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Not as relaxing as shoving my dick in her mouth and coming down her throat. But still pretty fuckin’ relaxing.
For about an hour in the afternoon, and then the same at night, we sat beside each other and worked on the billion blue and white squares she said we needed to make the blanket for Marcello. It was by far the best time of my day.
Other than when I had my son in my arms, that is.
But spending time like this with Giselle was fuckin’ priceless. The first time Nick had walked in and observed me crocheting—his jaw had dropped to the floor. But the man was smart and didn’t say a goddamn word.
Eve on the other hand had started crying instantly, and said, “Oh, my gosh. You two are the cutest.”
Their reactions didn’t mean shit to me. All I cared about was what Giselle thought. And in her eyes, a man who sat beside her and helped crotchet a blanket was in her words, “really hot.”
Not to mention it also got me laid every night. So, really, it was worth it in the end.
We sat like that for a while, Giselle making a perfectly perfect square, and me—fucking up royally, but still having a good time as I ruined my shit. When I looked down at her left hand, I saw something sparkle like crazy.
My heart pounded in my chest. I tossed my mess of a fuckin’ square onto the coffee table and grabbed her hand.
Then I looked into her eyes. “You still want to be my wife?” I asked, feeling oddly nervous and out of breath.
At the hospital, the nurses had removed the necklace from around her neck. The one she had my rings strung on.
I’d set it on her dresser in our room.
And there it sat.
For months.
Until now.
Giselle bit her lip and nodded. “Yes. If you still want me.”
I ripped the square out of her hand and threw it beside us somewhere.
And then I kissed the fuck out of my fiancée. My tongue plunged into her mouth, and I took over the kiss. She moaned, and it was my undoing. I reached for her shirt, but it had fucking buttons. Instead of opening them like a sane person, I ripped the front of her shirt open.
Buttons popped off everywhere. Not that I gave a fuck.
“Carlo, you can’t—” Giselle started saying.
“I just did. There’s no time,” I tried to explain. She must know, though. She had to feel this, too.
Her hands slipped under my T-shirt and it rose up my stomach. I lifted it the rest of the way and tossed it over my shoulder.
She had on a pair of shorts.
Short shorts. And I made quick work of removing those down her long legs, along with her panties.
I sat back and moved her onto my lap, so she was straddling me. The only thing separating us was her bra.
And my fuckin’ pants.
Her hands shot straight to my buckle and undid it quickly. I lifted up just enough to help her pull my pants down until my cock bobbed out, ready for action.
But it was always ready when Giselle was around.
She rose up as I held my cock by the base—and she slid down.
Taking me all in.
