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My pussy clenches at the memory, fresh heat gathering between my thighs. I try to distract myself by applying lotion, but that turns out to be a spectacularly bad idea when every stroke of my own hands reminds me of his.
By the time I’m done, I’m so turned on I’m practically panting.
I have half a mind to march into Domenico’s office and demand that he… no, wait. The memory of my shopping trip with Carly hits me like a spark of genius, and an idea takes shape. I’d bought several sets of lingerie on that shopping trip, all of them hidden in the bottom drawer of the dresser.
Grinning, I stride into the bedroom and open the drawer. I pull out each set so I can study them. In the end, I decide on a light blue set with fabric so thin it’s almost translucent. Lace, strategic cutouts, and thin straps cross over my body in a pattern designed to highlight rather than conceal.
As I step into it, the lace settles against my skin like a whisper, cool and delicate. I adjust the straps until everything sits where it’s supposed to.
My breasts are pushed together, the cutout between them framing my cleavage. The bottom half clings to my hips, the lace scalloped along the edges, and there’s another cutout just below my navel that exposes a strip of skin down to where the fabric meets my pussy.
I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. Not because I look different. Because I feel different.
The last time I waited for Domenico in this bedroom, I had no idea what would happen when he finally walked through the door. I remember the nerves. The uncertainty. The feeling that I’d somehow ended up inside a life that belonged to everybody except me.
Tonight, I know exactly what I want.
Smiling at my reflection, I climb onto the bed and position myself almost exactly the way I remember from that first night. The similarity makes something warm unfurl inside my chest. Back then, waiting for Domenico felt like having my sentence handed down.
Tonight, it feels like foreplay.
And unlike on our wedding night, I have a way to contact him now.
Grabbing my phone, I open the camera and snap a few pictures. Once I have one I’m satisfied with, I open my text messages and pull up my thread with Domenico, or ‘Daddy’ as he’s named in my contacts.
I attach the photo and type out a quick message.
Me
Stop making me wait, Daddy.
Then I hit send and set the phone down, and wait.
The bedroom door opens less than two minutes later, and Domenico fills the doorway. “My naughty wife,” he rasps as he walks in and slams the door behind him.
His eyes are dark, almost black in the low light. Heat pulses between my thighs at the intensity in his gaze as he drinks me in. His eyes travel from my feet to my face and back again, slow and deliberate, and when his gaze lands on the cutout between my breasts, his jaw tightens.
“Fuck, baby.” That’s all he says. Two words, rough and low, and then he’s moving toward me.
Usually, that look is enough to make me stop caring what happens next because I know I’ll enjoy whatever he does to me. A lot. Tonight, though, I already know what I want, and if he gets his hands on me now, there’s no chance I’ll stick to the plan.
“Stop.”
The word leaves me before I can overthink it, and to my surprise, he does. Huh. The great Domenico DeLuca actually stopped because I told him to. One could get used to that.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Something you want to say?”
A grin pulls at my mouth. “Sit down.”
He quirks an eyebrow, and for a second, I’m convinced he’s going to remind me which one of us usually gives the orders around here. Instead, something wicked flickers across his face.
“Feeling brave tonight, wife?”
“Very.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. My pulse jumps as excitement spreads through my veins. I slide off the mattress and step between his spread knees, suddenly very aware of how little the lingerie covers. Domenico’s gaze drops to my breasts, then lower, and his hands start to rise.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Daddy,” I purr, batting my lashes as I look up at him.
