The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(63)

By: Cathy Williams

‘Do you realise,’ Angelo said, eventually drawing her to him, ‘I’ve never had as many unofficial days off work with any woman as I’ve had with you? And yet we’ve never been on holiday together. We’ll just have to put that right while there are just the two of us to consider…’

They did. Three months later, for their honeymoon on a tiny island in the Caribbean. The wedding had been small—just a few close friends and family and no paparazzi. Francesca had no idea how he had managed to pull that off but, as he’d wryly told her, today’s gossip became yesterday’s fish and chips’ wrapping in the blink of an eye.

With her pregnancy now beginning to show, Francesca wore a range of loose clothing and one-piece swimsuits, ignoring Angelo’s urges that she show her swelling stomach proudly. Everything about her pregnancy made him proud.

Through the open windows of their little wooden cabana she could hear the sound of the sea lapping against the shore and outside was inky black.

Angelo was standing in front of the mirror, absentmindedly trying to tidy his hair without the use of a comb, towel slung low on his hips because he had just emerged from the shower.

He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. ‘Are you doing that on purpose?’ he asked, turning around. ‘Lying there with that sexy little smile on your face? You know what it’s going to do to me…’ As if to prove his point, he released the towel and revealed his arousal.

‘You mean I still turn you on even though I no longer possess that model figure that used to drive you crazy?’ As if she needed reassuring. He had proved to her over and over again just how much she still turned him on. He delighted in her blossoming figure and adored the heavy fullness of her breasts and the darkening of her nipples, which had become much larger and more pronounced.

Now he knelt by the side of the bed and, as she rolled over to face him, he lazily lifted her lacy pyjama top to reveal the exquisite bounty of her breasts, which lay like ripened fruit waiting for his attention.

Francesca watched with loving eyes as he delicately traced the full, dark circle, then the hardened tip, with his tongue before drawing the nipple into his mouth and suckling on it. With one hand he caressed her stomach and she groaned softly, parting her legs to invite his hand there.

This was her man and this was the very, very wonderful life she had never imagined she could ever have.