“You do not do that to a man who has been locked in a cage for over nine years,” he scolds me.
I allow myself to release a bit of selfishness and spit toward him, “You do not tell that to a woman who has loved you enough to stay faithful to you for as long as I have.”
“I told you not to,” he hisses.
“I couldn’t have been with another. I could never be with another.”
I hear the door open and shut from behind again and step back.
He doesn’t turn around.
“Our daughters go to bed at eight o’clock at night. By nine, I am normally done pleading for them to actually go to sleep.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “I expect you to come and show me why I waited.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warns.
“I certainly do.”
I turn and look at Vincent. “Please take him to a nice dinner. And the man needs some new clothes.”
I don’t look back at him. I simply walk into the house.
Before dinner, I do what most mothers do when they need a break, or should I say, a breakdown. I hide in the bathroom and cry away my anger and frustration.
After dinner, the girls and I walk along our private beach with Aunt Joe, collecting shells. Before she leaves, she hugs me and tells me she loves me, that we will talk tomorrow.
I lie in bed, knowing that, although our daughters didn’t ask about him, they suspect the man they saw for the first time in their lives is their father. I also suspect it has something to do with coaching from Aunt Joe.
It’s nine o’clock at night when I message Vincent, asking about Franco’s whereabouts. He informs me I should hear from him soon.
At ten o’clock, I walk out onto the balcony and drink my third glass of champagne alone, becoming angry. Again, I reason with myself that he has a huge adjustment to make, being a free man, and another at finding out he is a father.
I walk back into my room and to the bathroom where I look at myself in the mirror, hoping I am still beautiful to him.
I have on a champagne colored robe overtop a black, lacey nightgown. I am waxed, threaded, manicured, and polished. If he doesn’t think so, he is wrong.
I walk back out and into my room, shrugging off my robe before pulling back the champagne colored duvet and climbing into bed. When I look at the clock again, I see it’s ten fifteen p.m.
I close my eyes and try to stop myself from becoming angry. Instead, I remember my recurring dream of the past eight years.
Atop a bed of chocolate silk, I sit up and remove my lacey nighty. Then I lie down, completely naked and spread, waiting for him.
Like my dream, the French doors to the balcony overlooking the ocean are open, a breeze blowing the sheer, champagne colored curtains hanging from them. My nipples peak when the cool, midnight ocean breeze sweeps across my heated and wanton body.
I cup my breasts and tug gently on the diamonds adorning the ends of the piercings, sending a wave of pleasure down my body until it reaches my core. My pussy clenches as I stroke my fingertips down my body and cup myself, applying just enough pressure to intensify my need. I gently rub around my clit, causing more pressure and pleasure to build, to burn, to ready myself.
Sliding a finger into my center, I moan as I curve it up, hitting my sweet spot, while using the other hand to pinch my nipple harder.
Closing my eyes, I continue to build the desire as I wait for him, for real this time.
When I hear footsteps on my balcony, I open my eyes.
Shivers run down my spine when I look into his milk chocolate eyes as they rake down my body.
“Valentina,” he groans in a low, animalistic rasp.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“We have much to discuss.”
“Not now, Franco, not now.”
“Valentina …” he sighs.
“I need you.”
He lowers his head and takes a deep breath. Then he unbuttons his crisp gray shirt, slowly revealing his exquisite body inch by inch to me.
As he steps closer, I gasp and begin to sit up, to touch the parts of him that are changed. The scars that cover his ripped muscles.
“Valentina, no. Not now. I need you, too.”
I lie back and focus on the black ink covers his hard, ripped body, causing more fire to burn deep inside me.
When his shirt falls to the ground, he runs his hand over his thick black hair that reveals more specks of silver near his temples. Just like in my dreams, he aged like the finest of wines made of the grapes grown in the vineyards we once played in as children.
“You waited for me, Valentina?” His voice is husky and oozes with desire, desire for me.
“Of course.” I purr, allowing my legs to fall to the sides, giving him a better look at what I know causes his mouth to water, showing him what he yearns to taste, to touch. Displaying what once was his and still is.
He unhurriedly unbuckles the black belt around his trim waist, letting it hang open as he slowly works his button and zipper with his thick, long fingers. He then pulls his belt out inch by glorious inch, one loop at a time, as he watches me rub my soaked slit.
“Your pussy is more beautiful now than I remember when I tasted it all those years ago.”
He pushes his thumbs slowly under the waistband of his undone slacks, providing me a glimpse of the deep-cut muscles that form a V.
I lick my lips, wetting them, preparing them for him.
My love.
He pushes his slacks down slightly, just enough to tease and torment me, exposing the thick root of his cock.
Yes, my insides clench.
I watch him push his pants farther down.
He is beautiful.
His cock is growing thicker before my eyes.
He pushes his slacks farther down.
I know his cock like it is a part of me. I know how much is still covered.
He pushes his pants down fully now and stands up.
I remember how his cock doesn’t stand erect. It can’t. His thick, heavy cock hangs between his legs perfectly, resting against tight, large, magnificent balls.
I inhale the salty scent of the sea air, willing him closer so I can smell his manly scent over it.
He grips his cock, swiping his thumb across the broad head. Then he lifts it up and rubs his forefinger against his thumb, spreading the pre-cum between them as he walks closer to me.
He grabs my ankles, pulling my legs farther apart as he kneels between my legs, dips his head, and inhales deeply.
“Fuck, I’ve missed your cunt.”
A quivering moan escapes me as he buries his face between my legs and I come immediately.
“Your pussy is soaked. Your desire is beading up on that beautiful fucking skin. I need to taste you.” His voice is thick, full of need and desire.
He stands then ducks his head, taking one of my breasts in his hand. “What’s this?” he asks, tugging gently on my piercing.
“Jewelry,” I moan out.
He leans in and takes the other in his mouth, sucking, pulling, pinching, and licking on . I nearly fall apart again. Then he reaches between my legs while popping my breast out of mouth.
“So fucking wet.”
“Yes,” I whimper. “God, yes.”
Capitolo Cinque
Franco