Cristo leaned back in his chair as the waiter removed his empty plate. Across the table, Farrah scooped the last of the rice from her dish onto a spoon. As the utensil disappeared between her full, red-hued lips, his groin tightened.
Online shopping had been interesting. Farrah had insisted that it was too early to buy baby things. They had bookmarked several items to purchase closer to the due date. She also didn’t care that he was wealthy. She’d rejected several items because they were too expensive. His cousin Piero had once complained that his wife had insisted on a pram that cost more than his car. It seemed overspending wasn’t going to be a problem for Cristo and his wife.
Wife. Between the paperwork, arrangements for the wedding, the upheaval of moving his things out of his parents’ house, a crisis at the bank’s Tashkent office, and Mario’s glare, Cristo hadn’t really contemplated how little he knew of his life partner.
He knew what she did for work and how she took her tea. But he didn’t know what made her laugh—aside from his concern over potentially having to beat off the boys from his lemon-sized offspring. And he wanted to know. He wanted to hear her laugh every day.
He’d also come to realize that Farrah was very self-reliant. She’d even removed a spider from the kitchen this morning without asking him to deal with it. He’d always thought that was what he wanted in a wife. Someone who could look after herself, leaving him to travel for work without worry.
But while he wasn’t learning much about his bride, he was making self-discoveries. He wanted to be needed—even if, in truth, he wasn’t a huge fan of arachnids. He wished, just a little, that his new wife actually needed him for something.
“The waiter is asking if you want dessert or an after-dinner coffee,” Farrah translated.
“Are you having something?” She’d not been sick again since the morning and had eaten a healthy lunch and dinner.
“No. I don’t want to overeat. But you go ahead and get something.”
What he wanted wasn’t on the menu. “I’ve had enough. Can you ask for the bill, please?”
Farrah spoke to the waiter, who bowed slightly before hurrying away.
“Tomorrow, will you start teaching me Arabic?” Cristo traveled enough in foreign countries where he didn’t understand the language. He didn’t want to live that life every day.
“Of course, habibi.”
He paid the bill, then took Farrah’s hand as they left the restaurant. “Habibi? What does that mean?”
“It means my dear, similar to the Italian caro. If you want to say it to me, you call me habibty.”
“Habibty, take me home. Because I get lost in these twisting streets that all look the same. I was worried I would wander for hours last night with you in my arms. Thankfully, the driver led the way with your case.”
“You should have woken me.”
They turned down a cobbled lane no wider than a city bus. Several men were walking next to their bicycles, piled high with leather hides. Cristo pulled Farrah even closer to him so she didn’t get knocked by the precarious loads.
“I don’t think an explosion could have woken you. How are you now? Did the nap help? According to the book, exhaustion is another trigger for morning sickness.”
He’d cajoled her into lying down that afternoon, saying it would be best for baby. And despite her protests, she’d fallen asleep within ten minutes and slept for more than an hour. In his heart, he might have had a more selfish reason for wanting her to rest in the afternoon. And that reason was currently getting harder as her body rubbed against his.
Two more turns down identical alleys and they stopped in front of a small door he recognized. Seriously, he was going to have to put a string line out to the main square. Because not even Google Maps could navigate this rabbit warren.
He unlocked the outside door, then another into the courtyard. Farrah and the baby’s security was something he didn’t want to worry about when he was away on business.
“I’m feeling fine,” she said once they were in private. She turned and ran her hands up his chest to the back of his neck. Her slender fingers tunneled through his hair, and he stifled a moan. “In fact, I believe a little exercise might be in order.”
She pulled his head down and rose on tiptoes to reach his lips. He let her set the pace, keeping a tight rein on his desire.
When she eventually released his lips, she went on a tour of his jaw and throat. It took two tries before he could get his voice to work. “What kind of exercise did you have in mind? Jogging? Maybe a quick game of football?”
“I was thinking more of a sport that involves both of us getting naked and trying to get the other to scream their partner’s name.” Her hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt.
He swung her into his arms and raced carefully up the stairs to their bedroom. “That’s my favorite sport,” he said as he set her back on her feet next to the bed. It would be easier to take her dress off if she were standing. His heart hammered in his chest, but not from the exertion of climbing the stairs.
“Here’s the best bit.” Her hands were busy on his belt buckle, brushing against his erection with every movement.
“Best bit?” It was all spectacular as far as he knew.
“Because I’m already pregnant, you don’t have to use a condom.”
Oh. Hell. Yes!
***
Farrah pulled in a deep breath. She needed to concentrate on something, but desire was making her head swim. The last thing she wanted was to blurt out how much she wanted him to stay. Today had shown her just how lonely her life was, and she dreaded going back to it when he next flew away.
At least she wasn’t alone in feeling discombobulated. If his rapid breathing and pounding heart were anything to go by, he was as anxious as she was to get the physical side of their relationship underway. She’d read that pregnancy made some women crave sex. Evidently, she was one of them.
She pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs and took his stiff erection in hand. A deep moan escaped his lips before he put his hands on her wrists.
“Slow down, tesori. I want to memorize your body, learn what you like.”
“Can we go slow next time?” He still held her wrists but didn’t stop her from running her hands up his chest to push his shirt off his shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day. No, that’s a lie. I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in the bank’s lobby in London. Are you going to deny me my fantasy?”
She shook her head; her voice refused to work. She didn’t have a problem with sex. But the intimacy Cristo had in mind involved exposing even more of herself. Deep down, she was just a village girl. He was surely used to more sophisticated women. Ones who could fully express their desires without involving their emotions. The prenup she’d signed had clearly outlined custody arrangements for their offspring. But it had made no mention of returning her heart and soul should the marriage end.
He cupped her face with both hands and stared into her eyes for a long moment before lowering his head to take her lips with his. The first touch was gentle, a whisper. But as she opened her mouth, he swept inside, a conqueror come to claim a new land. By the time his lips trailed kisses along her jaw to a spot just below her ear, she’d lost any will to resist his total mastery.
The sensual invasion continued with fleeting, butterfly touches. Light nips with his lips and teeth were immediately soothed with his tongue. He hadn’t even removed any of her clothes and she was soft clay, ready to be molded.
“Farrah?” He raised his head and stared into her eyes once more, asking a question she knew would seal her fate.
“Yes, Cristo, please make me yours.”
His eyes closed as though the moment were emotional for him as well. Or maybe he was just shoring up his strength.
The zipper on her dress slid down, and she stepped back, slid the sleeves off her shoulder, and let the dress fall to her feet. Her bra and panties followed until she stood naked before him. She should have felt embarrassed, vulnerable. But the way Cristo looked at her, the heat of his gaze… Power flooded her body, and she raised her eyes to his.
“You’re falling behind.” She nodded at the pants still clinging to his thighs, his shirt halfway off. His clothes joined hers on the floor before she’d even drawn a deep breath.
“Farrah, mia moglie.” My wife.
He placed both hands on her hips and drew her to him, his lips landing on her collarbone before making a leisurely exploration of her chest. When he pulled her aching nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, her knees ceased to function. She didn’t have the sexual stamina for this type of seduction, and she quivered in his arms.
“The bed. I can’t stand,” she managed to get out as he traded one nipple for the other. His right hand, which had been holding her hip, slipped between her thighs and toyed with the dampness there.
The back of her legs hit the bed, and she collapsed onto it. Rather than following her down, Cristo stepped back to survey the scene. She could only imagine the image she presented.
“I hope you don’t have plans for tomorrow. Because I don’t think we’ll be leaving this room.”
She scooted to the middle of the bed and held out her hand to him. Wasting no time, he straddled her hips. But rather than enter her, he slid down until his mouth was in line with her lower abdomen.
“Baby, this is your daddy here. There are going to be several earthquakes over the next few hours. Hang on and don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”
“In control, are you? Then I’m doing something wrong.”
She sat up and pushed him down, reversing their positions. The tiny drop of precum at the tip of his erection begged her to lick it away. But first, she owed his nipples the same kind of attention he’d given hers.
“You’re not following the plan,” he gasped out several minutes later when she finally took him in her mouth. “I was supposed to…”
“You were supposed to do what, habibi?” she asked after he’d nearly levitated off the bed.
“Can’t remember. Something about worshipping your body.”
She flopped down beside him, ready to be taken over the edge. Cristo wasn’t in a hurry, however. He started at her feet and worked his way up until she shattered just as his tongue flicked her clitoris.
“You didn’t scream my name,” he complained when she could once again focus on his face. He attempted a stern expression, but his grin broke free within seconds.
“So sorry. I’ll do better next time.”
“Damn right you will.”
And she did, screaming his name at least three times over the next two hours. Now she knew why he hadn’t wanted to live in her apartment.
By the time he pulled the sheet over their cooling bodies, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to move again.