a lovely night

FRANCESCA

HE KISSES ME with a fervor that leaves me breathless. His tongue explores my mouth, and I can’t help but gasp. His hand glides down my body, and I melt under his touch. I don’t just want him—I need him. He knows it, but he’s taking his sweet time, the tease.

“I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, nipping at my lower lip.

I nod, eager for him to continue. I don’t need words right now. Moaning, I grab his hair and pull his lips back to mine.

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “You’re getting feisty, love.”

“You’re getting soft,” I shoot back.

His lips wander down my neck, sucking on my pulse point. I yelp.

“No, I’m actually quite hard,” he counters.

“You know what I mean.” My voice is husky, unfamiliar to my own ears.

“You think highly of yourself,” he teases.

I laugh. He’s using my own words against me. “Is that so, Your Honor?”

He hums in response, capturing my hands in his and pinning them above my head. His lips sting my skin, then soothe it with his tongue.

My husband moves, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down my body. I arch my back as he sucks on the sensitive skin below my navel.

I try to free my hands, but he holds them firm. I want to grab his hair, guide him to where I need him most.

He knows, but he’s enjoying the tease. “Patience is a virtue, ~bambola~,” he says.

“Screw your patience,” I grumble. He’s been teasing me for the past half hour.

Then he bites my stomach. I shriek.

“Impatience gets you nowhere. Patience, though, is always sweet in the end,” he says.

I’m about to tell him to shut up when I hear the sound of my panties ripping.

I gasp. “You owe me a new pair, Antonio.”

He responds by kissing the insides of my knees. He holds my thighs down, pressing open-mouthed kisses on my inner thigh, building the tension in my body.

I squeeze his head between my legs. The tingling sensation in my stomach intensifies, and I can feel sweat forming at the nape of my neck.

“Hurry up.” It comes out as a command.

He hums, but doesn’t touch me where I need him most. He’s taking his time.

I give up, going limp in his arms. Maybe that will make him move faster, but he catches on and chuckles. His lips vibrate against my core.

“That won’t work on me. I know you too well.”

“No, you—”

I shriek as he pushes his tongue inside me. He grips my thighs, spreading them apart for better access. I arch my back as he goes deep.

I’m already sensitive from before. He hasn’t touched me in a week and I’ve missed him.

I’m on the edge when he pulls back and playfully pinches my clit, making me pout.

“I’d draw this out, but we’ve been apart for days,” he says, unbuckling his belt.

His eyes linger on my hard nipples as I unclip my bra and toss it aside.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

I blink in surprise. He doesn’t compliment me often, but when he does, he means it. The intensity in his eyes makes me quiver with anticipation.

I need him, not just physically but emotionally. I’m getting attached. No, I’m already attached. The realization hits me, and I feel a tear slide down my cheek as fear takes hold.

What if I lose him? What if something goes wrong? What if our family falls apart? We don’t have enough memories together. Will there ever be enough memories with him?

“What’s wrong?” He sits up.

I grab his hand and pull him back down. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, holding him close.

His breath fans my neck as he awkwardly holds himself up to avoid crushing me. I don’t care. What if this is our last hug?

I rarely cry in front of others. It makes me feel weak. But today, I don’t feel any shame.

This man, here with me now, is becoming my everything. And I’m letting it happen.

I don’t know if I can muster the courage to fall in love with him, knowing he might not feel the same. But I’m willing to risk it all. I can’t lose him.

“You didn’t answer me, ~bambola~,” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to f-fuck,” I whisper, cringing at the swear word.

He pulls back, looking at me with furrowed brows. “Are you in pain?” he asks, starting to move away.

I shake my head, holding onto his arm. “I want to make love.” It comes out as a question. I’m asking my mob boss husband to make love to me.

His lips part in surprise. I wait for his reaction. This is a big step for us.

He gently cups my cheek. “You don’t have to ask, Francesca. A wife has rights over her husband, just as a husband has rights over his wife.”

I smile, tears blurring my vision. I’m grateful he doesn’t ask why I’m crying. He’s giving me space.

Soon, he’s kissing me again, his lips moving softly against mine. I run my hands over his bare back, tracing the scars with my nails.

He shivers, pulling back to shed his pants and boxers. I wrap my legs around his waist as he leans over me, his warm body enveloping me.

My eyes squeeze shut and my fingers dig into his back as he eases himself in, his forehead resting against mine.

“Look at me, please,” he asks.

My eyes fly open in surprise. He’s given me orders before, but never requests.

His eyes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. He moves inside me slowly, with precision. There’s no pain or pleasure this time.

It’s just us, living in the moment because we don’t know when we’ll be ready to face reality again. And I don’t have the courage to ask him to make love to me again.

I search the depths of his dark, piercing gaze and find peace. He may be a cold-blooded killer, but he’s my sanctuary. He’s my home.

A gasp escapes me as I surrender to the tension building in my stomach. He kisses my lips. I’m addicted to his touch.

His body shudders as he climaxes inside me, and I deepen the kiss in response. He’s all I need.

I’m selfish because I no longer care about the terrible things he does to others. Because the thought of losing him now makes me question my faith.

He doesn’t look at me as he pulls out, but I’m not hurt. He’s not going anywhere. He’s mine to cherish. Only mine. I won’t let him go.

But my husband doesn’t let me sleep as I’d planned. He lifts my frail body and carries me to the bathroom.

“I heard it’s good to use the bathroom after—after sex,” he says, turning on the bathtub faucet. “I’ll wait outside.”

I nod as he sets me down. Antonio is a quiet man, but he’s even quieter than usual now. Did I ruin his mood by asking him to make love to me?

I don’t want to be the person he can’t find comfort with. I’m his wife. I should be someone he’s happy with, not someone who brings him down.

But I choose to stay silent and not bring it up. If he needs space, then that’s what I’ll give him.

That night, I lie with my hand resting on his waist and my head lightly on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, knowing he’s awake.

“Would you ever leave me?” he asks out of nowhere.

I try to sit up, but he places his hand on my head. I stiffen as his heartbeat quickens.

“Would I have a choice?” I counter.

“If you did?”

I swallow, choosing my words carefully. “Depends, Antonio. Would you ever do something that you know would hurt me?”

He answers immediately. “Physically, no…never. Emotionally, I can’t predict the future.”

I purse my lips. “How can you be so sure that you won’t hurt me physically in the future?”

His heartbeat steadies. “I’ve slapped a few women when they crossed a line and I’ve killed many. That’s no secret. But I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

“Why?” I ask.

His heart skips a beat. “I think we should sleep.”

I don’t push him for more. Whatever it is, he needs to deal with it on his own.

“Good night, ~bambola~,” he says, closing his eyes.

I smile. “Good night, Antonio.”