But what Frank says is true. Not a single camera, wire, or bug to be found.
“Thank God,” Finch breathes, as we come to the master bedroom. There’s a massive bed with a half-canopy, the whole room a subtle blend of shades of chocolate, walnut and beige. Finch grabs my hand and pulls me quickly to the bed, falling backwards on it so his bodyweight drags me down with him. We’re alone up here, but Frank and Mikey are downstairs, and I don’t want either of them seeing or hearing anything from down there.
But Finch’s face is so close to mine where I’ve fallen on top of him, I can’t help it—I’m half-hard in my pants already.
“This is where we’re meant to be, honey,” he murmurs, and his clever hands are already stroking over my back, my neck, holding on to me in a parody of lovemaking. He wriggles his thigh between mine so I can feel he’s hard, too. “This is the place our dreams start to come true.”
“A few curtains and pillows and you think you’re in fucking paradise,” I sigh. “This might be a gilded cage, baby bird, but it’s still a cage.”
“But not literally,” he says, pouting. “You’ll let me out from time to time, won’t you? Even if I have to have a gigantic Italian shadow tagging along behind?”
“Occasionally,” I say, because I find I can’t deny him anything when he’s this close to me. All I can think of right now is our honeymoon, and the copious amounts of sex we had. I haven’t touched him since we got back; haven’t had a chance, between the fight we had our first night back and then his hospital stay.
What surprises me even more is how much I want him—my appetite for him is growing instead of waning. Usually I tire of a lover after two, maybe three go-rounds. But Finch is different. I’ve tasted every inch of him, come in him, on him, even just near him while we were on that yacht together, and I’m still hungry for him.
I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and leap off the bed. Finch just stays as he is, disheveled and smiling.
“Hey, Brother Frank,” he greets the intruder. I mean…my brother.
“Hey, principessa. You settling in?”
I don’t know if I like the easy rapport that’s developed between these two. It’s dangerous. Besides, Finch is my husband, and Frank should show him some fucking respect.
“Knock it off with the princess stuff, Frank,” I growl, but he just chuckles.
“Ah, Georgie, it’s meant with love. Well, guards are outside and swapping over at midnight for second shift. You should be safe enough. Guess I’ll leave you two to christen the bed.”
“Fuck off, Frank!” I snap.
“Ciao, Brother Frankie!” Finch trills.
I’m too irate to say anything more as Frank leaves, waving a hand over his shoulder. The front door slams, and I go down to lock it after my brother. When I look out the curtains at the front entrance, I can see Mikey and another soldier smoking there on the stoop, standing guard.
Mikey is off Finch Duty for sure, but Frank persuaded me to give him a second chance as a house guard. Mikey’s life will be forfeit if he does screw up, and I made sure he understood that. Finch’s new bodyguard, Marco, starts tomorrow. He was my first choice anyway, and I think he’ll be able to handle Finch’s charms.
Speaking of which…
I go back upstairs to the bedroom and find Finch lying naked, stroking his cock in a nest of pillows on top of the satin sheets.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
FINCH
Luca stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb, looking me over. I just keep playing with myself. I’ve waited far too long to have the man again, and what with my hospital stint and the guards always tramping through the old apartment and the way we haven’t been able to fuck since the honeymoon…I’m full to bursting.
“You certainly seem to approve of the place,” he says in that sardonic voice I’ve come to love.
“Oh, I do,” I tell him. “And now that we’re finally, really, truly, fucking alone again, I think it’s time we get on with the business of being married.”
And what do you know, Luciano D’Amato is not entirely made of stone-cold marble. I can see the interest building in his polyester suit pants.
I wave my dick towards him. It’s wet and shiny already, glistening in the overhead lights. I don’t have the world’s largest cock, but I’d bet my family’s fortune it’s one of the prettiest. And the way Luca is staring at it, I can see he thinks just the same. “Come on, baby,” I beg. “All this chastity play is only hot when you let me pop at the end.”
He comes towards me slowly, unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it over his shoulders and throwing it on the floor. I give myself another full, slow stroke as I take in his chest, his silky pelt, his defined abs and the sculpted V-dips that point invitingly into his pants. I want his body; I want him more, but I’ll settle for the flesh if that’s all he’s willing to give right now.
“You said,” I pout. “On our honeymoon.”
“What did I say?” he asks, and his fingers play over the button on his pants.
“You said we’d have an arrangement for our physical needs.”
His fingers stall, and if I weren’t watching his face so closely, I’d miss it: the flash of regret. Yeah, I’ve wondered about that. I wasn’t sure at the time, but now I know. He didn’t mean those cruel words.
He was just trying to keep my feelings at bay.
I lift my hand to my mouth and give it a long, slow lick, tasting myself, getting my palm wet, and then go back to stroking. He watches every movement.
“I did say that,” he acknowledges. “I did indeed say
