AMBER_His to Reclaim_Ruthlessly Obsessed Duet New York Pt. 2

by Theodora Taylor

  Maybe he got excited by my much larger breasts but shriveled at the sight of my huge stomach. All my mother’s bitter complaints about what childbirth did to her formerly perfect body come rushing back to me, and soon I’m considering a dash to the bathroom.

  “Your hips are wider, and your ass is rounder. You’ve always been beautiful, Ambs, but now you look like a fucking goddess.” His voice is no longer emotionless but rough with appreciation and lust. “Is that what you thought would turn me off?”

  The question makes me feel silly because suddenly I perceive my body through his eyes. Not as larger or unshapely, like my mother warned me about. Not a whale. But curvy and lush with child. A goddess, exactly like he said. And just like that, the urge to run, hide, and cover myself up completely disappears. Luca thinks I look like a goddess, and moreover, I believe him.

  But I still ask, “Then why didn’t you try to do anything after the do-over? I thought you’d…” I trail off, hating how desperate and needy I sound. “…but you never did.”

  “It’s called holding back, Ambs. You friggin’ hated me for a while there, and after the do-over, I didn’t want to do anything to make you stop not hating me.”

  He lets out a coarse laugh. “But you have no idea how hard that’s been. You were wondering what’s been taking me so long to come to bed and the truth ain’t pretty, baby. Second gym session to work off the frustration. Followed by a hand job selfie to relieve the pressure so I won’t lose my mind, lying next to you but not being able to touch you. Then I’d have to take a shower downstairs so you wouldn’t suspect.”

  Another coarse laugh. “And you know what? Sometimes even that wasn’t enough. I’d be lying here in bed with you, and the old feelings would hit me so hard, it would keep me awake. Keep me hurting for you all night, until I had to make another bathroom visit. Not a great look for a don, jacking his own self off in the bathroom. But it was either that or wake you up from that pretend sleep of yours, and fucking beg you to let me back inside of you.”

  His voice dips then, dark and rough, as he growls, “Not a damn thing has changed, Ambs. I’ll always want to fuck you. Always want to be inside you and only you. Always want to possess you. And if you think you being pregnant with my baby is going to stop that obsession, you’re out of your goddamn mind. It only makes it worse.”

  My skin isn’t just tingling now. It’s completely electrified in the aftermath of his unexpected confession. And forget the Somethin’ Stupid magnet tugging on my heart. My entire body has become a magnetic field of attraction.

  But he just stands there. Fully clothed and still. Like he has no plans whatsoever to touch me. Why?

  “I’m waiting,” he says as if hearing my silent question.

  “Waiting for what?” I ask, the words a whisper deep in my throat.

  “Baby…” he says. And though I’m the one, standing here naked, and he’s the one holding back, his voice breaks, as if I’ve denied him something. “Say you’re mine now. Say you want this with me. Because once I start with you, I’m not going to stop, and if you still want that Pasture fucker or think you’re just dreaming—”

  “Pascoal,” I correct, my sense of humor coming back to me. But only for a moment. Because the truth is, “Other than guilt over his hospital bill, I haven’t thought about him. Not like that. Not even once.”

  I catch my breath, and hold it… hold it, before finally breathing out, “I’m yours, not his. And I know I’m not dreaming. Can you stop holding back now? Make me yours again? Please?”

  This is a wholly coerced confession, but it doesn’t feel like one. I need him. I want him. Like food. Like water. Like the air I keep forgetting to breathe.

  A beat. And for a moment there is no sound in the room because we’re high above the New York traffic. And both of us are holding our breaths.

  Then he bites out, “Hands and knees, baby.” And I sense him stepping aside so I can come forward.

  It’s an old command, one Luca used at least a few times a month during our year of marriage. But a new thrill goes through me as I find the bed and do as commanded. By the time I’m in position with my belly hanging down between my hands and knees, he’s behind me. Then his hands find my waist again as his lips press into the bottom of my neck, before trailing kisses down my spine as he massages my lower back with his thumbs.

  “Oh God, that feels so good,” I whisper. How does he even know to do this to my pregnant body? Soothing with his thumbs while his lips send me into an all over quiver.

  And just when I think I might seriously melt into this bed, his lips stop at the base of my spine and repositions. One hand reaches between my legs, his outer index and pinky finger parting me wide. Then the two other fingers plunge in just as his mouth finds the back entrance of my pussy.

  I groan loud at the dual pressure. So nasty and hot. I fall to my forearms, as Luca works me expertly and, oh God…oh God! What can’t even be a few minutes later, I come in a gush so huge, I can feel myself squirting into his mouth.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I gasp out, helplessly. Then I try to crawl forward because I don’t know how else to stave off this crazy climax.

  But Luca’s hands leave my pussy to vice around the front of my thighs. Instead of letting up, he keeps his mouth right where it is, his head digging in deeper while holding my shuddering body in place. It feels like he’s drinking me, and he doesn’t stop until the last wave of orgasm shoots out of me.

  Only then does his ruthless mouth withdraws.

  “Been waiting for this, baby. You have no idea how long.” Then he slides into me in one smooth stroke, all the way to the hilt.

  I cry out with an aching moan, and raw desire volcanos anew as he finally starts moving inside of me, with his hands still wrapped around my upper thighs. I’m so wet, I’m afraid he might slip out. But no, my pussy grips him tight as a fist, easily keeping him inside. Wanting this. Wanting it so much.

  “Oh fuck, Ambs,” he groans as his dick slides in and out.

  He’s gentler now, I notice. Rolling, not pounding, his thumbs massaging the sides of my thighs as he holds me in place. Getting his, but also looking out for the baby and me. Soon I begin to feel another orgasm coming on, blooming instead of exploding.

  But believe me, it’s just as good. My hands fist in the bed as I come again in a series of springtime bursts. “Oh God,” I pant, “Oh God, Luca!”

  However, as gently as he made me come, his voice becomes hard and vicious above me as he demands, “How could you think I didn’t want you? No other woman, no other woman feels like this. Missed you… missed you…”

  He lets out a hoarse grunt, and his roll speeds up. “Say you missed me, too.”

  “I missed you, too.” The breathless words spill from my mouth, without a fight.

  And then he shouts out, falling over the same edge as me with one last push.

  I can feel him spilling into me, pumping bolt after bolt of cum, showing me more than words ever could that he was telling the truth about missing me. Six months. Neither of us has had real sex in six months, and even though he said he jacked off, it feels like I’m getting his full half-year reserve. So much cum that it’s dripping down my legs by the time his dick kicks one last time inside of me, signaling the end of his release.

  For minutes on end, we stay in that final position, our panting breaths the only sound in the room.

  Then Luca pulls out and says, “I’m trying to decide if it’s worth it.”

  “If what’s worth it?” I mumble, crawling forward and stretching out on my side like a tired cat.

  “Cleaning you up,” he answers, his voice husky and low. “I know I’m just going to get you dirty again.”

  I smile, my eyes already closing on his words. It’s no joke, though. He lets me fall asleep, but wakes me up again a few hours later, with one hand massaging my breast.

  He takes me like dream Luca that time, one leg coming up to cover both of mine as he enters me from behind. Then a few hours
later he wakes me up again, and this time he pulls me back to my knees.

  “Tell me if I hurt you,” he says, before carefully blanketing my back with his chest. He places his hands on top of my hands, and I can feel his fingers interlace between mine as his hips drive into me from behind.

  So much skin. It feels like a gift. The entire night feels like a gift. Even if he wakes me up all too soon after our third session with the news that it’s already nine in the morning. Also, he’s run a bath. It’ll feel good after that workout he put me through last night, he promises me. Plus, we have to clear the bedroom for a little bit, so that his housekeeper can come in to strip and remake the bed.

  “I can remake the bed myself,” I point out, my old bias toward independence rising like a cat’s back, along with the usual embarrassment any woman would feel about having another clean up her sex mess.

  He insists though, and I’m tired, so just a few minutes later, I lower myself into a warm bath. And damn Luca, he’s totally right. The warm water feels magnificent on my oversexed body.

  But when I try to sit back, he says, “Hold up, Ambs. Don’t be selfish. I’m dirty, too. You gotta share.”

  There comes the sound of sloshing water as he climbs in and sits down behind me, before pulling me back into his arms.

  “Heya, Reynolds. What’s what?” he asks, sounding more Rocky than ever, as he brings out a washcloth and glides it across my skin.

  He makes quick work on every part of my body, then reaches around the side of my belly to move the washcloth between my legs.

  “Bath too cold?” he asks, his voice calm as tea, despite what he’s doing to me. “Had to be careful about not making it too hot.”

  “No,” I answer, the word coming out in a short burst of breath. “Quite warm, actually, and getting hotter.”

  Luca, who’s always been a much more generous laugher than me, chuckles in my ear. Then he keeps on working me with the washcloth until I’m a gasping mess, too disoriented to make any more quips.

  When I’m done climaxing, the water sloshes again, and Luca’s arms wrap around me from behind, each hand finding a heavy breast before settling into a cross. I can feel him hard against my back, and I get ready for him to take me a fourth time.

  But then we just sit there, his arms wrapped tight around me. And eventually, I realize that despite his rigid erection, this is Luca holding me without any intention. Just holding me. And not letting me go.

  Not letting me go.

  A horrifying realization dawns on me then.

  “Your heart’s beating so fast,” he says.

  I can feel his smile against my neck. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to maul you again. I’ve still gotta go into work today, so you’ll have a chance to rest up and recover after the housekeeper’s done in our room.”

  Our room.

  “Okay,” I say, and leave it at that. I let him think my heart’s beating fast because of all the erotic cardio, and not with the sudden realization that I totally forgot about the master plan until now.

  It’s after nine in the morning. That means it’s been twelve hours. My ultimate scheme blanked out of my mind twelve hours ago, and it’s just now coming back. Even though this is supposed to be a Mata Hari level undercover mission. The sex, nothing more than a tactic to kickstart us into a relationship trusting enough for him to start telling me the prosecutable details of his criminal activities.

  But sitting in the bath, I realize everything I did last night, everything I felt—it was real, not acting. And that makes my heart pound faster than the prospect of another session of morning sex ever could.

  Part III

  There’s No Business Like Show Business

  10

  That Old Black Magic

  “Ambs…Ambs…c’mon. Time to get up.”

  I wake up between a billion thread count sheets to what’s become a familiar smell over the last two weeks. A night of sex, sex, and more sex, pungent and fragrant.

  Luca’s in front of my side of the bed, shaking me awake, as he often did when he was just a dream. But this isn’t a dream. I know because he says, “The shower’s already running.”

  The daily shower after Luca’s early workout and before the housekeeper’s arrival has become part of our new morning routine. But I can’t say I’m a fan. I find the showers way less enjoyable than taking a bath, which may or may not have something to do with Luca’s friskiness levels going down as the chances of my slipping goes up.

  “Ten more minutes,” I mumble, refusing to open my eyes with a knowing smile.

  He lets out a groan as if I’ve stabbed him on purpose with that callback. “I knew you would figure out some way to make this hard for me. But no, c’mon, we don’t have time for that. We’ve got to get you up and clean.”

  “But I like being dirty,” I answer saucily.

  Another groan. “You’re killing me, Ambs. Seriously, c’mon.”

  Before I can make another quip, he hauls me up and sideways into a seated position. Which I guess saves me the top-heavy struggle of getting out of bed with a huge medicine ball laying on top of my essential core muscles.

  So, yes, thanks for that. But the way too early feeling stays with me, refusing to dissipate, even after the soap up and rinse off in the stone and glass efficiency apartment, Luca calls a shower.

  Or maybe you’re just feeling extra anti rise and shine because today’s the day you’re supposed to report into Peter, my no-nonsense internal calendar points out.

  My stomach sinks with that thought. It will be the same conversation. Nothing to report, need more time. Blah, blah, blah. But this time, the back and forth conscious war that’s been raging inside my head ever since Luca and I reignited the carnal part of our relationship will be adding an extra layer of noise.

  Not that I should let sex steer me from my original plan—even if it is “holy hell who knew pregnant sex could be this good?” sex.

  I’m a part-time divorce lawyer for God’s sake. I know how these things go. Great sex doesn’t make a good relationship. Trust, love and mutual dedication to a forever outcome make a good relationship. And all but one of those must-haves are missing from this reboot with my ex-husband.

  I don’t trust Luca, and so far, he hasn’t entrusted me with more than vague answers to my dinner time “How was your day?” And as for mutual dedication to a forever outcome, I know how this will end. With me betraying Luca to gain my and Naima’s freedom. So forever outcome…no. Hopefully, I won’t be here even four more weeks, since, I don’t want to still be my ex-husband’s prisoner when this baby comes.

  But that other relationship must have? That L-word I don’t ever say, especially when it comes to my ex. I can sense it skulking around like a supervillain outside the even higher wall I built around my heart after the divorce. Threatening to wreck me even worse than the beating I took the last time I dared to let myself fall for this man.

  So, no, Sylvie and Prin, that particular L-word is not a good look on me. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve been happier and more relaxed these two weeks with Luca than I’ve been in five years without him. I’ve got to ignore the tug of the Somethin’ Stupid magnet inside my chest because I can’t let myself get sucked into his tender trap again.

  The sex is great, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. I know that, and that’s what I’ll tell Peter if he decides to put me back in the hot seat for another two weeks gone by without any information. However, the prospect of that uncomfortable call, looms over my morning, souring my already grumpy mood the further into the routine I get.

  “You might have to stop coming at me in the middle of the night,” I grumble at Luca, as I sleepily pull on a maxi dress over my maternity bra and underwear. “I think it’s knocking my internal time clock off. Because it feels like it’s the buttcrack of morning.”

  “Dunno if I’d call six the buttcrack of morning,” he answers with a liberal helping of bemusement in his tone. “But if that’s what you’re complain
ing about, then there’s nothing wrong with your internal clock, which means I can keep coming at you in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh…” I say, surprised to find out my body is reading the time of day right. But then that begs the question, “Wait, why are you getting me up at six?”

  Just a few minutes after I ask that question, Luca guides me into his home gym for reasons unknown. As soon as I walk in behind him, the scent of too heavy cologne hits my nose along with the lingering smell of sweat.

  “Good morning, Rock,” I say to the first scent.

  “Heya, Amber,” Rock answers. But his voice isn’t its usual upbeat.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask carefully, wondering why he’s arrived here so early in the morning.

  “He’s mad because doing this goes against pretty much every single thing in the Ferraro Family’s code of conduct,” Luca answers.

  His voice is farther away now, and I realize he’s gotten on the treadmill when a whir-whir-whir sound fills the room, followed by a steady pounding of feet.

  “Have a seat, Ambs. There’s a weight bench on the far wall to the right of you,” he says, his voice calm, despite the cardio. “Rock, what you got for me today?”

  Rock doesn’t answer, and I can almost feel the sullenness coming off him.

  “Rock,” Luca says, his voice full of dire warning. “This is happening. Either get with it or get replaced.”

  Another beat. Then Rock says, “You sure about this, Luc? I mean I know you’re back together now, but…”

  “I trust her. Go on,” Luca insists.

  He trusts me? My heart speeds up with the declaration because trust is what I’ve been working toward ever since Peter managed to slip me that phone.

  Rock confirms my level up, relenting with a heavy sigh. “Okay, our guy at the D.A’s office says Peter Peretti’s fucked—‘scuse my language, Amber. He made big promises and claimed to have a solid witness, but so far, he hasn’t reached out to WITSEC about this supposed witness. Word is he doesn’t have shi—I mean, anything, and was probably hoping something would show up in his investigation. But now he’s screwed.”