Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Yes. You could say that.
He went on, “There are only two people who are able to diffuse the tension in this room. So, I want you to kiss me like a wife should kiss her husband.”
My heart stuttered along with my speech, “I-I-I don’t know how a wife should kiss her husband.”
His eyes darkened but there was something else there lurking there. Desire. “You’ll work it out.”
The shouting got louder, but all I could see was him.
Um, alright. I guess I could try.
I took my loose hand and nervously touched it to his belt. His stomach flexed under my fingers. I stepped closer, flattening my front against his, and my uneasy exhale shook. My fingers glanced his stomach, moving upwards, across his chest until it met his uninjured shoulder. My fingertips whispers along the line of his throat, around to his nape, and, as if I couldn’t help myself, my fingers curled as I gently ran my nails along the short hairs there.
My knees wobbled. I locked them as I slowly raised myself up on my tiptoes. Our eyes met and I dawdled before tilting my head slightly, closing the distance and pressing my cold lips against his warm mouth.
The kiss was soft. It was gentle and lingering. No steam. Merely a humble act of harmony where there should have undeniably been discourse.
I could feel the tension around us transform to bewilderment, and then cold confusion.
Same, though.
And just when I moved to pull back, Ettore’s long fingers dug into my hip. I hissed into his mouth, but he held me there. When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going anywhere, he gentled his hold on me, running his thumb over the stung area. And then, his arm rounded me, snaking around my small, soft body, pulling me close until our bodies were flush against one another.
The hand in which he led with gripped my own, trapped, pinched between our bodies. And then, Ettore deepened the kiss. Our noses brushed and, unconsciously, I nuzzled into him. He released a breath that turned into a partial groan. My pulse throbbed in my neck and… elsewhere, too.
When my husband moved to end the kiss, I gripped his collar tightly and pulled him back, letting out a shamefully dazed, “No.”
Ettore Scala yielded and our mouths melded once more. We kissed brazenly in front of our families. It was hot in a way I had only seen in movies. It was exciting and electric, and when he pressed the hardened length of his cock into my hip, my face bunched and I whimpered.
Holy shit.
I had never been kissed like this. I didn’t know kissing like this existed.
I wanted more. I wanted to feel his tongue against my own. I wanted his hand between my legs. I wanted to undress him right there and then, and then I wanted to mount and ride him like a common whor-
The spell I was under broke quite suddenly when somebody whooped. Our lips separated and I blinked up at him wide eyed and astonished.
Oh my God.
I very nearly climbed my husband and dry humped him in front of our esteemed guests.
Red faced and embarrassed, my look of shock must have amused some of them because laughter began, then clapping and soon, the tension in the hall evaporated as, together, my family and his, cheered for us.
“Ugh,” was all I managed to choke out before I felt Ettore’s body shake once in silent laughter.
Mortified at my reaction to this man, I peeked up at him with blazing cheeks to find him looking down at me with a smile so slight, I could have imagined it.
I had never been close enough to man to have shared little moments. But when he released my hand, brought his thumb to my pulsing, swollen lips and gently cleaned the smeared lipstick off of my lip line, the small, intimate act caused something odd to happen to me.
A piece of my broken heart began to repair itself. In that moment I thought, all things considered, it could be worse.
Yes, this marriage would forever have brutal roots, but if we were both willing, if we nurtured it, it could grow into something strong. Into something beautiful.
It was typical that at the very moment I found a splinter of hope in this impossible situation, I heard my sisters disturbingly ecstatic voice in my head.
We can ruin him, Vicky.
As if it were an admission of guilt, I searched for her at the bridal table. She sat watching me closely and I felt her gaze pierce my insides. She lifted her glass, sipping on bourbon. Anyone who looked at her then would find nothing untoward in her body language. I knew better.
Vincenza was furious.
One couple joined us on the dancefloor, then another, and soon, the reception became a lively event. And, yes, our families would never truly trust each other, but there was a certain amount of respect one had to offer.