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Not sex. Not fucking. Making love.
Rio’s muscles flex beneath me, and he stands, bringing me up with him with seeming ease despite the extra weight I’m carrying. He slides his hands underneath my ass cheeks, his finger tips dancing along my seam in a teasing caress. I am wet for him, and I’m sure he can feel the damp heat through my panties. I wrap my legs around his waist and cling tightly to his neck as he carries me downstairs and into the cabin below.
He places me on my feet on the luxurious rug and turns toward the large, soft couch. I lament the distance between us, but before I can lunge forward and pull him back to me, he has adjusted the cushions to make space on the couch, then turns back to face me.
With one smooth maneuver, he bends, lifts my dress up and over my head, and then hooks his fingers into my panties and rips them in half. I gasp at the violence of his action, but it ramps up my desire tenfold.
“Better,” he growls, then falls backward onto the couch, dragging me with him. “Now you may straddle me properly.”
I position a knee each side of his thighs on the couch and prepare to grind on the bulge in his trousers, but then pause. “Unfasten your trousers, Rio.”
“You’re commanding me?”
“I am. Do it.” Then I spoil the effect by adding, “Please?”
To my surprise, he does as I ask, also removing his shirt at the same time, and his huge and ready flesh springs free.
A strangled gasp escapes me. I imagined this very scenario in the dark and lonely moments of the night in Cleveland; his beautiful tanned chest beneath my exploring fingertips, the hard heat of his cock sliding into my ready channel. The erotic dreams staved off the loneliness so many times.
And now he’s here, beneath me, and it’s all real. The scent of him, the sound of his groan as I flick a fingernail over one of his tight little nipples. The musky, sexy smell that is all Rio lifts up into the air, surrounding me.
I sink down onto his flesh, allowing him to guide me, pausing as the head of his organ breaches me, and sighing in utter bliss when he slides all the way in. “It feels so good, Rio. So good.”
“Fuck.”
“Fuck…good?” I can’t articulate more than that.
I rock my pelvis, and he thrusts upward, his flesh gliding back and forth inside me as if we fit perfectly.
“Fuck, it’sfuckinggood.” His words are strangled, his voice hoarse, and I begin to move faster, the knowledge that he is as affected by this as me sending me soaring close to the edge almost immediately.
It won’t be long, not this time. And as I rock and ride my husband, I beg him to let me come.
“Please, Rio. Please. I can’t bear to hold back any longer. Please…”
“Yes, Bianca. Yes! Come.Now! Rightnow!”
The order bursts out of him, and I let myself fall, exploding into a million pieces, screaming out as I come around his cock. His roars fill my ears, and his hot seed spills inside of me, and I fall forward against his chest and lose myself in the brief unconsciousness of pure ecstasy.
* * *
Something changesbetween Rio and me on the yacht, and it isn’t the fact that he has done something I know is completely out of character and gifted me the opportunity of building an animal rescue.
Nor is it the fact that our lovemaking has become exactly that. Making love, as he said. Not fucking. Not anymore.
The change comes from something deeper, more fundamental, than either of those things. Something at my core that recognizes that, for better or worse, we are meant to be together for however long we have in this world.
I married him because he gave me no choice. I fell for him against my will, calling it Stockholm Syndrome in my thoughts to make sense of the push-pull, love-hate connection. But the truth is more basic. We were enemies, opposites in every way. It didn’t matter. We fell in love. Neither of us expected it, but it happened.
I don’t know how this is going to play out in the future, but I have to stay and try to make it work. And if I can be his moral compass, in any way, then I will. He joked about that, but I will take it as my mission to subdue that darkness inside of him.
If I can. If it is possible in this Mafia world in which we inhabit.
When we return from the yacht trip, I assume I’ll be sent back down to my dungeon. But that isn’t the case. While we’ve been out on the water, rediscovering each other in a physical way, Rio has had my things brought up from below and placed in the suite next to his on the upper floor of the estate.
The connecting door between our suites remains open, and I am happy with that arrangement. At least for now. I want to see if it is possible for us to live more like a real husband and wife, or if this boating afternoon we’ve just had, away from everyone else, was simply a beautiful anomaly that can’t be sustained.
Over the next several weeks, he is away from the estate during the day, presumably attending to business in the city, but at night, he returns and is an attentive husband. We make love most nights when I’m up to it, and on those nights when the tiredness of my advancing pregnancy hits, I curl into his arms and sleep, feeling loved and protected when he holds me.
