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His arm came under the nape of my neck and the other over at my waist, hugging me now that I was subdued. “You love wine and you mentioned wanting to visit Italy,” he murmured. “I figured I’d take you there for your birthday…and a late honeymoon trip.”
That rendered me speechless.
“Why are you all quiet?” He smoothed a thumb over my eyebrow, down my temple, and behind my ear, severing the last remnants of my composure with his tender gesture.
I got all choked up. “You shouldn’t have, Zeno.”
My husband observed me the way you would a priceless artifact in a museum, rubbing the diamond teardrop earring in my lobe. “I wanted to. I love…I love the way you smile and the way your eyes light up whenever I gift you something.”
My heart swelled until the iron gates caging my organ flooded open with an outpouring of the evocative emotion known as love. It lighted the omphalos of my being like a rich, opalescent sky and filled my palate with the redolence of cherry martini. It sluiced through my veins like a shot of euphoria, akin to the first crack of leather against skin and the first drops of warm candle wax between the valley of my breasts. Love rippled through the roots of my hair and down to my curled toes like a wave until I felt like I was walking on water.
The curse clutching my bloodline in a vice-like grip dissolved to cinder and the girl destined to never find love found it.
I fell in love with Zeno Gianni De la Croix, my husband and the other half of my soul.
“Thank you,” I whispered with a ragged quality. My tied hands plumed over his jaw. “For always thinking about me. I love…I love the way you always put me first.”
“I will always put you first, for you are the most important thing in my life, Darla.”
His words veneered my insides with warm honey.
I was his first priority.
One day I was going to pay back every nice thing this man had ever done for me in spades. I swore it on my life.
Zeno returned to his call and we watched each other like we were committing every detail to memory. We did that often when lying in bed and tracing invisible lines on each other’s bodies.
The first time I saw my husband, he resembled a deity.
My very own Hades, who stole and dragged me to the underworld. A lonely kingdom for two kindred souls. A place for us to rule and flourish and create life for many seasons to come.
If I had known all those months ago this was what awaited me on the other side, I would have grasped his hand on the first night and pleaded with him to whisk me away.
My husband reached into the bowl for a string of grapes and dangled it above me like a peace offering. A cold, juicy berry from the bunch trickled over my lips. I bit into its skin, tartness and sweetness exploding over my taste buds.
Zeno combed his fingers through my long hair and fed me like a humble servant would a lazy goddess, watching my jaw flex every time I took a grape into my mouth with a deviant smirk of his own.
There was something erotic about lying in your husband’s lap, timeless music playing in the background, the nostalgic glow of a fire warming the ambiance, while he slaked your hunger and stared at you like you were the answer to all his prayers.
I grew even more insatiable when his tattooed hand sneaked down to tug aside my deep plunge neckline so both my breasts spilled free. I sucked on a grape and moaned when his blunt fingers pinched my nipples.
“Finish every bite like a good girl.” He squeezed my tit. “You’re going to need the energy for how hard I’m about to work you.”
“Zeno.”
“I’m listening, baby.Dis-moi ce que tuveux.” He massaged my breasts, feeling the weight of the heavy globes in his hands. “Dimmi quello che vuoi.So I can give it to you.”
The huskiness in his voice misted over my skin like holy water. There was no sanctifying me. One taste of the dark side and I was a convert. I may be his angel, but I was thoroughly corrupted. Sick and twisted. Just like him.
“Je te veux.” My shackled hands snaked down to push my dress up to my waist, baring everything below for his ravenous gaze. “Içi.”
I want you. Here. Inside ofme.
He smirked without humour, wolfing down the sight of my bare pussy. “After my meeting, Mrs. De la Croix.”
If this was another one of his lessons, I was going to fail it.
Nonetheless, I finished every grape he handfed me while he spoke to his business associate like I wasn’t minutes from unravelling. Last night, he put me on my knees and lounged on his throne, demanding I pillow his cock with my tits and jack him off. My husband was recalling every instant of that lustful tryst if the telltale tick in his jaw was anything to go by.
