by L Neil
I look to Seamus and ask tentatively, “Can we get married right now? Do we have to wait?”
Frank’s hand squeezes my thigh, capturing my attention.
“Well, yes,” Seamus clears his throat, “I have all the paperwork and I can legally marry you. We just need two witnesses…”
Frank hasn’t stopped staring at me. I smile at him hopefully. “You asked what I wanted…”
He clears his throat and speaks low, “What about a ceremony? Isn’t it every gal’s dream to wear a wedding dress and-
“Mmm,” I shake my head, “not me.”
He considers it for a moment and then slowly and politely asks Seamus to gather the two closest men, his eyes never leaving mine.
I can hear the shuffling feet and the sound of voices – I think the barber and Dominic join us again – but the words are all a blur and before I know it, Frank and I are each prompted to say, “I do”.
On his way out, Seamus declares, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
When he closes the doors behind him, there is only Frank and I. And we waste no time.
✽✽✽
We stand so that I can undress her in a most hurried and clumsy manner.
I could feel my self-control begin to slip the moment she asked if we could marry right away. I cannot explain the joy I felt, the utter satisfaction and delight that my little minx couldn’t wait for this either. After so many years, it is finally time to relieve this ache.
As the last of her clothing slips away from her body, finally, her tight, round breasts are bared to me and I fear that I might die on the spot.
Her pale skin glows like moonlight and her nipples, like vintage rosebuds, point toward my body, beckoning me.
Finally, she is mine.
I am upon her, kneading her backside in her dusty blue underpants. Those full, bee-stung lips are silken, luxurious and I drink her down in the most sensational kiss I have ever experienced.
She moans as I press my throbbing erection against her underwear, rubbing oh-so-lightly and the sensation almost causes me to explode on the spot.
The addition of those sweet breasts pressed against me makes it very hard to think clearly. I wish I thought to take my own shirt off; the need for skin-to-skin is overwhelming.
I drag one of my hands from her buttocks to cup a breast and I cover her shoulders, her décolletage and her neck with kisses. It makes her keen and rock in my hold and my own heart thunder in my chest.
The softness and suppleness of her skin illustrates how delicate and youthful she is. And her scent, a faint floral aroma, permeates me, making me high, dazed.
When her head tilts back, allowing me to nuzzle more of her throat, her long hair tickles my hand which continues to squeeze her behind.
She is everywhere and everything and I have her in my grasp. Still, there is so much yet to do, to touch, to taste. Fuck, I just want to do everything to her.
I pull back; lips buzzing, body humming. I revel again at her beauty. How I have waited for this, for her to come to me. All my fantasies of her over the years have not prepared me one bit for...this.
She whimpers at the distance and the sound snaps something inside of me.
I scoop her up under her soft, delicious ass and gently throw her onto the sofa. Her surprised giggle is like music to my ears and now her slim but curvaceous body is laid out artfully before me.
I could stare at her forever. But then her pearlescent skin begins to tighten into goose bumps. I should have lit the fireplace for her. What kind of a husband am I?
Husband.
She won't feel the cold for much longer.
I must have been staring too long because she begins to shy away, folding her legs up and biting her lower, luscious lip. That will not do.
In one swift motion, I part her knees and kneel between her thighs, glad that the sofa is wide enough to fit us both comfortably. I strip her underwear off, and she gasps.
Now, she is laid completely bared before me. And I could weep, she is so beautiful.
Her triangle of dark blonde hair is short and neat. The skin is smooth and ripe and there is a very light sheen of wetness, showing me that she wants this, wants me. She is ready for me to dive in and explore.
I cannot delay any longer - I lower my mouth onto her mound and begin to taste her.
Tu sei l'unico per me. The only one.
As I position myself into the right spot, her throaty giggles guide me and when I slip my fingers in, she gasps loudly.
At the sound of her moans, I find myself throbbing so much that I fear I may not make it inside of her tonight.
I try to clear my mind – because I must hold on – but she begins to tremble in my hands, against my mouth. I need to put my mind elsewhere, quickly.
I think of all the women before her, who meant nothing to me until I fell in love with her. The ones who came after her performance in London, well, I suppose you could say I used them to fill my own selfish desires - whenever they were spread before me, I would see only her.
And now she is here – and her top teeth are biting into her bottom lip and she's beginning to say either “Frank" or “Fuck”.
I can't distract myself any longer. No more teasing.
With fevered strokes of my tongue, I wriggle the two fingers that are inside her and she cries out, trying to grab at the unforgiving leather. As my eyes roll up to watch her again, the ring on her finger catches my eye and I decide that I must work harder to please my wife.
Her screams ring out and her silken sex massages my fingers as her body trembles from the pleasure.
Kneeling above her, I unzip my trousers, lift her legs up from behind her knees and begin to slide myself inside of her.
Her eyebrows knit together and her mouth gapes open as she tries to deal with the new sensation of me filling her up.
Her orgasm caresses me and fuck it feels good.
I am almost all the way in when she cries out again and arches her back, reminding me of her perfect nipples. I quickly dip my head down to suckle on one of them and she pants, the sound driving me absolutely wild.
I slide myself back out and then in again, her sex contracting and delectably tugging at me as she rides the wave of her orgasm.
Somehow, I pause to watch her, to take the moment in and to try and make it last longer.
“No, don't stop,” she begs, “please...”
I am her servant.
I find a rhythm that feels oh so good and soon she screams out as she comes again, making it impossible for me to restrain myself any longer.
Over the pounding and the grunting that leaves my lips, I can hear the keening moans of my goddess.
Suddenly, she explodes again, and I am gone.
I roar at the intensity of my ejaculation.
In all my life, I have never known a feeling as intense and pleasurable as this. I had no idea this was ever possible...
My body shudders, completely overcome both physically and emotionally. It takes all that I am not to collapse onto her.
In my daze, I look down at the woman who was made purely for me. Her eyes are closed, her head is tilted upward and her soft cheeks are red and dewy. The panting causes her shining chest to rise and fall.
I love her so fucking much.
✽✽✽
CHAPTER 6
Gattina’s Kitchen
When I finally open my eyes, I see Frank kneeling between my legs, gazing at me.
I knew he had withdrawn, but I couldn’t feel or hear if he had moved away because my ears are ringing. And…how can I feel so exhausted like this when I didn’t do any of the work?
When my voice comes out, it’s hoarse and weak, “My God, that was amazing.”
He laughs, out of breath. And then he is back to watching me closely. I am too tired and spent to feel exposed and awkward. Besides, I think I should probably get over that now. He is my husband, after all.
Eventually, he clears the house of staff and gu
ides me upstairs to his bedroom.
We shower together in the adjoining bathroom – Frank’s exploration of my body makes it a very long shower – and then we ready ourselves to dine at his restaurant.
Skipping our ceremony meant we had plenty of time, so we laid upon his bed for a while, talking, touching, teasing. I can see myself getting quite used to this.
The walls of his bedroom are made up of panels painted a dark grey. They climb high to a ceiling of the same colour.
Above his luxurious, enormous bed hangs a golden chandelier with shards of sparkling glass that resemble icicles.
The floorboards are dark too, almost as black as the windowpanes on the large Georgian windows that open out to a balcony with a view of the back gardens.
The colour of the bedding provides a break from all the dark grey, with cream and lighter charcoal linen and numerous matching cushions.
Frank emerges from the walk-in wardrobe that is lit up and shining with modern mirrors and lighting. As he cuffs his shirt, he stares at me hungrily again. I could be wrong, but it seems he doesn’t even realise he's doing it. In fact, it seems that I have been the focus of his attention every minute that I have been in his presence since his event on Friday night.
Something tells me this honeymoon phase might stick around longer than usual.
“Do you like the dress?” I ask. I chose it from the closet of clothing that he had waiting for me, so the short length shouldn’t be a problem. Also, because it is covered entirely in dark grey sequins, I figured that the colour would match any suit that Frank wore.
The sleeves are a nice snug fit to my arms and stop just past the wrist. The neckline is modest, cutting off slightly above my collarbone.
I paired it with black Christian Louboutin ankle boots. Usually, ankle boots tend to make my legs look shorter but a quick look in the mirror showed quite the opposite.
“Mmm,” he grunts in approval, eyes raking up my legs.
Yeah, me too.
Frank opens the passenger door of his silver Aston Martin for me. Someone had brought it around the front, which reminds me that he always has someone at his beck and call.
He runs around the front of the car and climbs in the driver’s side.
When he pulls out of the long driveway and away from the brick, Tudor-style mansion, he possessively grasps my exposed thigh.
During the drive, he takes his hand away, using both on the wheel to turn the sharper corners but it always returns. Sometimes, it sneaks under the dress and brushes against the black lacy underwear that was, again, bought for me before I arrived.
A part of me wants to tell him to pull over and not worry about dinner. But I know that he is excited to show me off - he said so himself. Besides, I’m not sure if he can go again so soon.
I’ve never been so greedy for physical contact before. It’s both surprising and exhilarating.
As we near the French Quarter now, his face suddenly becomes solemn.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned.
He looks at me and opens his mouth to speak but clears his throat and says instead, “Nothing, we will talk about it later.”
“Please just say it.”
He returns his hand to the wheel and carefully asks me about whether I am on birth control.
I don’t see a problem with him asking the question. I tell him that I take it every day at midday and that I have my whole adult life. “I haven’t skipped any days, so we should be fine,” I reassure him.
His jaw clenches and his hands grip the wheel tighter.
“What’s wrong? I thought we were on the same page about…not having a baby.”
“We are,” he replies curtly and then quickly apologises. “Sorry, baby.”
“Then what is it?”
He looks at me and then back at the road and then mumbles, “It’s just my jealousy rearing its ugly head.”
After a moment, he sighs. “The idea of you taking this…pill...so that you may…well, be with other men…”
I smile, despite myself. We both know he has no right to be jealous about anyone in my past.
“If I recall correctly, you were the one with a date on Friday night,” I tease him, to lighten the mood. “I haven’t been with anyone in months.”
“I know,” he says, flatly.
Wait – he knows about the last person I slept with or...? Just as I am about to ask, he says, “My date on Friday... you couldn’t tell that she was just for show?”
I laugh. “What do you mean? If I didn’t turn up, surely you would have taken her to bed? I mean, what have you been doing all these years? You can’t tell me you’re celibate - you have two sons,” I joke.
We reach a red light and the car stills.
“Helena, baby, I don’t even remember her name. Or whose cousin she was. Heck, I couldn’t tell you the colour of her hair. Someone is always trying to set me up with a single woman in their family.”
He glances at me sideways. “And yes, I have had sex many times since the night in London, when I decided that I wanted you. But I...” He sighs again. “Never mind.”
“What is it?” I implore.
He shakes his head for a sharp no and then starts to drive at the green light. “I am afraid I will scare you away.”
Ok, maybe I don’t want to know. I should definitely let it slide.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t want to say it, but it seems that he cannot deny me.
“Well...I slept with women, sure, but…I thought of you every time.”
“Pssh,” I roll my eyes, “no way.”
As if. Surely not.
One glance at Frank’s hesitant, faraway look and I know he is telling the truth. The fingertips of his free hand rub his lips in thought. Not only does he not seem like the lying type, but this is something you don’t make up.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. But holy shit that is weird, isn’t it?
I begin to picture it – him pleasuring them...and all the while thinking of me.
Did he make them feel special too, with all his charming ways and then just dump them?
I don’t know what to say, so the rest of the drive is silent. Luckily, we were only minutes away from Mariano's anyway.
As the valet driver takes off with the car, Frank and I are greeted by a thunderous applause from the chefs and the wait staff. News sure does travel fast.
Frank absolutely beams in delight, basking in the warmth of our congratulations.
The head chef shakes Frank’s hands and then mine. Frank introduces him as Miguel and the greatest chef he has ever known.
Dinner is tasty, the venue is amazing and everyone in the restaurant seems genuinely happy. Apparently, it can be hard to get a table here, but I suppose I will never have that problem.
Our conversation in the car is completely forgotten about and we chat so much that I start to feel like I have known him for much longer than two nights.
He is so charming, quick witted and attentive, I can’t help but fall even deeper for him. Especially when he tells me that he finally has everything he wants.
When he excuses himself to visit the kitchen, I notice Dominic standing near the main entrance and it really bugs me. I had expected that we would have security here somewhere but I’m disappointed to see this particular man’s face on such a beautiful night.
When Frank returns, he pours me a glass of wine. He had, without a doubt, retrieved the most expensive one and wants my opinion.
It’s amazing, of course.
About an hour passes and I start to grow tired. It’s hard work receiving so much love and attention, you know.
When we arrive home, we take another quick shower and climb into bed.
Frank spoons me with his head propped up on his hand, his elbow bent, watching me. His free hand traces circles on my bare, lower belly, hips and the top of my thigh, lulling me to sleep.
I’m dreaming about Frank and the pictures don’t make sense
but there is definitely something sexual going on.
The sensation is so real that I wonder if I’m moving along with it in my sleep and what Frank would think of it if he were awake and watching me.
At the thought, I begin to come to and I realise it’s not a dream.
