My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,124

the sun and moon are a reminder to live each day to my own standards. No one else’s.” I explain my reasoning in fits and starts, fighting to stay still the whole time.

“Almost done,” Reno says, and Lorenzo takes my hand, running his thumb in a soothing circle along the tender part between my thumb and index finger.

He murmurs into my ear in Italian. I have no idea what he’s saying, but the soothing, rumbling tones help me sit still for the remaining few minutes.

“All right. You up next, man?” Reno asks Lorenzo.

Lorenzo shakes his head. “No, thanks. This was her desire tonight. I’m just here to make sure she gets whatever she wants and support her dreams.”

It’s right then that I know.

I suspected. I probably even knew on some level that I stuffed down in the dirt of my gut and tap-danced on top of to keep it from blooming too fast. But it’s bursting through the dirt in a beanstalk of a sprout now.

Love.

I love Lorenzo.

Big and wild, loud and scary, and so not temporary.

“This is my apartment,” I offer with a wave of my hand. “That’s Delores, my fiddle leaf fig tree. Those succulents are Wilma, Fred, Betty, and Barney. The Monstera is named Loch, the snake plant is Medusa, and the fern is Christofern. And that’s Meredith, my new cactus that’s prickly as hell and keeps falling over, making a mess of dirt I have to clean up.” I sneer at the offending asshole of a cactus. Yeah, I named one of my plants after Meredith Wildeman. It’d seemed appropriate given its phallic shape and how many times I’ve cursed it this week. I might kill it just for some cathartic healing too.

Lorenzo smiles at me, barely giving the plants a glance. He’s judging me, that’s for sure, but he seems to think my habit of naming all my plants is cute rather than weird as fuck.

“Abigail,” he starts, his voice low and rumbly in a way that makes my belly flip and my core clench.

“Yeah?” I drawl out.

“I need you to tell me what we’re doing here. You told me where to take you, and I did, but I’m about to take you over that couch and let all of your plants watch. If that’s not what you want, tell me now because it’s been too long since . . .”

I don’t let him finish, knowing exactly what he’s saying. We left Aruba, left that massage room, almost a week ago. A week that I have spent feeling empty without him—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

And I’m done with that.

I slowly pull my shirt over my head to not disturb my sore ribs and watch his eyes dilate at my bare chest, my bra an impossibility after the impromptu tattoo. He stomps my way, and I let him have three steps before I turn and take off down the hallway toward my bedroom.

“What?” he mutters, and then he realizes it's game time and gives chase.

Fuck, I love the sound of him running down the hall after me, the feel of his heat getting closer, the focus of his attention on me, not whatever surroundings we’re in.

Through the door first, I spin to sit on my ass on my fluffy peach comforter-covered bed. I expect him to stop at the bed’s edge, either between my knees or straddling them with his own.

He doesn’t. He keeps coming, forcing me back on the bed. I writhe beneath him, careful to not stretch the sensitive, tattooed skin.

“Don’t move, mia rosa. Do not hurt yourself. Let me,” he groans. “Fuck, let me.” He drops to his knees, his hands undoing my jeans and yanking them down and off, taking my shoes with them. He gives my panties the same treatment and then shoves my knees apart.

There’s something so obscenely sexy about being nude and vulnerable when he’s fully dressed and looming over my most sensitive part. His eyes trace over my core, his thumbs teasing at my lips to open me even wider.

He leans in, nudging my center with his nose, and I hear him inhale. “Nectar of the gods. You smell so good and taste even better.” I feel the heat of his breath a moment before I feel the flat of his tongue lick a long line over my entire pussy as if he wants to claim every inch as his own.

“Fuck, Lorenzo. Yes,” I moan.

“That’s it. Let me hear how much you’ve missed me, how much you’ve needed me,