Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
And then came boxes and garment bags.
Earlier this week, I mentioned I needed to do a little weekend shopping for a few essentials. In true Dante Lombardi fashion, he took that as a personal challenge. An entire rack of designer clothes, beautiful shoes, and luxury purses are neatly arranged in the penthouse apartment, all in my sizes and favorite colors.
I don’t even want to go upstairs yet; I can only imagine the damage he did yet again for this home. He’s insane, intense, and wildly over the top in a loving, possessive, stalker-alpha way. He also made sure I had zero reason to leave him this week or step foot back in my old place.
I drop my work bag and purse on the kitchen island and spot a piece of heavy cream cardstock stationary. Resting next to it is a glass of chilled champagne. I pick up the handwritten note, instantly recognizing Dante’s sharp, slanted penmanship.
Wife,
I’m cashing in on my demand for the weekend in Medina. The one where clothing isn’t an option. Drop everything and meet me in the pool.
—Dante
“Oh, boy,” I mutter half-heartedly to the empty kitchen. The bag I left in the car won’t be needed after all. I walk toward the back patio, stripping off my clothes piece by piece. My silk blouse, pencil skirt, lace bra, and panties are all dropped into a heap on the floor near the sliding glass door. The warm summer evening air hits my heated flesh, but it’s the man in the pool who really sets me on fire.
Dante’s resting his broad arms along the tiled edge, completely naked, water lapping at his wide chest and sculpted shoulders. His amber eyes lock on me the second I step through the door, tracking every inch of my bare body with an intense, hunger-filled gaze.
“Took you long enough.” His voice is low, raspy over the sound of the jets in the water.
“Take that up with your friend,” I say, stepping down the shallow steps of the pool. The water washes over my skin. The temperature is perfect to soothe every tired muscle in my body. “And don’t think I didn’t see the boxes in your living room.”
“Our living room,” Dante corrects me. I don’t even want to know what he’s spoiling me with now. The only good part is, there were only two compared to the plethora he had sent to the penthouse. Once I’m in reaching distance, his arms wrap around my waist under the water and pull me straight onto his lap. The head of his cock nudges at my entrance, and I slide down.
“Dante.” My eyes close, and I rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling his hard muscles beneath my palms. He smooths his hand up my back, his eyes searching mine with a fierce intensity.
“You’re not wearing clothes for the next forty-eight hours, Alexandria. I’m going to make good use of your body.” I tilt my head to look down at him. My pussy flutters around his cock. A thought has been lingering in the back of my mind since we finally became an us.
“You know,” I mutter, my fingers combing through the damp ends of his hair, “we haven’t been using birth control, and I never got the Plan B pill. Not in Vegas, not this week, and you keep coming inside me every single time.” Dante doesn’t blink. His grip on my hips fold firm, his thumb dragging dangerously close to my clit.
“And?” he asks. A spark takes hold in his amber eyes. “Told you before and I’ll tell you again. Don’t want you on birth control. You get pregnant, I’m all for it.”
“Dante,” I breathe out his name. A slow satisfied smirk spreads across his handsome face.
“I’m not bothered by it at all, wife.” He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he speaks in that smooth, uncompromising tone. “And obviously, you aren’t either, or you would have made a doctor’s appointment by now.” His warm breath sends shivers down my spine. My jaw drops open. I pull back, glaring at him, and while I’m annoyed, this movement also makes me purr in the back of my throat. His cock pulses inside me. I’m rolling my hips, and my clit throbs, demanding more.
“Shut up,” I snap, attempting to sound stern. There’s zero heat behind it, and all my husband does is laugh—a low, deep sound that vibrates through my body as he brings me closer, lips going to my skin before he bites the curve of my neck where it meets my shoulder.
God, why does he have to be right all the fucking time? I think to myself, burying my hands in his dark hair. I never made an appointment. I never looked up birth control plans again. And honestly, deep down, the thought of carrying his child, of being tied to this incredible, maddening man forever, stopped terrifying me. It actually thrills me now.