Jennifer had been right; he was damaged goods. Low sperm count, three little words that cost him everything, and no doubt would do again.
Elise's quiet voice stopped his incessant pacing.
"Come and sit down, Marco. You're wearing me out just watching you."
When he warily turned to look at her, she smiled at him through her tears.
"We have Mimi. Why would we need any more?"
"You say that now, but it will bother you in time; it's bound to, pasticcino. I'm not the man you thought I was."
Her shoe flew towards him, swiftly followed by another. Elise marched toward him muttering something under her breath about arrogant fools, and goddamn idiots, and men only thinking with their dicks, before she literally threw herself into his arms.
"Let me spell this out for you, Marco Giovanni. I am not your ex-wife. And if you think that this makes you any less of a man, then you really are the Neanderthal I originally thought you to be. Now will you please shut up, and help me out of this dress. In case you've forgotten, this is our honeymoon, and I find myself in need of my husband."
Chapter Fourteen
Marco woke up to the insistent buzzing of his phone, his senses full of Elise. He could still taste her unique essence on his tongue and all over his body. Her smell surrounded him. He breathed in deeply, her deliciously sticky, sweet self trustingly entwined with him.
A slow smile spread across his features, when his gaze fell on the empty tin of pineapple rings at the bottom of the bed, next to what was left of her lacy chemise. She'd surprised the hell out of him last night, that's for sure, her passionate nature making him lose control completely. He winced in the broad light of day, recalling how he'd ripped that sinful dress straight of her. Her anger had stoked his own fury at the hand fate had dealt him. Still far too high on adrenaline he'd been unable to temper his body's response to her. He'd shown the finesse of an ox in fact, taking her hard and fast against the wall, slamming into her repeatedly, hell-bent on seeking his own release.
His morning erection grew harder remembering how she'd simply locked her ankles behind his hips, taking him deeper and deeper. Her feral moans in his ears had spurred him on, her internal muscles clenching around him until he finally with one last vicious thrust had spilled inside her. It had been some time before his breathing slowed down enough to be aware of her wriggling against him. Still intimately joined he'd moved them to the comfort of the bed before withdrawing.
He'd spread her wide at her moaned protest, and with one long lick against her clit those moans had turned to sighs. He'd brought her over the edge again and again and again, teasing, nipping, suckling, and drinking in the very essence of her, until the pressure in his cock became unbearable. He'd hooked her legs over his shoulders and took her in another fast ride that left her screaming his name and had gone one hell of a long way to soothing his wounded pride.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was her kneeling on top of him, wearing nothing but that lacy, see-through chemise. His heart had all but stopped, when he realised that the knickers she was wearing were crotch less.
"Have mercy, woman, what are you trying to do to me?" He'd groaned the words through clenched teeth, when she slowly, deliberately, moved her wet, swollen folds over his burgeoning erection.
"Me, nothing. just getting my own back." She drawled the words, the most seductive smile ever on her full lips, and it had taken all of his control to not shoot his load there and then. She'd produced that tin of pineapples from behind her back.
He'd watched her in helpless fascination when she ever so slowly pulled the ring pull, her face a picture of blushing confusion.
"And what do you intend to do with those, pasticcino."
If possible she'd blushed even more, her teeth sucking her bottom lip in.
"We-ell," was her breathy reply, "Mamma G did draw me a diagram. This was supposed to be for our wedding night, but as you had me all tied up... this is pay back."
He'd forced himself to watch without intervening when she'd pulled out one of the rings and swirled it around her fingers. She'd nibbled along its edges, her little pink tongue, darting in and out of her mouth, and he'd bunched his fists in the bedcovers to stop himself from reaching out to her. She'd used that same finger and ran it along her glistening pussy and then offered it to him to eat. Her musk exploded on his tongue, and she giggled at his groan.
His cock had been so hard by this point it was straining to seek entrance to her incredibly wet pussy hole, but the little minx had laughed and moved herself out of his reach. She'd shaken her head at him instead and then had made a big show of studying his quivering cock. She'd glided a pineapple ring slowly along his long length. His hips had bucked off the bed, and he'd grabbed the head-board.
"Are you trying to fucking kill me, pasticcino?"
She'd simply smiled and ordered him to keep his hands away. He watched in awed fascination as she broke the ring apart to slide it along his cock, and he gritted his teeth against the incredibly sensual feeling of that soft, slippery fruit sliding along his hot length. Again and again she'd repeated the process, packing the fruit around his cock. All conscious thought had left him, when with a slow smile in his direction; she'd started nibbling those rings off his cock one by one. Her sharp little teeth had nipped at his balls, her tongue swirling around his cock, teasing the slit leaking with pre-cum, until he'd panted and begged her not to stop. She'd taken him to the edge time and time again, before laughingly withdrawing until he thought he would burst.
When she'd licked and nibbled the last of the fruit off him, she'd finally taken as much of him into her mouth as she could. She'd suckled, teased, hummed, and swallowed around his cock, alternating between strong sucks and the lightest of touches, until he couldn't hold himself back anymore. His hips rising, he'd pushed himself deeper into her hot, moist mouth, and with a guttural shout his orgasm had gripped him with a force so intense he hadn't known where he ended and she started. Her startled eyes had connected with his as he'd almost choked her with his deep thrusting, yet she'd had taken all of him, every last drop, before sitting up and giving him the sexiest smile ever. But it was the uncertain look in her almost black eyes, full of her own desire that had been his undoing.
If he'd had any doubts at all whether she saw him as man enough, what she'd just done to him and that look in her eyes, made him forget those doubts. He'd flipped her over, with a growled, "My turn, lady. You'd better brace yourself!" Her whimpered responses had him hard again in record time.
He'd put the remaining pineapple rings to good use. He'd placed one each on her areolas and nibbled the sticky fruit off her nipples. His tongue brought her rosy peaks to their full attention. She'd moaned and writhed under him, before he took pity on her and worked his way down her body slowly. Licking his way down her body, he'd saved the last pineapple for her clit. He'd driven them both crazy, by nibbling and teasing her bud, as he licked her slit to clit. The pineapple juices mixed with her own essence, and he'd fucked her mercilessly with his tongue, drunk on the smell and taste of her. Her pussy walls quivered under the onslaught of his eager mouth, trying to draw him deeper, telling him how close she was. When he bit down gently on her extended clit she clamped down, and he lapped up the renewed gush of her essence until she came under his tongue. Only then had he allowed himself to bury his cock so deep within her, he could have sworn he saw stars, as she had risen up to meet him thrust for thrust, until they'd come together. Exhaustion claiming them both, they'd drifted off into sleep with him still buried deep in her velvet heat.
He smiled in the light of day and licked her shoulder. The taste of pineapple under his tongue, made him wish like hell he could wake her up by making slow, deliberate love to her, but his phone buzzed again. With a muttered curse he reached across her and frowned at the display.
Three missed phone calls from Antoine and five from his solicitor. The proverbial had hit the fan, not that he hadn't expected i
t. The black and blue knuckles on his right hand were a vivid reminder as to how much shit he was in.
She'd been worth it, though. Lust warred with tender feelings when she stirred next to him. One hand crept up his chest until it settled over his heart. He stared at her for the longest time, his heart beating a strange, erratic rhythm, as he struggled with intense feelings, of what exactly? It wasn't love; that didn't exist. What he felt looking at her was just a mixture of a night of the most incredible sex he'd ever had, coupled with sleep deprivation, and the adrenaline still coursing through his system. It was bound to make a man a little sappy in the morning.
He awkwardly climbed out of the bed and cursed his erection. A cold shower ought to help chase away the ridiculous notions floating around his head. He didn't have time for sentimentality. He had to get his head on straight for the round of meetings that awaited him. His whole expansion plan could be in jeopardy. So why the fuck was he not more bothered about his business? Why was the only thing on his mind how much he wanted to climb back into bed with his wife?
Christ, his wife. The simple truth hit him with such force his knees buckled under the freezing cold jet of water. That incredibly fast learning, sexy as hell woman, sleeping in his bed was his wife. They had a lifetime of exploring each other. No way was he ever letting her wriggle out of this marriage. She was his and his alone, and once he'd sorted out this crazy mess, they would have the honeymoon she deserved.
His step was light when he dressed quickly and quietly, mindful to not wake her. He was going to spoil her rotten for the rest of this holiday. There was so much he wanted to show her, so much they could explore together.
Dressed in a light summer suit, his hair still damp from his shower, he bent over her sleeping form and kissed her lightly. He smiled at the taste of pineapple under his tongue, mixed with her unique sweetness. Fuck it, he would never be able to look at pineapples again without suffering an instant hard-on.
He didn't dare examine why he took one of the roses from the bouquet on the table and placed it on the pillow next to her, with a scribbled note.
Gotta sort some business, pasticcino. I'll be as quick as I can be, but this may take some time. I'm told the spa here is pretty good, so treat yourself, cara mia. xx
Chapter Fifteen
Marco smiled at Elise, jumping around in excitement like an over eager puppy, as he adjusted his bowtie.
She looked as though all her Christmases had come at once.
"We are going where? Really?"
"La Scala, pasticcino, I've got a box."
Elise screeched and hugged herself, before she threw her arms around him. Hey, he could get used to this.
"Oh, Marco, I always wanted to go to the opera, but are you sure this dress is ok? I mean, won't they all be terribly well dressed and la-di-da?"
God, she was going to be the death of him. She looked stunning in a classy little black dress, that left her back exposed and clung to her curves. The skirt ended just above the knee, her hair arranged in a messy up do. Her excitement had added some color to her usually pale complexion, and her beautiful eyes were deep pools of molten chocolate, pulling him right in. In fact if he stood here looking at her for much longer, they wouldn't make it out of the room, never mind to the opera.
He smiled to himself, drawing her into his frame. The excitement radiated off her in waves. He turned her around so that she was standing with her back to him, and their eyes met in the mirror.
"You look ravishing, caramia. Now stop worrying, and let's get out of here before I change my mind and remember how much I would rather have you in my bed again."
Elise blushed, but stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror. She stepped out of his arms and dragged him to the door.
"Oh no you don't, Mister. You promised me the opera, and that's where we're going."
Marco allowed himself to be dragged along, admiring the view of her ass hugged tightly by the clinging fabric, and he once again marveled at the change in Elise. Ever since he had Agnes burn those ridiculous clothes, her dress sense had been impeccable. She'd taken full advantage of that day in Reims, when he had to sort his business, to go on a shopping spree. Every new item of clothing that she had bought had surprised him in a good way. She had refused to wear any of the stuff that Mamma G had packed for her, most of it not fit to be seen out of the bedroom, it had to be said, which had been fine by him. They had spent most of their time so far behind closed doors, after all.
But he promised himself to spoil her, and now that they were in Italy, he wanted to show her all the delights his home country had to offer. They had been proper tourists for the last few days, exploring Milan on foot, and Elise had soaked the culture up, her huge eyes bubbling with excitement breaking through his wary cynicism.
It had been huge fun, in fact, seeing everything through her eyes. When she had looked up at La Scala with a small sigh yesterday, murmuring almost to herself that she had never been to the opera, well, what else was a man to do? He was fast getting addicted to her almost childlike enthusiasm.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed as much, and as he joined her in the lift, her hand in his, he realized with a start that he was happy, truly happy. Even at Mimi's birth he hadn't been this carefree. As elated as he'd been to be a father, there had been the niggling doubt that the adorable baby girl he was holding might not be his. They were such grim days until the paternity test had proven that she was indeed his. He'd sworn to himself to be the best father and husband he could be, only to have Jennifer throw it all back in his face a few weeks later.
He felt the tug on his hand, followed by Elise's kiss, which turned into a raspberry against his lips.
"Oi, the least you could do is pretend to be listening to my riveting conversation, Marco Giovanni." Mischief warred with just a hint of worry in her tawny eyes, and he forced a smile on his lips.
"Well, cara mia, when you have something interesting to say I will make sure to be listening." That earned him a swift, playful kick to the shin from Elise, and a chuckle from the lift attendant, as they reached the ground floor. Arm in arm they crossed the lobby and walked the short distance to the famous opera house.
****
Elise let the powerful music wash over her, dimly aware of Marco's intense gaze on her back. She didn't understand a word, of course, but the music wrought its own magic. Tristan and Isolde was such a tragic love story, she'd been in tears at the interval. Marco calmly produced a handkerchief, wiped her tears away, and then kissed her senseless, like he had a habit of doing lately.
His low suggestion in her ear that they could be staying behind in the box for some fun of their own behind the curtain did little to help her regain her wayward emotions. She never knew whether he was joking when he suggested these things, and she knew her cheeks had been flaming when they made their way to refreshments. After all, there had been some interesting interludes on the leisurely drive down from Reims. One romantic picnic in particular Elise would remember for a long time yet, as would the elderly couple who had happened to stumble upon them. A fresh wave of heat worked its way into her cheeks. She'd never been so embarrassed or frustrated in her life, even though the couple hadn't actually seen anything, thanks to her long dress and Marco shielding her with his body. Still....
Marco had been all concern at the scratches left by the tree bark on her sensitive skin, and once they were safely up in their room at the charming B&B, en route to Milan, he had run her a bath in the cast iron period bath tub. His large hands caressing those scratches made her forget all about them, and she pulled him into the tub, clothes and all, to finish what they had started earlier that day.
In fact she had a hard time keeping her hands off him at all. Back at the interval, he had parked her in a corner, flashed his wicked smile at her, and joined the throng for refreshments. Elise had a perfect view of his broad shoulders in the impeccably tailored Italian suit. She had blushed some more at her own wayward thoughts as her gaze wonder
ed down his length, over the strong thighs, their outline just visible through the fabric of his trousers and back up to the black hair, starting to curl over his collar again. The look he threw her over his shoulder made her blush deepen. Way to go girl, caught ogling your own husband again.
It wasn't just the mind-blowing sex either. Elise had nothing to compare him to, a few kisses and embarrassing fumbles pre-Marco notwithstanding, but she was pretty sure that her instant reaction to him was not the norm. Ever since Reims, he'd made a real effort to get to know her, and Elise was astonished at how much they actually had in common. Conversation was easy, and even their silences were comfortable. They'd agreed to not discuss the events in Reims.
"It's nothing, pasticcino. It's sorted, and I would rather talk about you."
And by an unspoken agreement they'd also not mentioned the subject of kids, her sister, or their return to England and the impending custody battle over Mimi.
They had talked about everything else though, childhood dreams, favorite books, films, Mamma G, and the impossible nightwear she had packed for Elise. Actually they didn't really talk about that too much, nor had she been in any of the outfits for any length of time.
Marco's hot breath on her neck, as he leaned into her now, made Elise gasp. Dancing butterflies invaded her stomach, and she leant back into him, her heart rate going into instant overdrive at the feather-light kisses going down her bare back.
"Having fun, cara mia?"
Elise turned in her seat to throw him what she hoped was a scathing look. She knew it failed miserably when the full heat of his gaze hit her, and he groaned, "I want to fuck you so bad right now."
Too Cold To Love Page 9
