Page 97 of I Would Beg For You
Please hear I didn’t miss any of the extravaganza of a wedding.
Please hear I only wanted and needed you, to be yours.
Val laughs softly. “You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”
I let my eyes go wide, glad his tone is light, that he’s not pursuing the dissection of our wedding still. Because I don’t know how to tell him how I really feel about it, about this whole situation. Mostly because I don’t know howhefeels about it all. We’ve settled into a routine at home, like this was just the next step in the evolution of our couple.
We don’t have time to return to our seats before the music gets louder, the beat picking up. Champagne is now flowing freely around the room. Suit jackets and ties have been ditched, most of the men in rolled up sleeves, the women and girls in bare feet.
“It’s about to get fun,” Valentino says, ditching his jacket and tie, too. “Take your shoes off. Come on.”
I do as told. Val takes my hand. A young man I don’t know grabs my free hand, and suddenly, a big circle has formed around the room. Joined hands come together as we all move toward the center of the circle. There’s clapping, then hooking arms with the person next to you and swinging around with them and swapping places. More claps, more swinging. I manage to catch Valentino’s eyes from time to time. We’re all laughing, then at one point, we meet again, only to be swept away once more.
It's a traditional dance called La Tarantella, Val tells me when it’s over and we’re trying hard to catch our breaths. Everyone gets a breather as the cake is cut next, and surprise, it’s not a tiered sponge confection but a flat, traditional Millefoglie—layers and layers of crisp puff pastry filled with cream and fresh fruit.
Valentino assures me we don’t want to stay for the rest of the party once the newlyweds leave. Because that’s when the fun starts for the single people—and also those who want to mingle, too. Tinder has nothing on this, it seems.
We pay our respects to Don Giorgio then return to our hotel. Val confers with a man on the grounds—one of his capos, Pesci. A couple of his soldiers are with him to make sure we’re safe tonight.
A shiver travels through me when I think of Valentino’s new position as a Don. Not like he wasn’t in danger before, but there’s a new, bolder target on him now. We should’ve been heading back to Morris County right after the reception, or accepted to stay at the reception manor—everyone from out of town has a room booked for them with breakfast included.
But Val wanted me to experience this special hotel. I show him how grateful I am when we reach our room. I drop to my knees, wasting no time opening the button and zipper on his pants after undoing his belt to take his erect length into my mouth.
His hands tangle in my hair, guiding the rhythm of my sucking.
Too soon, he pulls out of me, making quick work of removing his clothes.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he says, ripping the pale yellow, boho-chic maxi dress I’m wearing.
Sadly, none of my more fitted dresses would zip up. Fuck those damn drugs my father plied me with. I still haven’t lost the bloat, and in fact, I seem to be getting fleshier every week.
Not that my husband seems to mind. His mouth is on one of my nipples, left hand palming a heavy breast, right hand toying between the folds of my pussy, teasing my clit, stroking me inside with one long finger.
He throws me on the bed, continues his ministrations as I sigh in pleasure and let him ravish me until he finally decides to bury his thick cock to the hilt inside me.
His hands flatten my arms onto the bed, as if in defiance of me having clasped my legs around his hips. His nostrils flare, jaw tenses. God, how beautiful he is when he’s taking me.
His mouth slams onto mine to quell the cry from my orgasm. I don’t resist, let him take from me as he pounds away, teeth biting my lower lip softly as he comes with a groan.
If we’d been at home, we would’ve fallen asleep like this. Since we’re in a hotel, I get up after a moment and slip into a nightdress. Imagine there’s a fire alert or something—I’d prefer not being stark naked in the event of an emergency.
Val pulls on a pair of boxers, then he opens his arms to me. I snuggle into them, and we fall asleep.
It seems we’ve barely closed our eyes when sounds of a commotion break the quiet of the night. It’s like muffled footsteps outside.
Lost clients? Drunk ones, maybe, confusing their door with ours.
Then the door is broken, shattering violently, and I sit up with a start. Valentino is already on his feet, reaching for the gun he stashed in the bedside table.
“Drop the weapon!” a man shouts.
We’re surrounded by five men wearing tactical gear and assault weapons, all pointed on us.
“Drop it!” he shouts again.
Val is no idiot. He carefully lowers the gun to the ground and kicks it away.
I scream when one of the men rushes onto me.
