Page 52 of Revenge

Bea.

I rush to her and give her a giant hug as the rest of the crowd break into applause and cheering.

“Ah, yes. I met your delightful bridesmaid again. She was a great help to me in finding the music to draw you out.” He leans over to give Bea a cheek kiss.

“Come, my sweet wife.” He sweeps me up into his arms. “Our future is waiting.”

Antonio

I carry my beautiful wife across the threshold of my penthouse. We’re still wet from the rain, and her cheeks are flushed. Her big blue eyes are soft on my face, making me feel taller than the Empire State Building. She’s been looking at me that way ever since I caught her under the balcony.

Goddamn, my heart stopped in that moment. I will have nightmares until the day I die. If she’d been hurt–if I hadn’t caught her, or my body hadn’t broken the fall–I never would have recovered.

She ignores the interior of my loft as I carry her through it and into the bathroom in the master suite. Instead, she’s apparently fascinated, still, by my face. She’s touching my jaw, pushing my wet hair out of my eyes.

I set her down in the bathroom and tug her wet blouse over her head then slide her pants and panties down her legs. She unhooks her bra and tosses it to the marble floor.

She unbuttons my shirt as I toe off my shoes, and then I find her mouth. I haven’t kissed her properly since the day The Honeymoon sank at sea. Haven’t claimed her sweet mouth or seen her naked. I haven’t been able to touch or taste her skin.

I strip out of the rest of my clothes as I kiss her then walk her backward until we’re under the spray.

“I missed my wife.” My voice sounds rusty.

“I missed you, too.” Dahlia picks up the bar of soap and strokes it across my chest.

I close my eyes, savoring the moment. Drinking it in. Celebrating what has become. This was not a future I ever foresaw. In fact, I don’t think my revenge plan ever got past our I-do’s at the altar.

It’s so much sweeter than taking King Yachts. So much richer than having the last word with Benedict King.

It’s far more magical, even than getting the girl I was told I wasn’t worthy of.

This moment is real. It’s now. Dahlia isn’t some stuck-up debutante I want to bring to heel. She’s the vibrant, talented, three-dimensional woman touching me, who, against all reason, has chosen my side. Has offered herself up to me–willingly, this time.

I open my eyes and take the soap from her. Rubbing it between my hands, I generate suds, then stroke around her breasts.

“I’m going to make you happy,” I promise her.

She sways on her feet, her lids drooping.

“You can have anything you want. Voice lessons, performances, your own band. Whatever makes my wife smile, I will make it happen.”

Her face lights up with a smile that slays me.

I go down on one knee to soap each leg, then stroke all around her ass and between her cheeks.

She doesn’t giggle or squirm, she receives my intimate touch like she’s the queen, and it’s her due–which it is.

The tether on my self-control snaps, and I press her against the wall, lifting one of her legs over my shoulder to get at her core. I lick into her, pinning her pelvis to the tile, so I can properly pleasure her.

She grasps my head, first to steady herself then to pull me against her hot flesh, urging me on. I work her clit with my tongue as I slide my fingers along her cleft. She wants more though. She grasps my wrist and presses my fingers against her. I screw one in and slowly pump as I suck the nubbin of her clit.

“Yes,” she moans. “Please, Antonio.”

Fanculo. Her begging makes me lose all control. I add a second finger and pump. Her moan gets louder and louder and rises in pitch until it's almost a scream.

I can't take it anymore. I rise and turn her to face the tile wall. After spreading her legs, and pulling her hips back, I line up my cock with her entrance.

I try to go slowly. Try to remember she's practically still a virgin. But then she pushes that ass back at me, and I forget to be gentle. I grip her hips and shove into her, flattening her chest against the tile. Our two bodies meld as one, in a perfect rhythm and synchronicity. Her cries blend with my panting breath. Each forceful thrust brings us to the brink of ecstasy. We are glorying in the moment, this moment when we stopped becoming individuals and became one united force. Dahlia belongs to me, and I belong to her. We are everything together.