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Then I licked his balls.
“Holy mother of God, woman!”
My hand worked his shaft while I kissed his pouch, just the way he used his tongue to kiss my outer lips. Then I switched my focus to the tip of his head, just like he did when he pulled my clit into his mouth.
My grandmother had always said to do unto others as you wanted them to do unto you.
So I do.
“Christ, I am going to come. You don’t have to swallow it…”
“I want to,” I said, with my mouth full. His hips jerked and I picked up the tempo, pulling him deeper into my mouth. That’s when I felt it. The first hot and salty drop hit my tongue. I gulped it down eagerly. Then a deluge.
I swallowed every bit of it. His hands were rough in my hair, his usual control gone, the pleasure overwhelming him.
I licked him clean, making sure nothing was left behind. Then I sat back and looked at him. He looked dazed. I smiled in satisfaction.
“That was fun,” I said. “I see why you like doing it to me.”
“Fun?” He growled, pulling me down beside him. I felt his shaft rise again. “I will show you fun.”
And for the next two hours, he did.
“We’re almost there,” Michael said, breaking me out of my reverie.
I leaned forward, barely recognizing the roads to the estate. Even though I had lived there for almost a year, I had only driven in once, and driven away once, the day I left for America. It simply was not safe for me to leave.
I felt a frisson of fear as we drove through the gates. I was safe here, I knew. But for how long? And I dreaded being trapped again, no matter how glorious the cage.
But this time was different. This time, I had Michael with me.
The children ran outside with their parents to greet us. I was surrounded in hugs and was given lots of wet baby kisses. Then I was swept inside and plied with wine and questions while the men walked around the house to the veranda out back.
“How did this happen?” Evie asked.
Frankie laughed.
“What she means is, how long did it take him to get you in bed?”
I blushed.
“Six weeks, I think. No. Seven.”
“You’re joking,” Evie chortled. “He must have been losing his mind!”
“I think maybe he was,” I agreed, laughing about it now. “But I had no idea!”
“Men can be sneaky about that stuff,” Frankie said wisely. “Especially if they really care. They try to hide it. Or even to make us jealous!”
“That would not have worked,” I said indignantly.
“You would be surprised,” Evie said, looking out towards the veranda. “I drove myself crazy thinking about all the women he had been with before me.”
“But none since,” Francesca said calmly. “They are far too busy keeping us satisfied to chase women,” she said with a wink.
“They are good men,” Evie agreed. “Michael is too. I never thought any woman would be able to drag him to the altar!”
“He dragged me,” I said with a laugh as our wine was refilled. I loved that about Italy. Family, friends, and vino were always in abundance.
We sat there laughing and talking while they told me the plans for another ceremony in a few days. I was so happy, the time passed without me noticing. It was nearly time for dinner when I finally stood and excused myself to freshen up. When I came back, I looked up to watch Michael through the broad windows, he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Michael
“You can’t come in with me,” I said again. “If something goes sideways, your wife will never forgive me.”
Vincent and Anthony had flipped a coin over who would drive me to the meet up. We had guards of course, and their third cousin on their mother’s side, young Joseph. But Vincent would not be coming into the meeting. I wouldn’t allow it.
“I am head of the family now, am I not?”
“In America, yes. Here? Don’t push your luck, cuz.”
“Alright, but this concerns my wife. Not yours. Let me handle it.”
He frowned but agreed. Vincent was a worried. It was one of the reasons he was so good at running the family.
“Fine, but you are taking half the men.”
“Fine.”
We hugged briefly and then parted ways. I walked into the villa with my shoulders back. They patted me down and removed my gun. I was cool, calm, and confident as I walked into the courtyard where men lounged in chairs, drinking wine and smoking.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Margarelli?” One of the old men asked. They knew where Theresa was, or where they thought she had been the entire time she was with me in America. But they didn’t dare bring that up.
So I did it for them.
“Theresa is my wife. She is a Margarelli.”
