Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
“If you want to attend your meeting, then I’m sure it can be rearranged—”
“No. You were right,” she insists. “He should handle his own business. I saved him once. I don’t need to do it again. I belong with my husband now.”
I bend my head to her collarbone and lick along the delicate curve. “Damn right you do.”
Isabella’s thighs are spread for me, drawing me in, and I push myself back inside her warmth with a stroke that makes her gasp. “Like this?”
“Almost,” she breathes.
I make a collar of my hand on her throat. “What about this, my dear wife?”
She tips her head back another inch to find more contact. “Like that.”
A gentle squeeze of my fingers, and her pussy clenches around my cock. She likes being restrained, she likes the hint of fear. She likes everything I have to give her. She really was made for me. I knew that early. What I didn’t realize is that I was also made for her. My cock was made to fill her sweet pussy, my hands were made to pleasure her. My heart was made to beat for her, wanting more, needing it—a woman strong enough to stand up to me.
And a love deep enough to endure.
EPILOGUE
Isabella
“Thirty minutes.”
My husband puts a hand on my arm and runs his palm down over bare skin. Down to my elbow. Down to my wrist, and my hand, where it rests on the railing of our baby’s crib. “You can’t abandon the dinner party after thirty minutes. Ninety, at least.”
“Forty-five.” Like most things in our life, it’s a negotiation.
“You deserve more of a break than forty-five minutes.” He pulls me close against him, and through the fabric of my dress I can feel the outlines of his tux.
One year after our wedding, and he still takes my breath away in black tie.
I only have eyes for our daughter in this moment. I know, I know. We can’t spend all our time staring at a sleeping baby. But look at Francesca. She enjoyed the attention of our small house party all day, being oohed and ahhed over, but now it’s time for her to rest.
And for us to enjoy a few hours of grown-up time.
Rare grown-up time, now that we have a baby.
Francisco turns me gently away from the crib. “Chessa won’t be alone for a moment.” He’s right. The night nanny is waiting in the next room. And perhaps more importantly, Wolf has sentry duty lying beside her crib. “Come with me.”
“I didn’t know it would be this hard to leave her,” I admit, blinking away the threat of tears. I’ve been emotional since I got pregnant. I thought it might ease once I gave birth, but I’m always on the brink of tears. “It’s downstairs, not across the ocean.”
“So much cuddling,” he says, tsking as if he’s a strict father. “We’ll spoil her this way. She can be alone for an hour or two without us hovering over her.”
In truth he’s the one usually cuddling her, planting kisses on her warm forehead, showing her how to pet Wolf, changing her so that I can get a moment of sleep. He’s the indulgent one between us, rocking her late into the night because she wants to be held.
But he’s right, the way he usually is, so I give our sleeping baby one last kiss on her dark hair and take Francisco’s offered arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I haven’t said anything. There’s been no change in my expression, but he knows anyway. He’s perceptive, my husband. And persistent, so I don’t bother denying it. “I’m worried,” I admit.
“About the dinner? Chef’s taken care of everything.”
In consultation with Frans, of course. Most people outside of our close circle of friends wouldn’t know this, but he’s actually quite comfortable managing our domestic affairs. I’m usually the one going over the financials, both personally and in our holdings. It’s perhaps a little backwards to what some people expect, but it works for us.
“About us,” I say, smoothing down my voluminous satin skirts. He’s never stopped dressing me since our wedding, my husband. There are always new designer clothes and gowns to wear. Never boring black pantsuits. “I’m so happy. Too happy. What if it doesn’t last?”
We’re almost at the big double doors to the dining room. I can see our friends Liam and Samantha, leaning close to another couple for conversation. Frans introduced me to them when they stayed with us a few months ago, and now we’re fast friends. Samantha is a professional violinist, and she’s kind enough to play duets with me on the piano, even though I’m an amateur. And there’s my friend Harper who I knew from my party days in New York City. She’s all grown up, now, too, and married to the love of her life. I can already smell something incredible wafting from the kitchens. The guests have glasses of wine and champagne. The piano waits in the center of the small room, ready for whenever I want to wander over and play.