Page 27 of Forsaken Promises
I slide off my horse, my eyes widening with surprise and delight. “What’s all this?”
Dom grins, looking pleased with himself. “I thought we could enjoy a little picnic, just the two of us. I had the cook prepare all your favorite dishes.”
I step closer to the blanket, taking in the spread before me. There’s a basket of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven. A platter of ripe, juicy fruit—strawberries, grapes, and slices of melon. A selection of cured meats and aged cheeses, arranged artfully on a wooden board.
And there, in the center of it all, is a dish that makes my heart skip a beat. “Is that…?”
Dom nods, his smile softening. “Pasta primavera. Your favorite, if I remember correctly.”
I stare at him, feeling a lump form in my throat. “You remembered.”
He shrugs, looking almost shy. “Of course I did. I’ve never forgotten anything about you, Sofia. Not your favorite foods, or your favorite flowers, or the way you used to smile at me when we were alone together.”
I feel a rush of emotion wash over me, a mix of gratitude and guilt. All this time, I’ve been so focused on my own pain, my own anger and resentment. But I never stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, Dom has been hurting too, that he’s been holding on to the memories of our past, just as I have.
“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling a bit awkward. “This is… really thoughtful of you.”
He gestures for me to sit, and I sink down onto the blanket, careful not to spill the glass of wine he’s just poured for me. As we begin to eat, savoring each bite and sipping our wine, I can’t help but marvel at how natural this feels, how easy it is to slip back into the old rhythm of our relationship, to laugh and talk and simply enjoy each other’s company.
Maybe I've been too hard on him, I muse silently. Maybe I’ve been clinging to the past, to the hurt and betrayal, instead of giving him a chance to prove that he’s changed, that he’s not the same man who broke my heart all those years ago.
Dom reaches into the basket and pulls out a ripe, juicy strawberry. He holds it up to my lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Open wide,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
I oblige, parting my lips and allowing him to place the strawberry in my mouth. The burst of sweetness on my tongue is almost as intoxicating as the look in his eyes, the way he watches me as I bite down and savor the fruit.
Feeling bold, I pluck a grape from the platter and hold it up to his lips in return. “Your turn,” I whisper, feeling a thrill of excitement run through me.
He takes the grape into his mouth, his lips brushing against my fingertips in a way that sends shivers down my spine. As he chews, he never takes his eyes off me, his gaze smoldering with a heat that I feel all the way to my core.
We continue like this, feeding each other bits of bread and cheese, slivers of cured meat and slices of ripe fruit. With each morsel, the tension between us grows, the air crackling with a sensual energy that’s impossible to ignore.
Dom picks up some pasta primavera with his fork, twirling it expertly before holding it up to my mouth. As I take the bite, I can’t help but let out a little moan of pleasure at the explosion of flavors on my tongue.
“Good?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.
I nod, swallowing the mouthful before leaning in closer to him. “Delicious. But not as delicious as this.”
And then I'm kissing him, my lips crashing against his with a hunger that takes us both by surprise. He responds instantly, his arms coming around me to pull me closer, his tongue delving deep into my mouth as he explores every inch of me.
The picnic is forgotten as we lose ourselves in each other, our hands roaming and our bodies pressing together with a desperate need. I can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the hard planes of his chest and the ripple of his muscles as he holds me close.
It’s intoxicating, the way he makes me feel. Like I’m the only woman in the world, the only one he’s ever wanted or needed. And even though I know it's just physical, I can’t help but crave it with every fiber of my being.
It’s wrong, I know it is. I shouldn’t be giving in to this, shouldn't be allowing myself to feel anything for him just yet. He hasn’t earned it yet. We’re still getting to know each other again.
But as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, as his hands slide down my back to pull me flush against him, I can't help but surrender to the heat that's building between us.
We're married now, after all, and whatever else may lie between us, whatever hurts and betrayals we've endured… this is still a part of my duty as his wife.
To give myself to him, body and soul. To find pleasure in his touch, in the way he makes me feel.
The chemistry that simmers between us, the desire that pulses through my veins whenever he's near, it’s still there.
It's not love, I tell myself firmly. It's just physical attraction, just a biological response to a handsome man who knows how to push all my buttons.
But as Dom lowers me back onto the blanket, his body covering mine as he deepens the kiss… I can't help but wonder.
Is it really so wrong to want this? To crave the touch of my own husband, the man I’m bound to for the rest of my days?
