Chapter 257: You’re Mine, Aren’t You?
(SASHA)
Tyler gets in these moods sometimes, where he’s almost overwhelmed by his need for immediate gratification. I’ve even taken advantage of it from time to time. And I know that, occasionally, he likes to walk on the knife-edge; we wouldn’t be quite so successful as a couple if he didn’t find danger an aphrodisiac. And the idea of taking him in semi-public has me hard already, even while I’m thinking about a possible shadow here in Rome.
But what the hell.
We’ve been careful, and when I check my gut, it tells me there’s no one following us, not here in these back alleys. Besides, anyone following us is in more danger from me than I am from them. I recall Tyler on his knees, worshipping my scars with kisses, and grip his hand even harder. He’s right. Whatever those assholes throw at me, I’ll survive it.
In the meantime, why shouldn’t I enjoy my husband?
The alley is an unlit dead end which mostly seems to be used for parking. There’s also a large dumpster to one side. All in all, this wouldn’t be the worst place to protect ourselves if we were followed. One way in means one way out—but it also makes it much easier to see anyone coming.
Tyler pulls me into a doorway so that we’re out of sight of anyone walking by, twining his arms around my neck. "Come on, baby; I’ve always wanted to get my cheeks clapped in some Italian alley." He leans up against the door, which looks like it hasn’t been opened in a few centuries, and pulls me to him, tipping up his mouth for a kiss.
"It stinks of piss and garbage in this particular Italian back alley," I say after.
"That," Tyler tells me, grabbing my hips and spreading his legs so he can grind against my thigh, "is what makes it so goddamn hot."