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I begin to orgasm, when Roman pulls away. A second later, he slams his cock into me, and I tip over the edge once more. He fucks me through my first orgasm and into a second, then a third. I cling to his shoulders, meeting him thrust for thrust. Our bodies grow slick with sweat.
Roman curls his fingers around my throat, staring deep into my eyes. “You’re my wife.Mine.”
His back arches, hips jerk, and he pumps my pussy full of cum. I scream as I come with him.
“I love you,” I tell him in my dazed state. I mean it, I can feel the truth in my words all the way down in my soul. I’m in love with Roman De Luca, my husband, the man who stole me from another.
Roman buries his face where my neck meets my shoulder. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters.
I frown. That’s not exactly the declaration of love I’m seeking.
What if, after everything, Roman really is incapable of love?
CHAPTER22
Roman
We spent three days in Versailles before heading to Paris for the rest of our honeymoon. I’ve taken Sophia out to dine at the Eiffel Tower, shopping along the Champs Élysées, treated her to a spa day, and fucked her so many times I’ve lost count.
I haven’t been this relaxed and happy in so long, I’d forgotten what it feels like. Maybe I never truly knew. Sophia makes me come alive in ways I didn’t realize I was missing. Making her laugh, seeing her smile, watching her eyes light up with wonder brings me way more satisfaction than it should. I live to make her happy. I thrive on her enjoyment.
So much so that I can’t wait to tell her where we’re going today. I want to see her face light up, the adoration in her eyes when she looks at me, and be the one who puts that smile on her gorgeous face.
“Breakfast arrived,” I tell her when she exits the bathroom, her hair already dried, her body clad in a silk robe that leaves little to the imagination. “Come sit on my lap, wife.”
Her chocolate brown eyes shimmer with lust as he sashays over to me and perches across my thighs. Securing her on my lap, I tear off a piece of croissant, hover the offering in front of her lips, and wait for her to open up. When she obeys the silent command, I feed her the buttery morsel.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
The lust in her eyes intensifies and her pupils dilate. I’m half tempted to ditch my plan and spend the day in bed with her instead. We’ve done that twice so far—spent the entire day and night locked in our room, worshiping each other’s bodies, only taking breaks to eat and shower.
We have five days left and I think we’ve seen enough of Paris. Tomorrow we’ll stay in. I’m going to fuck her so good she can’t walk, and the very idea of leaving this hotel room never enters her mind for the rest of our stay.
But today’s plan is a must.
I feed her another piece of pastry, then say, “We’re going to the Louvre.”
Her eyes widen. She chews and swallows before replying. “We?But you hate art. And that’s all you’ll find at the Louvre. I can go on my own, it’s okay.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I growl. “I’m taking my wife to the Louvre. Don’t argue with me.”
“Okay,” she gives in. A shy grin forming on her lips. “Thank you!”
With a much too chaste kiss on my lips, she bounds from my lap and into our room to get ready.
Satisfaction and excitement grow like a tumor in my gut. I love pleasing my wife.
* * *
“Where is everyone?” Sophia asks as we enter the Louvre Museum. Normally this place is crawling with tourists, screaming children, and other distractions. But not today.
“Elsewhere.” I chuckle at her bewildered expression.
“Roman, this place looks closed. Are they under construction or something?”
“No. They are closed to everyone except for us. We have the Louvre all to ourselves for the day.”
She stops me with a hand on my arm. “Wait. You booked theentire museumfor us? How? It’s a public venue.”
