Until the End of Time (5 page)

Their arrival back at the bungalow had been met with
a chest designed to hold both cool and warm items. It was full of their
favorite wines, makings for a Tahitian influenced meal and dessert. From there
Sansone
had stripped off his shirt, donned himself with an
apron and sat his wife onto a nearby countertop so she could assist when
needed. He didn’t miss the way her gaze followed him about the moderately sized
kitchen.

“You’re objectifying my flesh,” he complained, moving
away from her after giving her a spoonful of dirty crab rice that he intended
to stuff into the already descaled, beheaded and marinated fillets before they
were broiled.

Nyssa smiled against the rim of her wine glass.
“You’ve got all your assets on display, nipples playing peek-a-boo from behind
that apron while you prepare tropical delights and
get me slightly drunk. Yes, I am
totally
objectifying you with my eyes and if you step closer, I’ll
probably slide my hand up the leg of your shorts and tell you that you
obviously wore them to get my attention.”

Snorting, he turned his focus to simmering prawns in
coconut milk and a curry paste from the local market. “I feel so unsafe.”

“One more of these,”—she waved her goblet
around—“and I can’t be accountable for my actions. I may stay awake long
enough for you to witness the best six minutes of my sexual career after
dinner.”

Sansone
smirked, deciding
not to answer that. There was a reason he was getting her good and plied. There
would be no sex. Well, at least not in the traditional sense. Oh he’d leave her
screaming down the sturdy wooden walls of their temporary vacation home, but
he’d do nothing else until she begged. Knowing his wife, he predicted the
likelihood of that happening so soon to be very, very slim.

However, with most things, he would be as tactical
and as patient as he’d been for the eight years that he couldn’t have her.

The fish was flakey and well cooked within minutes,
as was the rest of their meal.
Sansone
piled a
platter high with the food, grabbed the wine and marched everything towards the
back deck. He sat them under the shade and swatted Nyssa’s hand away when she reached
out for a fork.

“
Er
…dude? I want to eat. It
can be the food or it can be your still beating heart, choose.”

“Quiet down, Lilliputian,”—he teased with a
smile, taking hold of the fork—“you’re going to eat.”

Nyssa’s eyes widened slightly in question when he
brought the utensil to her mouth, but she said nothing. A few seconds passed
before a low, lustful sound rumbled from her throat. He felt an immediate
answer in his groin.

“Planning to give me this same treatment when I
eventually get fat enough that every step is announced by a tuba player because
of your more than likely oversized offspring?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I need you to do
something for me,
cara
.”

“I am
so
afraid
to ask what.”

Turning her way,
Sansone
leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “For the next seven days, I
don’t want to think about pregnancy.” She went to withdraw, but he held her
there. “No, listen to me. There are few things I want more than to watch your
ankles swell to the size of grapefruits while probably being replaced with a
comfortable body pillow because I’m too lumpy and smell funny.”

Her lips twitched and he knew he’d gotten through.
“But I want my wife back. I want to enjoy this week,
really
enjoy it. And to do that, we have to be selfish enough to
forget about what we left at home and think about what’s
here.”
He pressed a kiss between her brows. “You and me. That’s
all. No more and no less. Can you do that?”

She went completely silent for so long that he was
afraid she’d say no. But then her head dipped into a nod and he could breathe
again.

“We’re
going
to play a game,” her husband announced, standing over her with a scarf in one
hand and a plate full of what looked to be chocolate covered fruit in the
other.

Nyssa sat aside the jar of coconut oil she’d been
dutifully applying to her skin and shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “Is
this as dirty as it looks?”

He sat at the end of the canopied bed with his strong
thighs incased in dark boxer briefs brushing hers. The smile he sent her was
absolutely immoral in its promise. “
Volete
scoprire
?”

Did he really have to ask?
Next to
her with the crisp scent of the ocean following him, mingling with his favorite
soap.
His unusually clinical shower with her had left his hair damp and
curling. It needed to be clipped, having grown enough to fall into his eyes
again.
Sansone
brushed it away after placing the tray
down and she watched the play of muscles in his arm. He had so few scars that
his deeply tanned, olive skin tone could almost be described as perfect; save
the artwork looping up from his wrist and stopping just beneath his collarbone.
A collection of Italian idioms and a scripted piece consisting of,
“Io
l'ho
, ma
uno
Delilah
” meaning, “I have but one Delilah.” It was
a play on
words
as his name was the Italian rendition
of Samson. The phrase circled a series of Nyssa’s lip prints. He’d had her put
on lipstick and
press
a kiss to paper so his artist
could stencil the design onto his skin.

She’d wanted the same, but her proud metro of a
husband had refused to wear ruby woo in order for the purpose. Instead she
settled for, “I would be his only Delilah” in Italian beneath her shoulder
blade. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but he’d been so accommodating through
her weeks of whining about it that she knew it was worth it. Admittedly, he’d
gotten his far before she’d gotten her own. A fan of needles she was not.
However, he’d marked her in so many other ways, ink was no more permanent than
her feelings.

Feelings that she hadn’t expressed
properly lately.
She’d withdrawn. It was just…easier.
Easier
to hide than to blurt out every insecurity beating on the back door of her
mind.
He’d do her the favor of caressing the curve of her jaw sweetly
before calling her several kinds of stupid. And for a while Nyssa would believe
him. She’d trust that what he said was true, that he’d love her with or without
an addition to their home. Weeks would pass; they’d quite possibly fall into
their old patterns. But then Nyssa would spend time with her nephews and niece
while listening to Samara bellow at Luciano about the need for a steady supply
of fried pickles during this particular bout of pregnancy. She’d watch
Sansone
run amuck with the boys at Trenton home, witness
the light in his eyes when he was rolling around with Marco and Vincent. The
desire to do so with
his own
sons would cut through
the air silently and all their progress would dance backwards. Because she’d
wonder once again why she couldn’t give them both what they so desperately
wanted.

“Cara?”
Sansone
softly called now, drawing her out from beneath the
weight of her thoughts. Those dark eyes searched her face a moment. “
Va
bene
?”

She made herself smile. “I’m fine.” Waving at the
scarf and tray, she said, “I see you’ve been plotting again.”

“Do I know how to do anything else?” He curved a hand
around her nape, right beneath her twists, and pulled her forward. “It’s one of
my best habits, is it not?”

Nyssa studied his expression, finding his eyes lit
with their usual amount of mischief. Oh he was
definitely
up to something. She couldn’t decide if that something was
good or bad as of yet. “It depends,” she whispered.

“On?”

“Whether or not I’m going to enjoy this.”

His hand withdrew, only to fist itself in her braids
at the root and tug her head back the proper way. The slight sting made her
nipples turn into stone. “Now when have you ever known me to do anything you
don’t find absolutely, undeniably enjoyable?” her husband questioned, his mouth
against her throat, his free hand curving around her jaw to hold it where he
wanted it to be.

She drew in a breath to respond, but his quietly
commanded, “Hush,” pulled her up short.

He nipped her. “I’ve got chocolate dipped fruit on
that tray, all things you haven’t had since our last island vacation. For every
one that you guess right, you’ll be rewarded.”

Nyssa swallowed and ventured asking, “With?”

Sansone
put his lips to the
shell of her ear. “Whatever the fuck I want. Understand?”

She slowly nodded.

Rumbling his approval, he said nothing else, just
moved away and grabbed the scarf. “Hands up to the headboard.”

“This requires being tied up?”

“All the fun things do,” he retorted, watching her
beneath heavy lids. “Now do as I say.”

Leaning back, she stretched out into position on the
large, feather soft bed and placed her arms above her head.
Sansone
leaned over her without pause and looped the scarf around her wrists and
through the wooden bars of the bedframe.

He stood straight again. “Tug.”

She pulled and found it tight but not uncomfortable.
Her arms could still bend at the elbow so there was no strain. He grinned and
she immediately went on alert. “What gives, Sultana?”

His lashes batted innocently. “No idea what you
mean.” Clapping his hands, he rubbed them together. “Ready?”

Nyssa watched him warily as he grasped the tray and
moved over to her side. He picked up a piece of fruit and brought it to her
mouth. She opened it and kept her gaze on his as she took a bite. Two chews in,
she knew what it was. “Papaya.”

“
Mmhmm
,” he confirmed. His
free hand snaked beneath the silken fabric of her robe, curving around a breast
while his thumb stroked a nipple. The touch was surprisingly warm, but she
shook anyway. The more he pulled at the bud, the higher her hips lifted.
Suddenly, he stopped.

She reached out to place his hand back and remembered
that she couldn’t. The smirk on his face told her that had been the
exact
reason for the scarf. Clever
bastard.

“Sunny…”

He placed another piece of fruit to her mouth, the
chocolate thick and dark.

She bit down and licked her lips. “Guava.”

The belt to her robe flicked from its loose knot,
giving way to his mouth on her tummy, his tongue in her belly button. It was a
part of her that she hadn’t known was so sensitive until
he’d
touched her there. He drifted lower, leaving a trail over her
bikini line that made her gasp. Just like that, he was gone again.

Nyssa released a low, frustrated sound and lifted a
foot to drop it back onto the mattress. “Sanso—”

“Hush,” he demanded for a second time.

She quieted but glared at the next piece. “Mango,”
she barked. “It’s mango.”

“You sound frustrated,
cara
,”
Sansone
said in a mild, entirely too
calm tone. “Why is that?”

Because a few simple touches had lit her on fire and
there he sat, collected with absolutely no sign of being as affected as she
was. Jesus was that annoying. She began to tell him so and somehow found his
thumb encircling her swollen clit. Tight and sensitive, the caress sent her
arching upwards. He kept up the pressure and the game.

“Passion fruit!” Nyssa squeaked on a rising cry.

His lips crashed down on hers and swallowed it, his
tongue pushing past to stroke
against her own
. Her
fingers curled into her palms as her thighs locked around his hand in an effort
to keep it where it was. He pulled away from the kiss to watch her. Nyssa’s
breaths grew choppy from the focus of his stare on her while a muscle jumped in
his jaw. He rubbed his cheek against hers, the coarseness of his beard just
another added sensation.

“I should sell tickets to this,”
Sansone
told her.

“To…what?” she panted.

“The opportunity to watch you come.” His lazy circles
around her clit picked up in pace. “Your tits shake, your skin shines and your
eyes,”—he groaned and grinned—“your eyes widen liked you’re
surprised. The scent of you hits the air like a pheromone and all I want to do
is stuff you full of cock.”

She yelped when he dipped and he bit down on her left
nipple. “Then do it.”

His head came up and he held her gaze again. “Beg.”

Nyssa jolted. “What?”

Sansone
leaned forward and
repeated, “Beg.”

Pride warred with reason and she lifted her chin.
“No.”

He rolled his shoulders. “Okay.” His hand picked up
the pace and he returned to that nipple.

She stared on dumbfounded. “You’re not serious.”

“Very,” he said with his mouth half full. “You beg or
you don’t get it. Your choice.”

Nyssa frowned despite the climax working its way up
from the pads of her feet. A glance at the tent in her husband’s lap told her
that he
was
just as affected as she,
but he wouldn’t act on it. Why?

“Because you haven’t earned it,” he decided to inform
her. “When you earn it, you can have it.”

Again she tried to move her hands. Again she was
reminded of them being bound.

“Be still,” he ordered, playing her sex like an
instrument.

“You’re being unreason—”

A smack met the lips of her pussy and her words ended
on a bleat.

“You won’t beg, you won’t be quiet and you won’t be
still. So maybe you’ll scream instead.”

Nyssa closed her mouth and eyes.

“No, look at me.”

Her lashes parted.

“And open your mouth.”

She refused.

His hand came down again. Her hiss met the air.

“You talked about punishment earlier,
cara
,”
her husband expressed casually. “I
wouldn’t call this that. I would, however, call it a lesson.” He twisted his
hand and sent two fingers tunneling into her, placing his free hand at her hip
when she almost jerked from grasp. “In humility, if you will. Because I think
you’ve forgotten that inside the four walls of whatever place I choose to fuck
you, you aren’t in charge. You don’t give orders.
I
do. You don’t get to bark directions.
I
do. You plead or pray and I, being gracious enough, answer it. So
this is how the next few days will go,” he continued, over her rising scream.
“I’m going to essentially drive you insane. I’m going to make you literally blubber
from pleasure, your voice carrying from island to island until the waves
reverse in deference. I am going to leave you so wrung out, that when you
finally break, when you finally can’t take the torment anymore and your pride
lowers, you’ll only be able to whimper the word ‘please.’ But I’ll demand that
you say it louder. You’ll grit your teeth and do as asked but I won’t stop
pushing until I hear it shouted. Then, and only then, will I shove so deeply
inside of you that you’ll feel the phantom sensation of my cock tapping at the
back of your throat and fuck you so hard that the skies will crack open and
weep.
Capiche
?”

“Yes!
God yes!”
she retorted, her hips moving in time with his ministrations. A tap against
that spot between her opening and her rosette sent her spiraling, her vision
blurring as she came. When she could breathe without wheezing,
Sansone
stood, untied her wrists, kissed her on the
forehead and disappeared into the bathroom.

It was then that Nyssa replayed every darkly spoken vow
and could come away with nothing else aside from, “Huh?”