Wicked Dance [Editing]

Twenty-Six

Contessina

There was no doubt or fear, no nervousness or hesitation in my body as I slid up to my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to my husbands.

There was absolutely nothing in my head but the fact that I was his and he was mine and that nothing in the world could stop me from kissing him, from taking what belonged to me.

Matteo Astor was mine, till death and even then, he would be mine, it was a promise, a vow, eternal.

Like the first kiss, the one in the rain, my husband comes willingly to me, hands fisting my sides, bringing me closer to him to the point that I can feel every inch of him even when we're both fully dressed.

I can feel the way his heart races, how his breath turns shallow and hot with the kiss, intoxicating against my own. I can feel the way he wants me and it makes my stomach knot, heat pooling in the pit, between my legs, flushing my whole skin.

He pulls me closer as if I'm air and he needs me to breathe, his lips desperate and hungry against mine.

It's not a tender kiss, not like the one in church. It's not soft or slow. It's starving and aching, inappropriate so. It's a need and a want and everything in between. It's his tongue sliding in me, engraving every inch, claiming, drowning out each moan as he does that, making the aching grow, needing more, needing him.

I need him.

All day, all evening, my head had been between the reception- enjoying every last second of what I spent years looking forward to- and this moment between him and me, the intimacy and all that would follow.

Initially I had been nervous, anxious even because how would I compare to the women before me? To what he was used to? But as quickly as those thoughts invaded my mind, I pushed them out because Matteo might have been with plenty of women before me but I was the last woman, the only, everything.

I was the one with his cold and dark heart and that meant more than anything in the world.

Feeling him pull me even closer, he gives and takes. His tongue tasting and feeling, one hand moving from my side to my back, a slow and delicious shiver running down my spine at the sensation he causes with his touch alone.

It could be a kiss to my hand, a slow caress between my legs, or him dragging his fingers across my feet. It could be any touch in any part and my heart raced at the prospect of everything else he could do with his mouth and fingers, with his body.

I want him.

I want to rip his clothes off, strip for him, make love to him. I want to give myself to him fully and completely to the point that I'm all he knows and needs.

I'm in love with him.

Feeling his fingertips at the back of my neck, I let out another soft moan, his lips moving against me, his words guttural. "That sound-" he cups the back of my neck, making that pulsing grow between my legs- "It makes me want to do everything to you."

I'd let him. Anything. Everything. Willingly.

I've wanted him since the first kiss but fear and shame made me deny the idea of such a thing. Fear because of who I was, shame for wanting a man almost twice my age and forbidden to me for all he stood for. But I didn't feel that anymore, not only because of our marriage but because why deny your wants? Why worry about what everyone thought?

I could be anything, anyone and I was Contessina Astor, his wife.

"I'm yours," I breathe out as an answer.