Page 51 of His Vicious Vow
Carina
His forehead falls down on me as he fills me the way I begged him too. Unlike before when I freaked almost the moment he came inside me—terrified at the idea of getting pregnant—I savor the feeling. I’ve become addicted to how he touches every inch inside of me with his heartbeat branding me as belonging only to him. Yet it’s obscenely erotic when the scalding essence of him fills me.
He begins to pull away. I hold him close. “Please don’t.” It’s a moan.
Chuckling he rolls us onto our sides. “Okay?”
I snuggle into him and nod. Within seconds I’m asleep.
I’m woken when he slides out of me. Instantly I miss him. “Sandro?”
Catching my hand reaching for him, he squeezes gently. “We need to get up. There is someone who will be annoyed if we leave her waiting. Stay, I’m going to get us some food. Then we’ll jump in the shower.”
Cranky, I let him go and bury my face in his pillow. The scent of him soothes me. I wonder if I can get a few more minutes of sleep. Does he cook? I’m drifting when the bed dips from his weight.
“Piccolina, be a good girl. You didn’t eat any breakfast.” Sandro tugs the sheets off me.
I shiver as I roll over and sit up. Oh no, I feel it and lay back down again.
“You slept for three hours. Are you still sleepy?”
Shaking my head, I admit. “When I sit up you drip out of me. I don’t like it.” I’m not even aware of sliding my hand over me so it doesn’t escape.
Oh god, how embarrassing is my last thought before a growl escapes Sandro. I’m up in his arms as he carries me into the walk in shower. “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You want my come, my dear wife?”
He flicks on the water, too hot then just right. “Yes, please, my dear husband.”
I’m pressed into the wall at the same time his cock pushes inside me with a furious thrust. It’s frantic, almost desperate. I hit my climax in minutes. Sandro is only seconds behind me. Soo fucking amazing. Another small climax pushes me further out into waves of pleasure.
Sandro runs a hand through my hair. “I swear. I’ve never come so fast and hard as I do with you.”
I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth. Yet I don’t want to think of him with all the women who came before. Except I admit I do have one question. “You said your ex…girlfriends were my size or bigger. Why?”
“Simple, I like a soft body against me. I’ve dated women who were skinny and all the sizes in between. I prefer women who are larger. Especially the women who were older. I understand it isn’t easy with the whole media leaving a woman feeling like if she isn’t skinny she isn’t good enough. Older women or even younger women who are over the message and embrace who they are, it’s sexy as hell.”
Relief washes over me like the hot water.
Not surprisingly he feels it. “You are beautiful. Believe it. It’s true. Whether you’re a size eighteen, twenty anything more or less. A dress size isn’t an indication of beauty.”
I force a laugh to cover my embarrassment. “You sound like a poster.”
“Good, those posters are out to remind people of things they forget. Speaking of forgetting. I need to get you washed and fed.”
I’m cranky again when he cleans me. He kisses me until I’m smiling again. He turns the water off, grabs a towel, and begins drying me. We both become turned on all over again. Shaking his head he presses a kiss to my mound. “No. Dry your hair. I’m going to get dressed.”
I watch him walk away as he dries himself, damn his ass is as sexy as it felt when I ran my hands over it. Sighing, I focus on drying my hair.
Back in the bedroom he’s dressed already. This time he’s in a suit. The dove gray suit cut to fit him to perfection means playtime is over. He nods at a new suitcase on the bed. “Some clothes from Chicago. Dress comfortable.”
Opening the suitcase I find a pretty blue maxi dress, two long skirts, a pretty top, and soft pink wrap dress. I want to weep from happiness at the beautiful soft and silky panties and bras inside I decide to wear the blue dress and matching light blue silk with soft mesh cups and panties.
His eyes watch every move I make. The moment I’m dressed he tugs me down next to him on the bed. The large plate he made is a simple meal of a baguette, mozzarella, tomatoes, olives, and the yummiest salami I’ve ever tasted. Sandro feeds me in between drugging kisses. His happiness shines as bright as the sun and is just as warm. He urges me to tell him what I loved most about the things I saw in Florence. I giggle over him following me around the city.
I’m not giggling anymore when he finally answers the question I’ve asked twice of how he found me. “I have a fucking tracker inside me? I’m going to kill Milos. I should also tell on Sergei for breaking Celia’s confidence like he did. He’s protecting her, not me.”
“You are not going to kill Milos. Celia would be displeased if you did. And Sergei did protect her and you. You out in the world alone with no one watching over you is unacceptable—you’re too damn cute and small. Anyone could hurt you, overpower you. I’m glad you’re coming back to Vegas with me.”
I’m an asshole because his clear fear of me roaming around without security fills me with happiness until I wonder if I could burst from it. The same way I felt when he shrugged off spending almost a million dollars so I couldn’t escape him. He’s right, if I found out I was pregnant I would run back to him the day I took a test and beg him to take me back. This man is a psycho but he's my psycho. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do because he wants me. It isn’t because he has to marry me, he wants me to marry me.