My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,126
me love you. This is a time for you to take, to feel, to receive.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to agree or disagree. He slides inside me in one smooth thrust forward, stealing my breath.
Complete. That’s what I feel with him inside me, his eyes locked on mine and his heart written all over his face. It’s been in his every action. I was just too fearful to trust. Until now.
Cathartic tears pour out of my eyes as he strokes into me, keeping a steady and even pace as he whispers love, tells me all the things he sees in me that are beautiful, and appreciates my passion, needing nothing less or nothing more than exactly who and what I am.
I didn’t know I wanted this. I certainly didn’t know I needed this.
But this is what my romance looks like. A little reckless, a lot spontaneous, and a whole lot of carpe the shit outta that diem. With Lorenzo.
I wrap my legs around his and grip his shoulder with my one hand, staying still but wanting to be there with him, giving him back as much as he’s giving me.
“I love you, Lorenzo,” I shout.
I know, I know. Women aren’t supposed to say it first. It’s like the kiss of death that instantly scares guys off. But it’s the truth, and I don’t play by others’ rules. I feel it, so I’ll own that, and he deserves to know.
Instantly, he grunts and thrusts deep into me, holding still for a split second with his neck muscles strained and his eyes locked on mine. I feel him throbbing, the pulse of his hot cum filling me as he vows, “I love you too, mia rosa.”
“I think there’s a spatula in that drawer,” I tell Lorenzo the next morning while he tries to make us breakfast with the woeful lack of supplies in my apartment.
He opens the drawer only to find more take-out menus.
He glares at me, holding up a flyer from my favorite pizza place. I don’t move from my perch on a stool at the counter and only offer a shrug, knowing I’m blushing and hoping he thinks it’s cute that I can barely boil water.
“I need to eat. I don’t need to cook,” I tease.
He digs around a bit more and comes out victorious with a spatula after all. He then promptly gathers up all of my menus and dumps them in the trash.
“Hey!”
“I’ll cook for you now.”
Uhm, well . . . okay, then. Anything Lorenzo makes is better than the pizzas I only get because they’re fast, cheap, and good for two nights.
“F-Y-I, I’m gonna hold you to that,” I promise. He smiles as though he hopes I do. “I can’t believe that train wreck of a week got us to here.” I gesture from me to him, and okay, to the fresh-cooked breakfast.
“It wasn’t a total train wreck. We had fun, ten of ten, would do again,” he jokes.
“Oh, God, you sound like Violet or Archie when you say that,” I lament, but then I admit, “You’re right, though. You met Esmar, and I told Emily off, which was a fair amount of closure until the whole country club kerfuffle.”
His questioning look tells me that Violet didn’t share that little tidbit with him, so I fill him in about Emily trying to ruin our family dinner and doing so rather loudly. “But now the whole club thinks we’re married too because Dad had to basically defend me by saying we were celebrating my good work and new marriage.”
Lorenzo smiles around a laugh. “So, the scheme continues?”
He doesn’t sound disappointed about that at all. Not one bit.
“And you know how Claire basically told Meredith she was second-choice at the wedding? Well, her whole wedding album online has both Meredith and the original planner tagged. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall when she saw that!” I laugh.
“Fly on the wall?” Lorenzo repeats, looking confused.
“Weird expression. Basically means I would’ve loved to see that,” I explain.
“That woman . . . she is . . .”
He seems to be searching for a word, so I help. “We’ve decided on ‘bitch’. Even my mom said so, and that’s basically a miracle.”
“Yeah, that bitch held you over my head when she couldn’t get me to do her bidding.”
“What?” I screech, slapping the counter with both palms.
I’m going to kill her. Kill her and have Archie give me an alibi.