My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,33
the only thing that won’t give me panty lines. The strapless dress also doesn’t allow for a bra. Both of those reasons are why I’d called the dress ridiculous, but Archie was right, and I’m thankful to have it with me and not only work clothes. A touch of bronzer and some mascara make me glow like I’ve been kissed by the sun, and after pulling a brush through my mane of thick hair, I pull it up into a loose bun, leaving my neck exposed. It’s too warm to do much more.
Lorenzo looks up as I walk into the living room.
“Oh mio Dio,” he whispers. “Bellissima, mia rosa.”
I don’t speak Italian, but I know he just called me beautiful. I return the compliment. “You look nice too.”
Nice?
He looks good enough to eat. He’s got on beige slacks and dress shoes, with a white button-down shirt. It could be stuffy and stodgy, an outfit worthy of a boardroom, but not the way Lorenzo wears it. The collar of the shirt is unbuttoned, plus probably one more button than most American men would wear. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing the tattoos on his forearms and his watch. Only one side of the shirt front is tucked in to highlight the supple leather of his belt and the slim cut of his trousers. It’s the epitome of casual, effortless European hot.
He doesn’t approach me so much as he stalks toward me like a lion. And like a stupid gazelle, I stand stock-still and let him. Lorenzo picks up my hand from my side, kissing the back the way he did that first night. “You are brighter than the sun, deeper than the moon, lovelier than the stars.”
And wetter than the sea, I think. Luckily, my mouth and brain are working together for once and I manage to keep that to myself this time.
“You don’t have to do that, you know? Say all that romantic stuff,” I tell him, ducking my chin down. “I get it. It’s fake. Been there, done that with my family, except I’m smart enough to not get caught in the ‘feels’ trap.”
He lifts my chin with his other hand. “I’m Italian. We are romantic. I simply say what I think.”
He makes it sound like he really does think those lovely things about me, but how can he when I’ve gotten him into this mess?
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, offering him one more chance to back out.
Before he can answer, there’s a loud knock on the door. Emily and Doug are right on time.
Lorenzo steps closer, his body a breath away from mine as he whispers, “Trust me?”
I have no idea what he’s asking, but I nod because what else am I gonna do? We’re about to go to dinner and pretend like we’re happy newlyweds with someone who could blow up my entire social circle, and likely my professional life, with a single well-placed word.
Lorenzo walks me backward until my back hits the wall. I gasp, surprised. But he’s not done.
“Trust me,” he orders softly.
And with that, he picks me to straddle him and slams my back against the door with a thump. It rattles loudly behind me.
“Fuck, Abigail. Quick, mia rosa. Come on my cock before your friends get here or they’re going to hear me fucking you deep and hard. I want your cum on me and my cum in you while we sit at this prim and proper dinner, wife.”
I gasp, both at his filthy talk and the ridge of his cock pressing against my core.
“Ungh.” I can’t make words, am barely making incoherent sounds, and Lorenzo lifts one hand from my thigh to hold my head still. He meets my eyes, one of his brows lifted pointedly.
If I couldn’t feel his cock, I wouldn’t even know what this is doing to him. For all the fire rushing through my body and turning my brain to melted goo, he’s clear-eyed and has a plan.
I blink and realize what he’s doing.
Emily needs to think we’re newlyweds, and what do newlyweds do non-stop? Fuck.
Now that I’ve caught on, he winks at me and I smile back.
He thrusts against me and I bounce on the door. “Yes, hard . . . just like that,” I moan.
He grunts, finding a pace that is actually doing a lot for me even though I just came in the shower a bit ago. I’d be embarrassed at the wet heat of my core, but his cock