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“And we have the rest of our life to rest. But right now, what I need is that sweet little cunt of yours to remember who it belongs to,” I say as I slam into her. She gasps, her eyes bulging as her pussy takes time to stretch over my size.
I pull out and then slam back in. Every time I do, pain erupts, but it would never be enough to stop me from claiming my woman.
She moans as she begins to roll her hips over my cock, her eyes rolling into the back of her head in pure bliss.
I let the little vixen milk me in every way that pleases her because I have no intention of letting her leave this apartment anytime soon.
57
ELANEE
Isit beside Ara in Cappa Café. This is the second time I’ve joined her and her three friends who sit across from us.
Her friend, Lily, who usually seems very sweet, is currently stabbing her iced tea with the straw. “My parents told me that I need to start dating seriously, or they’ll take the florist shop away from me.”
“What? But you love that place. And didn’t you buy that shop yourself?” Romi says. Her short, red-dyed hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a shirt that says Yoga Girls are Twisted. Apparently, she’d only returned from an art show in Europe two days ago.
“Not all men are bad,” Sienna says, taking a sip of her tea as she admires her engagement ring. The model apparently fell head over heels and celebrated a quick engagement.
Lily briefly glances over her shoulder at Lorenzo, who’s standing by the door. When his gaze lands on her she’s quick to look away. It’s obvious there’s something between them but I can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps an unrequited crush? Ever since Ara announced she was pregnant, Luca enforced that Lorenzo was to be with her when he himself couldn’t be.
After the incidents involving The Lion, Ara is the only person, besides my sister, who knows the truth of what happened. And I’m the only one at this table who knows that Ara’s husband isn’t just a billionaire businessman but head of the Italian mafia.
But hey, we all have our secrets, I suppose.
“Why don’t you see if Elanee can help you since she’s a matchmaker?” Romi suggests, bringing me into the conversation. Lily looks at me, hopefully, but I can tell without her saying it or glancing back that she’s not the slightest bit interested unless it’s a particular bodyguard.
“I can always keep an eye out if you’d like?” I suggest.
Her shoulders go inward, and she sighs as if doomed to her fate. Lorenzo snatches another glance her way, but I keep that observation to myself. Ara and I share a knowing glance.
“How about this? Luca and I are going to Italy for a few weeks before I get too fat with this baby,” Ara says as she places her hand on her stomach. I envy the touch. Although right now, it’s still unlikely I’ll be able to have children because of my years of malnutrition and abuse. I hope in time and years of correcting it, I might be able to conceive naturally.
Dmitri said he didn’t mind if we adopted either, but now that I had a future to look forward to, I wanted to give him a child. Many, in fact, if it’s possible.
“So why don’t you come with us to Italy?” Ara continues. Lorenzo’s gaze flashes to Ara, most likely because I doubt Luca Armani will appreciate anyone crashing his getaway with his wife.
Lily stares at her, her mouth opening and then closing again. “I couldn’t impose.”
Ara scoffs. “It’s just a few weeks for you to get out of New York and start thinking about what you really want. Not what your parents want, but you.”
Lily bites her bottom lip, and the stabbing of the poor iced tea has lessened. “Really?”
“Of course. That’s what friends do,” Ara says with a smile and places her hand back on her stomach.
I try to hide my smile because this is nice. Before everything happened, I’d always been surrounded by friends, but all that had been taken away from me. But now I’d been given a second chance with these women who took me in without so much as a second thought.
I was starting a new life here.
“Okay,” Lily says with a coy smile. “I’ll go to Italy then.”
“Atta girl,” Romi encourages, nudging her on the shoulder.
My phone on the table lights up with Dmitri’s name. I flip it over, not wanting it to take away from our girls’ time. But Ara notices it, and she softly says, “How’s he recovering after surgery?”
“Good,” I say rather fondly. His tumor was removed three weeks ago, and he is back at home healing. I’d since moved in. In fact, it’d never become a discussion; he’d just had my things moved in from my apartment, but there wasn’t much I wanted from that old life and memories anyway. “This is the first time I’ve left him alone. Layla’s over there babysitting, but he’s probably becoming impatient. He already wants to go back to work.”
“Sounds like Dmitri Volkov,” Ara says, and the other women nod in agreement.
