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“And I promise you, you will always be the reason I will return.”
“But . . .”
“They tried to hurt you, tried to kill me . . . I can’t let that go.”
“I understand . . . I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
***
I thought I’d go ballistic, resting while my body recovers, but spending time with my wife as she spoils the shit out of me is pure heaven for the greatest sinner. I’m a lucky bastard. A loved one, too, and that fills me with renewed life. My life has worth, meaning for my woman, my guys, my family—for me. When my doctor clears me, I can fucking rain hell on my enemies after weeks of diligent planning.
“I love you.” Chiara trails her finger from my lips. “These are mine.” I nod. To my chest, “This is mine.” I nod again and gulp, my emotions high. “This is mine.” She cups my dick, and I shove myself in her palm. I need to feel her. She has been terrified to hurt me, but if I don’t get inside her, that will hurt more. And it’s my desperate plea that pushes her to finally give in.
I missed taking her, reconnecting our bodies that way. I undress her, and her perfect naked body shines in the moonlight. I kiss every inch of her perfectly smooth skin. Showing her I crave her, that I live for her, need her. I make love to her, our bodies molding together, skin slapping against skin. It has been an emotional few weeks.
I take my time, kissing her, tasting her, bringing her to orgasm. I have so much time to take her rough, but tonight, it’s about healing, and for a while, it will be just about that.
I slide into paradise and dive right back in. Her hands glide up and down my back and our mouths are locked together.
“I love you,” I say through kisses, and she smiles against my lips, whispering the same words back.
My name out of her mouth; it will always be just mine, she whispers, chants, moans.
When I wake up, I find her kissing the dressings on my wounds, eyes brimming with tears. This is killing me. An idea pops in my head. “Vita mia, get changed and bring lipstick with you.”
She does, and I drive to my tattoo artist.
“What are we doing here?”
“You’ll see.”
I can’t have my wife looking at the scars and being sad every time.
At the tattoo parlor, we’re in his office, and I unbutton my shirt, pointing at the scars grazing my chest.
“I want those covered.” He explains it’s too soon to tattoo over a scar, so we compromise. A temporary tattoo he’ll redo once he can tattoo over my scars.
He nods, waiting for me to give him an idea. I look at my beautiful wife and smile.
“My wife’s lips.”
She eyes me with so much adoration it lifts me off the ground. Doesn’t she know there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make her smile?
After she kisses the three spots, he gets to work.
“You’ll wear my lips on your skin.”
“I wear you in my heart, in my cells already, but it’s fitting. My body is a canvas to show all the ways I worship you.”
Chapter 39
This was coming, I tell myself, following him in the walk-in closet.
“I have some things to take care of first,” he says, getting dressed.
“Where?”
