gave it all to her. Instead of making love, we fucked like we had the night we met, like we just couldn’t stop, caught up in the sweat, heat, and desire.
This was how I wanted to fuck my wife the rest of our lives.
Our kid would be asleep down the hallway or at school during the day, oblivious to the two animals they had as parents fucking each other’s brains out.
“Con ...” She couldn’t say my full name, not when I made her scream when she came, when I made her nails cut into my skin because she gripped my arms so hard.
“Fuck, sweetheart.”
My mother was the first person we told. We went to the restaurant together and showed her the ring in the back office. Her scream was so loud it almost shattered the glass in the front window. There were tears when she hugged both of us, and she cupped my cheeks and looked at me like she’d never been prouder of me.
It felt good to bring home someone she loved. If she hadn’t liked Aurelia, it wouldn’t have changed anything, but it meant the world to me that she did. Meant the world that my mother already loved her like a daughter.
My family had been broken ever since Edric died, and for the first time, it felt healed.
We’d been excited when Beatrice settled down and had her two boys, but after that asshole of a husband abandoned his family, it caused so much duress among the family that a new fracture formed. I pitied my sister, andmy mom was a second away from pulling out a gun and hunting down Beatrice’s ex. The dust eventually settled, but it wasn’t the same.
This felt different.
Medusa was officially out of her cast and running around again. Not with the same speed and strength as before, probably because she was still getting used to having full control of her body again. The leg would probably bother her from time to time for the rest of her life, but at least she had her life back.
Now when we came home, she ran across the house to greet us, to rub her snout in our hands and then follow us to the other side of the house. Aurelia kneeled down to pet her and hug her even though we’d only been out of the house for a few hours, so I excused myself and stepped into the office.
I sat behind the desk and made a call. It rang a couple times before someone answered. “Alberto, the office of the papacy. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Alberto. It’s Con. His Holiness around for a chat?”
He covered the phone and seemed to speak with someone in the background before he came back to me. “I’ll transfer you. It’ll probably be a five-minute hold.”
“Yeah, I’m used to it.”
He put me on hold, and I had to listen to ridiculous opera music while I waited. I got tired of holding the phone to my ear, so I put it on speaker and set it on the desk as I waited. I stared at the pictures on the wall and regretted the fact that I’d never gotten those explicit photos of Aurelia as a trophy for my walls.
I still wanted them, but with a little one on the way, perhaps that wasn’t a good idea anymore.
Pope Zephyrinus spoke over the line. “My son, how are you?”
I took the phone off speaker and put it to my ear. “I’m well. How about you?”
There was a pause, like he didn’t know how to answer the question, but after the beat, he found his bearing. “Life is good—and so is God.”
“Yeah, ain’t that the truth,” I said. “I had a favor to ask, Uncle.”
“Name it.”
“I asked Aurelia to marry me, and I’d love for you to marry us.” I hadn’t thought about marriage that deeply, but toward the end of my time in Rome, I’d assumed I would get married at Saint Peter’s Basilica in a private ceremony with just us and the pope. But now, that dream was beyond my reach because it existed outside my borders.
“Constantine, that’s wonderful news. I’m very happy for you.”
