“Have a good evening,” I tell her. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”
“What is he talking about?” she asks, pinning me with a look of fury and disgust. “What lies have you been feeding him?”
I roll my eyes. Of course she’s blaming me. In her world, boys from good families—boys like Liam—can do no wrong. I’m truly the spawn of Satan. “Enough of them so that he’d marry me, mom. Now, take care,” I say with a toothy grin.
She gawks at me, and it’s as if she’s realizing for the first time that she has no idea who I am. With a huff, she finally stomps out into the parking lot and slides into her sassy little convertible. My husband and I watch from under the diner’s awning until she’s out of sight.
I’m sure she’ll find some way to bitch at me again for not living the life she designed for me. It’s not the last time I’ll go at it with my mother, assuming I keep in touch.
Dante’s fingers wrap around my wrist, yanking me around to the back corner of the building, out of view of the windows and the main parking lot. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s slamming me back against a metal storage door. At least, I hope it’s just a storage door and not an employee exit.
His mouth finds the column of my throat with my next blink, and I practically melt.
“I need you,” he growls, tasting my skin with his tongue and grinding himself into my hips, pinning me in place.
“We’re outside,” I almost whisper. “Anyone might see.”
“How quickly can you come?”
My lips part to answer, to tell him that I’m so freaking close it won’t matter, but he’s already lifting me in the air and sliding the fabric of my dress up my thighs.
I chose this dress on purpose, knowing the floaty mint-green sundress would provide easy access for whatever my husband might want to do to me. Dante promised to take me out on a date tonight—his suggestion—and I am more than ready to forget about my mother and discover what he has planned.
“Did she hit you?”
Damn it, I knew he’d ask.
“It’s fine. It didn’t—” Dante’s teeth sink into my shoulder and I wince a bit at the sharpness of his bite.
“It’s not fine,” he retorts sharply. “If anyone touches you again, I’m breaking their arm. I don’t care who they are.”
I bob my head, helpless to argue when my need is a fire in my blood. “Okay.”
My husband goes back to making out with my neck while he peels my panties to the side. I didn’t even realize he had unzipped himself until I feel the velvet tip of his cock rubbing against my clit.
“Did you miss me, princess?”
I smile.
It hasn’t even been five hours since I last saw him. But miss him, I have. I miss him every second we’re not together, and it’s disgustingly apparent.
“I’m not sure,” I tease. “How about you remind me what I was missing?”
Dante doesn’t need any more encouragement, driving into me. My ass hits the door with a jerk and he continues to pound into me, rattling the poor egress.
We don’t talk with words, instead using our bodies to communicate what we’re feeling. I think we’re both tired of discussing everything around us, all the trials and tribulations we’ve had to face. This afternoon apart gave me some much needed thinking space I’ve been able to reflect on how things might have gone differently. On how I want to handle moving on.
I still want Dante in my life and at my side—that hasn’t changed.
But the timeline for our international relocation may need to move up. I know Dante spent the afternoon with Enzo, exploring our options, but I’m not sure where things stand in terms of Angelo’s organization. The uncertainty is why I couldn’t tell my advisor for sure whether I would be re-enrolling at Thronewood or withdrawing. Why I still haven’t called Graham to figure out how to adjust the timeline for my culinary program.
I have the digital files outlining the credit transfer and transcript request policies for both schools saved on my phone, front and center under the weather display.
But none of that matters in this moment.
Right now, my husband is fucking my brains out and making love to my neck. He knows how much it drives me wild. That I love the lashing of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. The thought of wearing his marks with pride has me on the edge of climax. I’m sure he’s aware that he could finish me off just like this.
You were right, Mom. I am easy.
