The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frankie

Everyone says there’s an adjustment period after marriage, getting used to living with another person, the constant compromise and the sharing of space. Maybe it’s because we were already living together because of circumstances out of our control or maybe we just fit so perfectly that the adjustment period isn’t as stressful as people make it out to be.

For the past week, I’ve come home from work and Damien is already here. There haven’t been many late nights at the office because he’s here, greeting me at the door. Maybe the jealousy I felt with Jess and the whole be careful who you trust was just my imagination. Because Damien is definitely not having an affair.

Tonight, when I step inside the house I inhale deeply, letting the scent of garlic and basil fill my nostrils.

“Frankie, is that you?”

I can’t help the warmth that fills me with the sound of his voice, and when he stands in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, my whole body heats up. “In the flesh.”

“What lovely flesh it is,” he shoots back with a teasing grin. “How was work today?”

“Fine,” I answer easily, because the last thing I want right now is to talk about work. The Butcher seems to have gone underground, or he’s in the middle of a major cooling off period, which is good for the citizens of Los Angeles, but it also means our chances of catching him are slim. “How was your day?”

“Better now that you’re home.” Damien’s long strides close the gap between us, and before I can react, his lips crash into mine—soft but demanding. His hands cradle my face, a mix of tenderness and ownership, drowning out the moans of pleasure that escape me.

My body lights up almost instantly. Every sweep of Damien’s tongue across my lips sends a spark of electricity through me. His touch awakens the darkest, hungriest parts of me and my hands go to his shoulders, tangling in the soft strands at the nape of his neck. Tugging them as I pull him closer.

Too soon, Damien pulls back with a slightly foggy expression. “Hey, Mrs. Wolfe.”

“Hey, Mr. Wolfe,” I reply with a shaky breath. “What smells so good?”

“I seem to recall you telling me how much you enjoy simple, classic Italian and I’ve prepared something for you. Garlic basil chicken with a butter tomato sauce.”

“You cooked?”

He nods. “I wanted to do something special for you.”

There’s no way my heart can get more full of this man. Every single day, I love him more. “Every day with you is special, Damien. But I appreciate the effort.”

“Do I have time to change? I had to track a witness down at Men’s Central and I’d prefer to wash it off before dinner.”

“You have plenty of time. Need help?”

“Absolutely, if you’re offering.” Indecision flashes on his face and I laugh. “I’ll get started without you.”

He groans but he doesn’t follow me, which doesn’t surprise me. Damien is a perfectionist with everything he does, and cooking is no exception. He’s impressed me with his own cooking skills, but every night it’s amazing. Something spectacular.

A master of French cuisine graced our table last night with a four-course meal and wine that sent my taste buds spiraling into heaven. The night before? A Greek masterpiece that was nothing short of culinary perfection.

Damien’s been all about the sweet gestures and the romance, but the sex? It keeps getting better and more intense. I find myself buzzing with a constant high that lingers throughout the day. At night, he gives me one more orgasm than I can stand, and then before I leave for work, he gives me another. My body is as happy as my heart.

The shower door slides open and Damien steps inside. “You started without me. I hope you didn’t finish without me.”

I spin to face him, letting the hot water beat against my back. “I was just thinking about the way I rode your face this morning. It got me pretty close.”

His gaze darkens. “You like riding my face?”

“I do.”

“I know. I almost drowned in your sweet juices.”

“Damien,” I moan. His dirty mouth is going to be the death of me, I swear. “So dirty.”

“Need you now, Francesca.”

“Yes.” What else can a woman say when her man wants her so much, he turns into a wild beast?

Before the word is out of my mouth, Damien hitches one of my legs up and over his forearm, sliding deep in one long stroke. We moan simultaneously at the way he feels when he’s buried so deep. “Francesca,” he whispers my name in my ear, guttural and full of need. “I’m gonna fuck you right now and make you come all over me,” he growls, his voice husky with lust.

My body trembles at his filthy words, desire surging within me. Damien knows exactly how to drive me wild.

I nod, unable to say a word.

Damien’s free hand slides up my body, pinching my nipple until it stings. “Tell me you want that, too.”

“I-I-I want that too,” I stammer.

Damien’s eyes reflect his satisfaction as he continues his powerful thrusts, each one driving his cock deeper into me. His hand teases my nipple, pinching them beyond the point of aching before soothing them with his tongue, all the while his wildly delicious strokes push me closer to the edge.

“Fuck Frankie.” That visceral reaction when my body starts pulsing around him feels good. His hips move faster, his cock plunges deeper.

My nipples sting and the sensation shoots down to my belly before spreading to my arms and legs. I moan because I can no longer form words as the first wave of pleasure crawls up my body.

“I feel you, kitten,” he gasps, his breath becoming more labored.

I can’t find the words to respond, lost in all the sensations coursing through me.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, Damien comes inside me, his body shaking with the force of his climax. I feel him pulsing within me, and a wordless cry escapes my lips as my body reacts in kind.

“Fuck! The things you make me feel, wife.”

I shudder at the possessive way he says wife. “I feel the same.”

After a few minutes, he pulls back, separating our bodies. “I know. Let’s fuel up for round two.”

This is my life, and it is fucking amazing.