Becoming His Wife by Hayley Faiman
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MACI
Not yet.
Not. Yet.
What the actual fuck?
Tiziano reaches down, wrapping his hands around my hips before he picks me up, just a few inches from the floor. He starts to walk away from the entrance, and I can’t look anywhere but in his eyes, as he continues moving throughout the house.
Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I stare into his eyes.
“Tiziano,” I breathe.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“Tiziano,” I repeat.
His lips curve up into a grin before he tilts his head to the side and touches his mouth to mine. He lowers me the few inches so that my feet are on the floor and I grip the back of his neck, my nails digging into his flesh there.
“Fuck me, zuccherino,” he growls.
Without a word, his hands reach for the hem of my shirt and he tugs it up my body, tossing it onto the floor. My hands are forced to leave the back of his neck with the move. I gasp when he wrenches my bra straps down and exposes my breasts.
Dipping his chin, he touches his lips to my nipple, sucking me gently, his eyes never looking away from mine. He holds me hostage with his gaze. Lifting my arms, I wrap one of my hands around his shoulder, the other I sift through his hair, gripping and holding him against my breast.
He feels too good where he is. I have no desire for him to move, not anytime soon, anyway. My eyes close as I let out a whimper, arching closer to him. Tiziano growls, the sound vibrating throughout my entire body.
His hands slide down my hips and he grabs my ass, each hand grips a cheek tightly. Pressing my thighs together, I wonder how long I can stay like this without needing more from him. I don’t think I can very much longer, the ache inside of me grows by the second. I need more.
“Please,” I whimper when I’m on the edge, when that ache is too damn much for me to try to push back down.
He doesn’t say anything, instead, he releases my breast and takes a step back, straightening as he looks down at me. My arms fall from his body and I want to reach out, just to touch him some more. I want to feel his muscles beneath my palms, anything, I’m desperate.
“On the bed,” he demands.
Reaching for the waist of my pants, I quickly tug them down, along with my panties, as I hurry toward the bed. If I was shy, I would maybe attempt to be demure and lay sexily down on the bed, but my shyness has disappeared with my need.
I’m not sure how he wants me positioned on the bed, but I know how I want him. Spreading my thighs, I watch him, waiting and hoping that he comes over to me soon. He’s still fully dressed, so instead of making his way toward me, he starts to strip off his clothes.
All thoughts of him missing my appointment, of him being evasive about his whereabouts disappear. Slowly, he starts to strip. Slowly he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his chest for me. My eyes are focused, I’m unable to look anywhere else.
“Touch yourself for me,” he calls out softly.
My head jerks, my gaze finding his. “Tiziano,” I exhale.
“Touch yourself, zuccherino,” he purrs.
It’s the purr that does it for me. A shiver runs down my spine and I nod my head once as I lick my lips. Trailing my fingers down the center of my chest, over my rounded belly, I slide them between my legs.
Tiziano freezes midway through taking his shirt off. His eyes focus on my center and they widen as he presses his lips together. I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong, if he doesn’t like it, but I continue.
My breath hitches as I move my fingers between my thighs, doing what feels the best, what feels the closest to the way he touches me. Closing my eyes, my breath comes out in a puff as I lift my hips and apply more pressure against my clit.
“Stop,” Tiziano demands.
I can’t though. My fingers continue to move as I climb higher and higher toward my release. I’m panting as I crawl toward the edge, so close to falling off of it into an abyss of pleasure, that I am excited that I was able to bring myself to this moment.
I’ve never been this close on my own before, never really tried.
“Fuck,” Tiziano moans.
Opening my eyes, I look directly at him and my breath hitches. His hand is wrapped around his length and he’s stroking himself. Licking my lips, I continue to move my hand between my legs even faster, unable to take my eyes off of his hand, his length, the absolute beauty of it all.
My thighs start to shake as I come and they close as my hand stills, cupping myself. Tiziano grunts, releasing his hand from his length before he swiftly walks across the room toward me.
“Spread,” he demands.
I do.
Forcing my legs open, I scoot close to the edge of the bed. My pussy is clenching with my orgasm, I’m still trying to catch my breath, but Tiziano doesn’t seem to mind.
He wraps his fingers around my hips and tugs me ever closer to the edge of the bed right before he thrusts completely into me. He fills me with one move and my breath hitches.
His eyes don’t leave mine, he watches me as he begins to move. I expect him to move hard and fast, but he doesn’t. Instead, his strokes are slow and steady as he continues to keep his gaze focused on mine.
Pressing my lips together, I inhale deeply through my nose as he watches me. Lifting my hand, I slide my fingers through the side of his hair, keeping them there as he continues to take me. His arms are straight, his fingers still holding on to my hips, his torso careful not to press against my belly.
He grinds his hips against my clit with each downstroke. My fingers grip his hair tighter and I’m afraid I’m going to pull the dark strands out, but I can’t stop myself. I feel my body climbing again.
I’m so sensitive I’m not sure if I’ll be able to orgasm a second time, it kind of hurts, but I also don’t think that I’ll be able to stop myself either because beyond the pain, there is more. There is need and desire.
“Zuccherino,” Tiziano rasps. “Come, baby.”
My entire body shivers. It’s the first time he’s ever called me anything other than Zuccherino or Maci. When he says baby, it is like my body can’t control itself. Lifting my hips, I meet his strokes and it doesn’t take long for me to find my release.
“Yes,” I hiss at the same time he roars so loud that I’m afraid the walls will actually shake.
Tiziano buries himself deep inside of me and I feel him twitch as his release fills my body. His eyes close as what I can only describe as a sense of peace washes over his face.
When he reopens his eyes, his hips start to move again, this time languid and slow, milking himself. Every last drop and I love the way it feels, but mostly, I love the way he looks at me in this moment.
“Now you can tell me what you’re having,” he murmurs.
TIZIANO
Maci’s eyeswiden and then she smiles softly as she looks up at me. I’m still buried inside of her, not wishing to leave the warm home her body has created for my cock. She lifts her legs, wrapping them around my hips and squeezes.
Groaning, I shake my head and gently push off of her, letting out a sigh as I slip from inside of her. I stand at the sight of the bed, holding my palm out for her. She slips her hand in mine and I help her up to a seated position.
“I need to clean up,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.
“I’ll go and get that bag you were holding and the desserts?”
She nods her head. “Don’t open the bag,” she warns.
Grabbing my pants from the floor, I pull them up my legs and over my hips, zipping them, but don’t bother to button them as I hurry toward the front entrance where I placed the things she’d been holding on the floor.
Picking up the cupcake container and the gift bag, I make my way back into the room. Maci is already back on the bed, her back against the headboard and wearing my shirt with the sheets pulled up to her hips.
Her hair is a fucking mess, her makeup practically nonexistent, her face flush, her rounded belly slightly on display and she looks fucking perfect.
“You keep looking that sexy, I’m going to have to fuck you again,” I announce as I close the distance between us.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head once as she holds out her hands for the objects I’ve brought. “What’s in here, anyway?” I ask, testing the weight of the bag and gently moving my arm up and down.
She watches me for a moment, then smiles as she shifts to her knees. “Come sit with me,” she softly demands.
Clearing my throat, I climb onto the bed next to her, but I don’t allow her to simply sit next to me. Wrapping my arm around her, I tug her down to sit on my thighs.
“Tiziano,” she cries on a giggle. “You’re going to crush the cupcakes.”
“Nothing’s as sweet as you, zuccherino. Why do you think I call you sugar, hmm?” I ask as I dip my chin and touch my lips to the side of her neck. I enjoy the way goose bumps break out along her skin.
She turns to me, touching her lips to mine. “Open the bag so you can find out if you’re having a boy or a girl,” she breathes.
“It doesn’t matter, not as long as you’re both healthy. You are, yes?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “You don’t care?” she breathes.
“I wish to know, but no, I don’t particularly care,” I say.
She nods her head but doesn’t say anything. Placing the bag in her lap, I reach inside and tug out a little piece of thin paper. It’s a grainy black-and-white picture, but when I realize what it is, my heart stops.
It’s the profile of a face, a real fucking baby face. Shifting my gaze down to the second picture, I can’t make out the body parts, but there is something typed. Girl, with an arrow pointing to three little lines.
“What is this?” I ask, my hands beginning to tremble.
“Your daughter,” Maci murmurs.
Lifting my head, I look at her. I know that my eyes are wide as I watch her for a moment in silence. She shifts her gaze down when I don’t speak right away. I can’t talk, I’m frozen in my place, completely and totally frozen.
“You’re not happy,” she eventually says, her voice beyond disappointed sounding.
Shaking my head, I can’t tear my gaze from hers. “I’m not happy, I’m whatever word is greater than that, ecstatic?”
She lets out a breath. “Really?”
Nodding, I lean forward and touch my forehead to hers, pinching my eyes closed. “Really, zuccherino. I cannot believe this is real life.”
“You’re not disappointed that it’s not a boy?” she asks.
Lifting my head, my eyes widen at her words, unbelieving that she’s really asked me that.
“How could you think that I would be disappointed that I’m having a healthy baby? It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, we will have more. This is not the last.”
