Keeping his bride

Verona

“YOU’RE BEING QUIET,” Luca says from across the table.

I look up at him, meeting his silver gaze. “I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. After Dante’s confrontation and his refusal to accompany us to dinner, feigning illness instead, I’ve been distracted. But Dante isn’t part of the equation at this moment, and I know I need to focus on my husband.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Luca offers.

I want to tell him about Dante and what he said and did, but I don’t. For some reason, just like when we were kids, I want to protect Dante. I don’t want him to get in trouble. And I have a feeling that if Luca knew Dante put his hands on me and left bruises, which took me twenty minutes to cover up with makeup, he would be upset. Well, more than upset. Hell, Luca would probably burn the world to the ground with his fury.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him with a wave of my hand, dismissing the idea. I glance around the empty Italian restaurant. “So, how did you get us reservations like this?” “I know the owner, and he owed me a favor,” he says with a grin.

“So, he cleared out his entire restaurant on a busy Saturday night for you. Wow, must have been one heck of a favor.”

“It was,” Luca says seriously, and I can’t help but wonder what the circumstances are. But I know he probably wouldn’t tell me, so I don’t press. “Are you enjoying the food?” he asks as he takes a bite of his carbonara.

“Immensely,” I admit. The caprese salad was delicious and so is the main course I opted for – chicken parmesan.

“I haven’t had this since I was a kid.” “Your mom used to make it?” he asks.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

I give him a nod and instantly miss her. When she died, it was like a part of me died with her. And I don’t think that hole in my heart has ever healed. “She was a great cook. My father used to complain about how much weight he gained when he ate her cooking,” I say with a laugh.

Luca stares at me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“You miss her.”

“So much.”

“I miss my mother too,” he says, and I’m surprised by his vulnerable admission.

I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently for support. He gazes at me for several long seconds before squeezing back. I can’t help but wonder if he still blames my family for his loss, but I don’t want to bring it up and spoil our evening together. It’s been an amazing night with Luca, and I honestly feel like I’m on a real date with my husband.

The waiter chooses that moment to reappear. “Dessert, signore?” he asks.

Luca’s heated gaze lands on me when he says, “I know what I want for dessert.” Then he adds, “But it’s not on the menu.” To the waiter, he says, “Leave us. We’re done for this evening.”

“Yes, of course, signore,” the man says before disappearing from the room.

I swallow hard as Luca stands up from the table, dropping his napkin down on his discarded food. He extends a hand to me, and I take it, my hand shaking from anticipation.

Suddenly, he turns me around in his arms and bends me over the table. The wine glasses spill from the sudden movement, the dark red liquid soaking into the white linen tablecloth.

Nervously, I glance around the room and at the windows. The shades are pulled down, but someone could still walk in at any moment. “Luca!” I whisper in panic.

But he’s not listening. Instead, he drops to his knees behind me, and I feel the air brushing my backside as he lifts up the skirt of my black dress. His hands slide up and down my legs as I try to steady them in my high heels.

“Perfetta,” he whispers before placing a kiss on the back of each of my thighs. His fingers hook into my thong and pull it down my legs gently. “Lift your foot,” he instructs, and I do, as he removes my thong. “Now spread your legs,” he tells me, his voice deep and gruff with desire.

I spread my legs a little, but then I hear him tsking at me.

“Wider, Verona,” he says. “Yes, that’s my naughty girl,” he says when he’s finally satisfied.

I expect him to lick me then, but he surprises me when he stands up. I start to move, but he places a hand on my shoulder. “Stay right there,” he whispers. “Fuck, you look gorgeous bent over the table like that.” He circles around me, and I can hear a groan escape his lips. “I should tell the waiter to come back in here so he can witness your beautiful pussy and ass on display.” I open my mouth to protest, but then he quickly says, “But I don’t want another man to see what’s mine.”

His possessiveness sends a shiver through me. My legs are trembling in anticipation when I feel the heat of his body again. He drops to his knees once more, and he doesn’t waste time before licking me from my clit to my tight, little hole. I gasp at the feeling. It feels so wrong, but, god, it feels good.

“I’m going to claim this too,” he says before pressing his thumb against my hole. “Soon,” he threatens.

His thumb keeps the pressure on my tight puckered hole as his tongue finds my clit, licking me into oblivion. His tongue, mouth and lips feel so good against me that I turn into a boneless mess, gripping the linen tablecloth beneath me in a death grip. “Luca!” I cry out.

His thumb penetrates me, making the sensations tenfold, and I suck in a strangled breath. “Oh god, oh god!” I cry out.

“God can’t help you now,” he growls from behind me before his mouth returns to my clit.

Incoherent words tumble out of my mouth as the pleasure builds up inside of me until I finally reach the peak and drop over the edge. I shatter into a million pieces on his tongue as he fucks my tight hole with his thumb, dragging the pleasure out of me with every movement.

A loud moan rips from my throat as the pleasurable waves keep crashing through my body. “Please!” I beg, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for at this point.

But he makes the decision for me, pulling out his thumb and licking my clit slowly once…twice…three times before he finally stops.

My fingers grip the tablecloth, afraid to let go because my legs feel like jelly, and I don’t think they could support my weight right now.

“That was the best dessert I’ve ever had,” I hear Luca say from behind me. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then gently pulls down my dress. He doesn’t put my thong back on me, so I have no idea where that went.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asks calmly like nothing even happened, like he didn’t just completely wreck me in the middle of the restaurant.

“I…I don’t think…I can walk,” I say between staggered breaths.

I see several hundred-dollar bills flutter to the table before he lifts me up and into his arms. My head rests against his chest as we leave the restaurant.

Benito is waiting at the car, and he flashes us a rare, shy smile as he opens the back door. “Dinner was good?” he asks.

“It was good. But the dessert was fucking delicious,” Luca says, making me blush.

Once we’re in the backseat, Luca pulls me to him, and I fall asleep in his lap on the ride home. My last coherent thought is that this man, my husband, is going to be the death of me.