Oath of Fidelity (Deviant Doms 3)

“Oh my God, that was scary,” she says before she exhales.

With a scowl, he nods. “I told you to be careful walking down those stairs.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to miss Elise!”

“She’s only going to Tuscany!”

“Alright, alright,” I interrupt. “I am going to go Tuscany and she didn’t fall, so let’s say goodbye?”

Yikes. I guess the Rossi men are all the same.

Angelina kisses my cheek. She’s got an odd look in her eyes I can’t quite place. I’m not sure what’s going on.

“You okay?” I ask.

She looks quickly over to Tavi and then back to me. “Yeah,” she whispers. “And here we are. Both of us, married into the Rossi fam.” But it feels as if she’s changing the subject. There’s something she isn’t sharing with me.

I smile at her. “Here we are.”

She kisses my cheek. “You were a beautiful bride, and your ceremony was the stuff of dreams, babe. Enjoy Tuscany. Call me every day, will you?”

I give her a huge hug. “I will. Promise.”

When I turn away, I find Tavi staring at us. I can’t quite read his expression. Wordlessly, he reaches his hand to me. I take it, and they break out in applause. They cheer and shout and clap their hands. I look in surprise at Tavi, who only shrugs.

“We like family,” he says. “And you’re one of us now. Be ready to duck.” He opens the heavy front door. I follow behind him. “Duck?”

At the very second the words leave my mouth, a shower of confetti unlike anything I’ve ever seen before explodes in the air around us. A myriad of multi-colored paper flutters to the ground and nearly blinds me. Natalia squeals with laughter, before she shoots something that looks like a squirt gun filled confetti right at me again.

“Oh my God!” Tavi and I run to the car, nearly blinded by the swath of multi-colored paper and streamers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Orlando pop a bottle of champagne. It shoots into the air like a geyser, as Tavi opens the door to the car. Rice pours from the car like a waterfall.

Oh my God.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ beat the shit out of you guys,” Tavi says with a growl, turning on them. Mario snickers and Tavi points his finger at him. “You first, kid.”

Mario flips him the bird, but at the look on Tavi’s face, runs.

“Go, bro, I’ll kick his ass for you,” Orlando says affectionately, as a limo pulls up. There’s no way we’re driving the rice-filled car to get our plane.

“Thanks,” Tavi mutters. “Make it a good one.”

They’re joking about beatdowns like they talk about handshakes, and… well, actually, I’m not entirely sure they’re joking. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the Rossi brothers.

“Get in,” Tavi says, half smiling, half growling. “Before I have to shake your goddamn bra down for confetti.”

“Too late for that,” I say with a laugh as I slide into the car and collapse against the plush leather seats. “And I’m not wearing a bra.”

He slides in beside me. “All day long and I didn’t know you weren’t wearing a bra?” It takes him seconds to slide his rough palm down the front of my dress.

“Hey!”

“Don’t try to stop me, wife,” he says with a warning shake of his head. “You’re mine now.”

I’ve been his since my feet touched American soil ten months ago, but I’m not sure it’s a very good time to remind him of that. When his fingers touch bare skin, he groans. The evidence of his arousal tents in the rich cut of his tux. Ha.

“How long ’til we get to the plane?” I ask.

“Long enough,” he responds. “C’mere.”

To my surprise, he slides onto his knees in front of me before he smacks a black button on the door. A privacy screen noiselessly rises behind him.

“Lift it up, Mrs. Rossi,” he says, his eyes trained on me. “The train, the bust, whatever the fuck you call that thing.”

I bite my lip and hike the skirt up. I’m wearing a thin, satin thong I bought just for this occasion. He groans at the sight before him, bends, and presses his mouth to the vee of satin between my thighs. My head falls back on the seat behind me as he positions himself in front of me and drapes my legs over his shoulders.

“Goddamn,” he curses, when he kisses me again and inhales deeply. “Fuckin’ exotic.”

“My…” I giggle. “My pussy’s exotic?”

“Mmm,” he says, without a trace of amusement. I gasp when he presses the tip of his tongue on the satin. My clit pulses and I feel myself go slick. I want more.

“I want to taste you. I want to hear you call me husband when you come.”

“Hel-lo.”

“Shh, baby. I want to eat my wife out. Don’t interrupt me again unless you want to be punished on your wedding day.”