But, of course, we would be parenting together.
And I would walk in on a scene just like the one in front of me.
But maybe the toddler he was sitting beside would look a little more like him, or a little more like me.
I wanted that.
God, I wanted that.
I knew I was going to love motherhood, that I was going to put everything I had into being a good mother. And Primo, I had to admit, was going to be a good father. Yes, he was cold and hard. But he was strong and loyal and had what it took to overcome his nature at times when someone in his family needed him to be softer, be warmer.
He had what it would take to be a good dad.
Even as the thought formed in my head, Primo finished the story, his gaze lifting, and landing right on me.
I swear there was something in his eyes then, something that said his mind was on the same sort of thing, that he was picturing a future where he could read to his own child, where he could create traditions and play Santa after the kid went to bed, then wake up far too early the next morning to watch the magic unfold.
I didn’t stop to think as the toddler, now bored, got up and started tugging on the closest man’s pants—my great uncle Marty. Which meant the poor kid was going to get the bumpiest horseback ride of his life—and just stalked right over toward Primo, reaching my hand out to him.
Primo’s gaze slipped up to my hand, brows furrowed until his gaze landed on my ring. His ring. The ring that sealed this whole deal.
And then he was reaching up, taking my hand, getting to his feet, and letting me lead him away.
Sure, dinner was “starting.” But that was a rather loose term in my family. There would be at least five kind calls over the course of fifteen minutes to get everyone to the table before my mom would get pissed and start ranting and raving about slaving away all day at a meal no one seemed interested in eating. She would then need to be comforted for a good ten more minutes. And then, finally, one of my aunts or my sister would pitch a holy fit, yelling, scolding, and demanding everyone get into the dining room to eat.
It was a ritual that took at least an hour. Which was why we’d long since started using warmers on the sidebars in the dining room, so all the food didn’t get cold while it all went down.
Primo’s fingers laced through mine as I led him toward the abandoned back staircase, then going up to the second floor, down the hall, and into a room I always visited a couple times a year. The room my mother had kept the exact same as when I’d moved out just shy of twenty years old.
Primo said nothing, just moved inside with me, watched me as I closed and locked the door, even though I knew no one would come upstairs. Because they never did. All the fun was in the chaos on the floor below.
“Lamb, what—“ Primo started just a second before I pressed him back against the door, grabbed the back of his neck to pull him down, and sealed my lips to his.
There wasn’t even a second of hesitation before his hand was going to the base of my skull, grabbing, holding onto me as he deepened the kiss, his lips crushing into mine. His other arm went around my lower back, pulling me tightly against his body.
Sure, there was still that little, defiant voice in the back of my head that told me I had to hate this man on principle, that I needed to make him suffer for all that he stole from me.
But that voice was suddenly drowned out by another, less bitter, one. One that understood that the best marriages were built on steady foundations of respect and determination to make it work. Even if I sometimes wanted to slap the smirk off the man’s face, I had to admit he was someone worth respecting. If for nothing else, then because of his traditional beliefs. He was also determined to turn this sham of a marriage of ours into something that worked. Would it necessarily work the same way many other marriages worked? No. But that didn’t mean it had to be awful and miserable all the time, that I had to work so hard to be unhappy.
Primo had, objectively, been good to me.
He gave me space when I needed it. He was there for me when I needed that as well, even if it wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He protected me. He provided for me. He didn’t ask or demand for me to change for him.
It wasn’t a bad way to start a marriage.
And the chemistry, well, that sort of spoke for itself. I never needed to work so hard to pretend to not be attracted to someone as I did with Primo.
Primo’s hands slid down my back, massaging over the curve of my ass, then gathering up my long skirt until it was stuck around my waist. His hands moved up, palming my ass before sinking in hard. Hard enough that he pulled me off of my feet by it, lifting me up, and waiting for my legs to wrap around his waist.
Which they did.
His teeth nipped my lower lip as he turned and walked toward my old bed, turning, and sitting down with me straddling him.
His hands were hungry then, moving over my bare ass cheeks, toying with the barely-there little strap of my thong, slipping up my sides, closing over the swells of my breasts, then yanking down my bodice, flicking off my bra, then cupping my exposed skin, and teasing over my nipples.
My body was a complete inferno even before Primo’s lips were moving from mine, making a trail down my jaw, then my neck, the scratch of his stubble unexpectedly erotic.
I wanted him inside of me and the release as much as I wanted my next breath.
But not quite as much as I wanted to show him that things were different now. Or, at least, they were starting to be different.
And I could accomplish that by taking the lead, by giving as much as I had received in the past.
So before Primo could continue his kisses down my chest and toward my breasts, I was pushing back, then sliding off his long legs.
My gaze held his heavy-lidded one as I went down on my knees in front of him.
My hands landed at his knees and slid forward up his thighs, watching as the surprise and pleasure crossed his handsome features as my fingers worked his button and zipper free.
Reaching inside, I pulled out his thick, straining cock. Then, gaze holding his, I let my mouth fall open, my tongue teasing the edge of my lips. A literal open invitation.
“Fuck, lamb,” he groaned, fisting his cock at the base and tracing my lower lip with the head. “Lick it,” he demanded, holding it as my tongue moved out to trace over his head, tasting him, wetting him more as a surprising rush of pleasure filled my body. “Wider,” he demanded as his free hand cupped my jaw, waiting for my lips to part more to accommodate his thickness.
“Good girl,” he murmured as his cock started to slide into my waiting mouth. “Fuck,” he hissed as my lips closed around him.
His hand slid from my jaw to gather up my hair and pin it behind my head as I started to suck him, slow and tentative at first, but gaining in speed and enthusiasm as I found the rhythm that worked for him, as his hisses for breath and his quiet groans spurred me on.
His other hand slid to the back of my neck after a moment, putting firm pressure until I started to take him deep. “Look at me,” he demanded, and my eyes opened to find him watching me with the most intense eyes I’d ever seen. “More, baby,” he groaned, putting more pressure on the back of my neck.
I didn’t think I could take more.
I’d never done that before.
“You can,” he assured me, voice soft, coaxing. “Take a breath and swallow,” he added.
Figuring it was worth a try, I followed his instructions. And just as I swallowed, Primo bucked his hips up into my mouth. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat. “Don’t fight it, lamb,” he instructed, voice tight, clearly enjoying the sensation. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, chest heaving with his erratic breaths. “Let me fuck your mouth,” he went on. “You can tap out,” he said, reaching for my hand and pressing it onto his thigh. “But let me fuck your mouth, baby.”