Marcello’s note had sounded urgent, and it gave Nico the perfect excuse to leave the house and not face his wife. He’d made her cry! Even though she’d climaxed under his lips. He’d felt it; there had been no mistaking the shudders that had made her body tremble. Her interior muscles had spasmed around his finger, squeezing him so tightly that he’d nearly come in his smalls. Had he not been so close to his own climax, he would have stayed and tried to find out why she was crying, but male pride had made him flee so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of her like a green kid who’d never had a woman. Still, the moment he’d reached his bedchamber and opened the flap of his trousers, he’d spilled into his own hand with only one single thrust into his fist. So much for his legendary control! One day of marriage, and he had turned into a complete and utter fool. What had made him think even for one minute that taking his wife on the dining table was a good idea? It was the way he took a whore, not a lady like her!
