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I’ve decided to dress up a little. Well, a little more than the last few days when I’ve walked around almost naked. It had seemed ridiculous to be putting on clothes when all Michael would do was to pull them off. He, himself, had taken to wearing a pair of shorts that he’d pulled out from the clothes that had been there in the closet.
While he is off setting the table, I take in the dress I’ve chosen. He’s refused to let me cook in all the time that we’ve been here. Which is good, considering my cooking skills are nowhere close to the level of expertise he’s showed. The man is not only good in the bedroom, but also in the kitchen… How the hell have I gotten so lucky, eh?
This dress is one of the few I had packed when I left his home—an alternative version of my wedding dress that I had stitched before I’d left. It's in the form of a sheath with the skirt cut high over one thigh and low at the breast line. The dress is sleeveless with halter neck that I've tied around my neck, leaving most of my back bare.
It’s the kind of dress that could be worn for a formal occasion but would look as good on a beach. There had been so much material I hadn't used for my wedding dress that I had managed to cut a second dress from it. I consider my light make-up—just eyeliner and lipstick; it hadn’t felt like I needed anything more for this evening—then turn and head out to the patio.
In the kitchen, I find Andy already eating his food. The cat seems to have taken to Michael a lot more than when we had been in his house. Guess he really does know who is responsible for the food he is getting here.
I walk toward the patio, then pause when I see the table laid for two. There are plates, silverware, even starched white napkins, and a bottle of prosecco chilling in a bucket. Beyond that, the sea forms the perfect background.
"Wow," I breathe as heat envelops me. I lean back and into his hard chest, and Michael wraps his arm around my waist.
"Like it?"
"I love it," I say simply, then turn to face him. "I love you."
He glances down at me and his lips kick up in a real smile. "I…" he hesitates, "I know." He leans down to brush his lips over mine. The kiss is soft, tender… So different from the Capo I knew when we were in Italy.
Was he going to say 'I love you’? Why had he stopped himself? I open my mouth to ask, and he thrusts his tongue inside. He deepens the kiss, and all thoughts drain from my mind. I press into him, revel in the hardness of his sculpted chest, the thickness between his thighs that reveals how much he wants me.
He must love me. All of his actions say so. So what, if he hasn’t said those three words to me yet?
He seems to tear his mouth away with reluctance, his breathing heavy, color flushing his cheeks. "Cazzo," he growls, "I can’t get enough of you."
"Then don’t," I lean up on my tiptoes, wanting to kiss him.
He evades me. "First food," he counters.
"First sex," I insist.
"I’ve created a sex maniac!" He chuckles, "I can’t have you wasting away. Besides, you need your energy for when I am going to have my wicked way with you." He slaps my butt, then steps back, "Come on, sit down."
Once I am seated, he makes sure that my chair is pushed in properly. Then he opens the prosecco and pours out a glass for me and one for himself. He sits down and I raise my glass, "To us."
"To you," he clinks his glass with mine, "my sexy, smart wife whose darkness matches mine."
I laugh, "Only you’d compliment me on that."
He takes a sip of his prosecco, then glances at me, "It’s what attracted me to you. I saw you…and I knew there was something inside of you calling out to me. That you would be as depraved as me. That I could bare my soul to you and you wouldn’t be afraid."
"But I was," I take a sip from my glass, then peer up at him from under my eyelashes. "I was afraid that once I fell for you, I’d never be able to leave you."
"And that’s bad?"
I tilt my head, "I am still making up my mind about that."
"Now that, I hadn’t anticipated… That you’d turn out to be this bratty. Clearly, I haven’t been punishing you enough."
"Please, Daddy," I flutter my eyelashes, "will you spank me?"
His nostrils flare and his shoulders flex. He places his glass on the table, then rises to his feet. He walks around to tower over me. He holds my gaze as he lowers his head to mine, "Only if you ask me nicely."
Heat flushes my skin and my belly trembles. A gust of wind blows my hair across my cheek and he pushes it aside. His touch sends a pang of need shooting through my veins. I part my lips. He drops his gaze to my mouth, "And only after we’ve eaten."
He straightens and stalks away.
"Asshole," I yell after him and he laughs.
