Triplets Under the Tree

He replaced his thigh with one strong hand and instantly, he found her sensitive bud, rolling it between his fingers as if he’d been born to touch her exactly in this way.

She gasped and her eyelids fluttered shut as waves of heat broke over her skin like the surf on the shore below their window. The man must have a deal with the devil. How else could he be so beautifully built, so incredibly successful at both of his chosen professions and be so good at making her feel like this?

Murmuring flowery Italian phrases like a prayer against her lips, he touched her intimately and pleasured her until she feared her skin would incinerate and leave her in ashes. Then he trailed his lips down her throat and set that magic mouth on one of her incredibly sensitive breasts. As soon as he curled his hard tongue around a nipple, she detonated like the Fourth of July.

The climax overwhelmed her, tensing her muscles and sending shooting stars across her vision.

“Antonio,” she whispered. Or screamed. Hard to tell when her entire body sang his name so loudly, it deafened her.

“Yes, my darling. I’m here.” He rolled her to her back and covered her with his unbelievable body, resting his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her.

But it was far too late to prevent that. As he positioned himself to slide into her, joy burst open inside her chest and streamed through her entire body. Oh, she’d been crushed, all right.

Crushed by the overwhelming sensations of being completely, fully in love. That desperation of wanting him from afar—that wasn’t love. That was infatuation, and there was no comparison.

Antonio filled her to the hilt, and she rocked her hips to draw him deeper still, a technique she’d discovered by accident last night. And judging by his answering groan, he approved of it just as much this morning as he had last night.

She shut her eyes and savored the fullness of him as he shifted to hit her sweet spot. A sigh escaped her lips. Perfection. Was it always like this, like being touched physically and spiritually at the same time? Or did she and Antonio have a bond other people never experienced?

It was an academic question because she’d never know. This was the only man she’d ever love. The only man she’d ever be intimate with. She trusted him fully, knew he’d be there for her, steadfast and strong. Waiting for him had been worth it. She couldn’t imagine being with anyone else like this, opening her body and her heart to another person in this beautiful expression of their love.

His thrusts grew more insistent, more urgent, and she bowed to meet him, taking pleasure, giving it until they came together one final time in a shuddery dual climax that left her boneless and replete.

They lay in each other’s arms, silent but in perfect harmony until her muscles regained enough strength for her to move. But she didn’t go very far. She pillowed her head on his shoulder and thanked whatever fates had seen fit to grant her this second chance to be with Antonio.

As he’d done yesterday morning, Antonio flipped on the wall-mounted flat-screen TV to watch the news. Habitual, he’d told her when she asked, since returning from Indonesia—to break the silence.

“You don’t need that noise anymore,” she said and grabbed the remote with every intention of powering it off again.

But in the split second before she hit the button, the news anchor mentioned Antonio’s name.

“What are they saying?” He sat up against the headboard and focused his attention on the newscast.

“...the identity of the anonymous donor who had the entire inventory of a toy store delivered to Toys for Tots.” The blonde on the screen smiled as a photo of Antonio appeared next to her head. “It will be a merry Christmas indeed for thousands of local children who have this secret Santa to thank. Antonio Cavallari made headlines recently by returning to LA after being presumed dead in a plane crash over a year ago—”

“They shouldn’t have tracked down who donated those toys.” Antonio frowned. “It was anonymous for a reason.”

The newshounds had finally scented Antonio’s story due to his generous gesture, which, as he pointed out, should have remained anonymous. He could have paraded around naked in front of Falco and generated less interest apparently, but the one thing he hadn’t wanted advertised was what had garnered coverage. The nerve.

A photo of Vanessa flashed on the screen and she flipped the channel. The guilt was bad enough. She didn’t need her sister staring at her from beyond the grave. “Enough of that.”

But Antonio wasn’t even looking at the TV. His gaze was squarely on Caitlyn. “You’re very good for me, you know that?”