A Valentine’s Surprise

Valentine’s Day for Cesar and Ava set in 1996.

Cesar

This was fucking bullshit.

A late winter snowstorm snarled the arrival runways at JFK. After circling for over forty-five minutes, waiting for an opening to land, the Gulfstream was finally on its way to the hangar. It was Valentine’s Day. To a jaded businessman like me, it was nothing but a commercially hyped day, but I promised Ava I would be home from my European business trip to celebrate it with her.

I wasn’t breaking that promise if I had to walk from Queens to Greenwich Village. I unbuckled my seatbelt and strode to the cockpit and opened the door. 

“How much longer?” I asked my pilot, Franco. I could have used the plane’s intercom, but there was too much energy bottled up inside me to remain seated.

“The tower told me another twenty minutes. Hang in there, Mr. De Lucci. You’ll be home with your wife in no time.”

I thanked the pilot and returned to my seat. Stefan, the flight steward, asked me if I wanted another whiskey. It was tempting, but maybe I’d need that for later just in case I had to walk from the airport to our row house. 

The power of the Maserati was shit against the snow. 

This clusterfuck of a business trip started in Palermo and the delays escalated. I was supposed to have landed in the U.S. forty-eight hours prior. Every mafia boss or business associate wanted a chunk of my time. I should’ve told them all to go to hell. After the third time I changed my departure, I stopped telling Ava when to expect me because I hated disappointing her each time. I didn’t want her driving in this weather even if her Range Rover could handle this wintry mess. It wasn’t a blizzard yet, only a precursor, but the weather report indicated the storm would arrive within the next few hours.

There were some things to be thankful for.

I dug out my phone to call Ava. I needed to hear her voice knowing that she wasn’t a continent away. I also didn’t want her to worry. 

I tried the house phone first because she still wasn’t used to carrying her mobile around, frequently leaving it uncharged, and worrying about the minutes. That irritated me and squeezed my heart. She was married to a man who made five thousand dollars a minute, and she worried about the cell phone bill?

She answered on the second ring. “Cesar?”

“I’m at JFK.”

“Thank God, I was worried you couldn’t land. It’s beginning to be a mess out there.”

“Glad I made it before they started redirecting flights. I might be late tonight.”

“Just get home.”

“I will.”

“And don’t take any stupid chances.”

“Now why would I do that?” I attempted levity in my tone.

“I missed you,” she whispered instead.

“Me too,” I exhaled the weight in my lungs. “I love you, Ava, see you soon.”

She echoed my sentiments, and I quickly ended the call. My leg bounced, and I craved a cigarette. I needed something to quell the aggravation of my inability to get to her. I scarcely smoked nowadays except when I was drinking socially with family. Ava liked that scent. According to her, the combination of the cologne, expensive scotch, and cigarettes hinted of dark and dangerous, but not, apparently, when I stunk like a chimney. I made the mistake of consuming half a pack during a six-hour card game in the basement of Paulie’s house. Ava let me know in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t welcome in our bed unless I stopped reeking of stale tobacco.

My feisty wife. 

Eight months after I’d made her unequivocally mine, she still kept me on my toes. She wasn’t a clinger. Sometimes I wished she was more needy and I could keep her locked up in the house when I wasn’t around. But I also wondered if that was exactly why I was so smitten with her. She was her own woman, but she was also mine. 

Fuck that. I had ceased wondering. I was the needy one. I loved her for everything she was. Thank God, she loved me, too, despite the darkness I carried inside.

I touched the pocket of my suit where I kept the gift I had specially made for her. I was getting home to her tonight no matter what. 

* * *

“Thanks, man.” 

“Hell, why would I turn down a chance to stay at the Westin?” Eric said. He and I were partners with others in our operation to keep a pulse on organized crime in the U.S. and around the world.

I went to the back of the SUV and lugged my two suitcases from the cargo area. “Might have thrown in the Maserati to sweeten the deal.”

Eric turned in the driver’s seat and scowled at me. “Dammit.”

Chuckling, I slammed the back and gave him a mock salute. I called my uncle to cancel the driver he was going to send because I had a feeling he tapped a teenager to pick me up. One who’d decided that rather than go to college, becoming a gangster and associate of the De Lucci family was more thrilling. More often than not, they’d screw up for the first few years and, if they didn’t end up in jail, they ended up as fish food. Occasionally, there was an opening in the books to become a made man if one were lucky enough.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. The door to the row house opened and Ava emerged, a vision of ethereal gorgeousness.

“Oh my God,” she squealed. “You’re home!”

She was wearing a robe, thankfully a thick one, but it only came to mid-thigh. Her feet were encased in those sheepskin fur-lined boots that Carlotta promised would be the next big thing. Ava had been wearing them all winter, and those things had replaced her Docs. 

I was still debating my reaction to her attire versus the elation of seeing her when she jumped into my arms from the top of the porch steps, trusting me to catch her.

And I did.

I barely registered Eric honk the horn and pull away. My attention was fully on Ava’s lips as I captured them in a deep, searing kiss. While her body was trying to climb mine, my mind swam in the intoxication of having her in my arms, and inhaling her freshly showered scent. That public display of affection was nothing new either. The tabloids had them well-documented saying we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

They were right. 

But first things first.

“Cara,” I said, trying to control my displeasure at her state of undress in this weather. My arms tightened around her. “Where are the rest of your clothes?” 

She glanced up at me, her cheeks pink and devoid of freckles, blue eyes sparkling, and her lips so irresistibly red, I couldn’t wait to kiss them again. “I just finished drying my hair when I walked to the balcony to check outside.”

I hauled her against me, left the suitcases on the sidewalk, and carried her up the few steps to deposit her inside the foyer. “And you thought running outside almost naked was a good fucking idea?” I softened my words by planting a kiss on her forehead. Naked Ava was for my eyes only, not for the entire fucking Tenth Street to ogle, but my main concern was her getting sick. Despite her fiery personality, I couldn’t help pampering her, which definitely didn’t include letting her suffer frostbite to greet me.

Her eyes danced with mischief. “I thought seeing me naked in the snow would be a fantasy.”

I groaned, my dick hardening at the thought of Ava stretched out on top of powdery snow, her creamy skin raised with goosebumps, nipples taut with cold, and her translucent eyes begging for me to keep her warm. 

“Before I end up fucking you in the foyer, I’m bringing in the luggage,” I told her. Stomping back outside, I hauled the suitcases in and kicked the door closed behind me. I dropped them just inside and walked to Ava, scooping her into my arms. She automatically wrapped her own around my neck.

I loved that.

And how could a man think about anything else when the woman he’d been dreaming of fucking for two weeks was staring at him with flushed cheeks and lust in her eyes. 

“We could’ve taken the elevator.” Ava broke eye contact and burrowed her nose into my chest. 

There were four stories and we did have an elevator, but I needed to gather restraint around her first before I mauled her like a ravenous wolf.

I started up the stairs, feeling her shudder against me. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s just that, when I heard your voice on the phone, I got so wet.”

“Fuck, cara,” I groaned. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me right now.”

My feet hastened up the stairs.

“Why?” she mumbled. “I also managed not to masturbate because I knew I was about to get the real thing.”

I glared at the top of her head. “You’re about to get fucked all right. Now behave before we don’t make it to the bedroom.”

“Why the bedroom? I started the fire in the parlor.”

I reached the third level where our master suite was located. The wide open door was a testament to my wife’s rush to greet me. A fire was roaring in the hearth, so I marched over and lowered Ava to her feet in front of it.

I dropped my forehead to hers, inhaling my fill of her addictive scent. “I want to savor you. I haven’t seen you for two damned weeks.” It was the first time we’d been separated for that long since I made her mine. 

She pressed her tits against my chest. The sash of her robe unraveled and though I couldn’t see her naked flesh, need emanated from her body and pierced through the layers of my clothing. It saturated the room, mingling with my own ferocious hunger for her.

“Ava …” I whispered, stepping back. 

My gaze slid down her body. Her trimmed pussy was a shadowed cleft between her legs. There was something primeval about her wearing an open robe and fur-lined boots.

I slowly peeled off my outerwear and walked to the couch. There was a small sitting area in front of the fireplace, and as I folded my woolen coat and laid it on the couch cushions, I noted the plush area rug beneath my shoes. “Is this new?”

I tried to make conversation as I fought my erection. At that moment, my mind was lost between licking every drop of her arousal versus sinking into her and feeling her heat strangle my cock. Loosening my tie, I turned to face her.

“Yes,” she grinned. “I did some decorating. Mads assured me this wasn’t real fur, and it’s so soft. I thought …”

Her words trailed off when I stalked toward her. “It’s perfect for my appetizer.”

I dragged her down, sending us to our knees. “Take off my shirt,” I ordered. “I want to feel your hands on me.” The truth was my fingers were shaking. My shirts had lost enough buttons from the impatience to fuck my wife. Jesus Christ. Even after more than a year, I still couldn’t get enough of her. She loved rough sex, and I loved giving it to her. The days away from her were torture and I was afraid rough was going to be too mild a word for it. Savage was more what I was feeling.

“I have cheese downstairs.” Her own fingers were unsteady, and she was staring at the column of my throat, so all I could see was the top of her head.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

She bit her bottom lip as if controlling a retort. Damn, she shouldn’t do that. A rumble rose up my throat, and she shot a devious smile my way. She knew exactly what she was doing. I never hid how much she reduced me to my animal instincts. “I also made prime rib,” she added. “It’s in the warmer. Sure you don’t want to eat first?” 

Outside, the snow was falling heavily again, and the room was dark except for the fire. The blaze cast a fiery glint to her hair, which contrasted sharply with the alabaster glow of her skin. And having passed through Ireland for a special stop, I couldn’t help but picture her in a scene of snow and forest.

“I’m going to make a feast out of you,” I told her, my voice coming out a bit strained.

The pulse on her neck quickened. She looked unreal, like a naked sprite about to be ravaged by a mortal who dared corrupt her purity with his carnal desires.

As she divested me of my dress shirt, her cold fingertips touched my heated skin, making me suck in a ragged breath. I exhaled slowly, attuned to how her fingers traced my chest, fluttering lower on my abdomen, and then lower still until they reached my belt buckle.

“Ava,” I muttered. 

She glanced up at me. “Looks like you need a hand there, Mr. De Lucci.”

“You drive me mad,” I whispered. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my trousers, but the second her palm wrapped around my cock, I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Enough.” I manacled her wrists with my fingers. My erection pulsed in agony, but this moment was too perfect to dive straight into fucking. I promised myself to set a different pace, to savor this moment when I made love to my wife again. 

I took her down to the rug, laying her gently on top of it, trailing my fingers around the edges of the open robe until they circled the buds of her tits.

Her spine arched and a low moan escaped her lips.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked.

Her eyes were dreamy, the flames of the fire glinting in them. I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. 

And she was all mine. 

All fucking mine. 

I positioned myself above her, propping up on my elbows. “You’re exquisite, you know that?” I said. “I’ve been inside you—I don’t know … hundreds of times—”

She laughed lightly.

“But,” I continued. “This past two weeks, it was like you were a dream again.”

“I’m very real, Cesar.”

“You are my fantasy come to life.” I lowered my head and touched her lips lightly with mine. “You smell so clean and wholesome. I want to put you on a pedestal and worship you.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, before I shot her a wicked grin. “But there’s nothing I want more than to dirty you up and fuck you out of your mind.”

Shifting quickly down her body, I spread her legs, and finally—finally—touched my tongue to ambrosia. Wet. Wetter than I’d ever felt when I loved her responsive pussy. Her sweet arousal gushed on my tongue and drove me to eat her mindlessly, gorging myself with the taste of her.

“Cesar,” she moaned. I pushed her legs wider when they tried to lock my head between them. Her fingers grabbed my hair to keep my mouth on her pussy.

I nosed the lips apart and prodded her clit with my tongue. The sensitized flesh was swollen. I inserted a finger into her opening and raised my head. “My poor girl, you’ve been aching for me right here, haven’t you?”

“I wanted to touch myself so badly,” she moaned, undulating her hips, her legs thrashing to feed her pussy into my mouth. “I missed your touch so much.”

“But did you do it? Touch yourself when we were apart?”

Her ass squirmed. “We had phone sex twice, but not … can we not talk about this?” she cried.

“So demanding …” I gave a choked chuckle because my erection was painfully hard. But it was invigorating to see Ava in a frenzy. I pumped two fingers into my sexy wife to prepare her to take me.  “Oh, cara, you’re sucking me in so good.” Her sweetness saturated my nose.

“Suck it right there,” she moaned. “I want your mouth, Cesar. Use your mouth.”

“You’re telling me what to do again,” I tsked. “Who owns you?”

“You,” she whispered.

“And who knows your body more than you do?”

“Y-you …”

“That’s right.”

Her hips tried to manage the stroke of my fingers. I watched her face, feverish with the need to come. If I didn’t think it was going to come back to bite us in the ass one day, I’d take a video of me eating out her pussy, so I could catch the exact moment she fell apart while I tongue-fucked her.

“I’m almost there. Please, Cesar.”

That begging always did it to me. I pulled out my fingers and dipped back into her pussy, lashing in broad strokes, taking cues from her body that I’d learned to master. I used my nose to nudge her clit, but I sucked the sensitive flesh below it. She spasmed against me and yanked my hair, but I didn’t relent. She kept coming, and I lapped up every drop she gave me.

I rose on my knees, dragging her up to straddle me. Face to face, she rocked against me, my cock happily sandwiched between us. Then I grasped her ass and lifted her before slowly letting her sink onto me. She was tight despite preparing her for my shaft. I remembered the first night we fucked which was why I didn’t want to drill into her like an unfeeling bastard the second I got home. 

“Slow…” she moaned. “I should have prepared myself with a vibrator,” she ended on a huff as I finally seated myself to the hilt.

I chuckled. The urge to bounce her against me was overwhelming. “Nothing compares to the real thing, cara.”

“So cocky,” she mumbled.

“Okay to move now?” I groaned when she wiggled her ass.

I caught sight of the ornate mirror behind her. “That’s new too?”

Fuck, just looking at us in this position with the sexy outline of her back straddling me was enough to drive the most stoic of lovers to spontaneously come.

With one arm curved around her back, she arched and rocked back and forth. Her pussy clenched around my length. My other hand caressed her front, squeezing her tit, before I leaned in and captured a nipple with my mouth. Somehow we found a rhythm, and she continued gyrating against me. She tortured me by not bottoming out at times. Instead, she left me chasing my release.

“Cara,” I warned.

She straightened from leaning back and shot me a sultry look before she sped up her movements, her hands on my shoulders giving her leverage. Ava was using me for her pleasure and, son of a bitch, if that wasn’t fucking hot.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she repeated over and over. I could feel her heat squeezing me. Our writhing forms excited me so much, I wanted to take charge.

I lifted her off me—

“Cesar—”

—and reversed her position so she was facing the mirror before I slammed her back down onto my cock.

“Ahhhh!” she gasped.

This time I controlled the rhythm but she rocked back against me as I pistoned in and out of her. She rested her back against my chest, baring her neck to me, and I bit down gently at the same time watching our joined bodies in the mirror. I wished I could capture the moment. The shadows and light dancing on the walls and the ceiling echoed the movement of our writhing bodies.

Tingles climbed my spine and everything I was holding back exploded.

“Fuck!” Ava screamed when I slammed really deep and started coming inside her.

We fell on the rug. Me on top of her, never detaching, and I continued thrusting until I exhausted every last drop inside her.

Finally, I rolled off her and onto the rug, dragging her with me and into my arms. 

“Happy Valentines’s Day, Cesar,” she breathed. I smiled and murmured the same to her.

Much later, after I’d taken a shower, and after we’d stuffed ourselves with much-needed sustenance into our bodies—namely Ava’s mashed potatoes and prime rib—we retired to the parlor floor and listened to Elvis. 

The strains of our ballad came on as we watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. I was so content and happy to have Ava snuggled at my side while saying a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t break a promise to her even if I’d  come so fucking close to doing so. 

On top of the coffee table sat the rose arrangement I had delivered to her earlier that day. Beside it were our gifts for each other.

“So do we open it at the same time?” I eyed the long box that was wrapped in glossy red wrapping paper. Maybe a watch? She’d given me one for Christmas. Paulie told me unless I took up golfing, my gifts would be watches, cuff links, or ties. I guess that was what Carlotta gave him in their six years of marriage. 

“No. I’ll open your gift first,” she suggested.

I quirked a brow. She sounded unsure. I needed to have a chat with her in the coming days. She was apologetic about the watch she gave me for Christmas. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that my money was her money. I didn’t want to shove my wealth in her face though. Ava was still adjusting. She wasn’t used to being pampered. Her mother had taught her the importance of hard work, and that was why she hadn’t gone on that trip with me. She didn’t think she should stay away from Eamonn’s too long after we’d taken a month off for our honeymoon.

Speaking of which, I leaned over and picked up the box I had for her.

Accepting it from me, she smiled and shook the box. “This couldn’t be another engagement ring for sure.”

“I didn’t have a ring when I proposed,” I reminded her.

She punched me lightly on my shoulder. “No, you didn’t propose. You simply informed me we were getting married.”

My grin widened. “I did, didn’t I? Must’ve worked very well, because here we are.”

“Arrogant,” she said while unwrapping her present.

I watched her expression when she opened the box. A little gasp escaped her sweet lips.

“Oh, Cesar, you went to Ireland?” she exclaimed.

We stopped in several towns in Ireland during our European honeymoon. The town of Clonakilty was Ava’s favorite because she was researching pubs and how to bring more Ireland into Eamonn’s. I jokingly told her Black Pudding might not go over well in the U.S. It was also the site of a quaint jewelry shop where Ava fell in love with the owner’s Celtic Knot ring. 

After I slipped it on her finger, she got up from the couch and went near the fireplace, inspecting the jewelry that was made of platinum, diamonds, and one of the rarest South Sea Pearls. It took several phone conversations with my contacts in Europe and with the jeweler to keep an eye on auction houses and bid for the perfect pearl. I wanted to give Ava a symbol of eternal love.

My love for her is worth everything that I am. Wealth meant nothing to me unless she was at my side.

The intensity of what I felt must have pulled her attention back to me. She awarded me with a watery smile and her expression told me everything even before she uttered the words to let me know her thoughts. “It’s beautiful, Cesar.”

I grinned, leaning over and picking up her gift and proceeded to tear the wrapping paper from it.

It was a plain black box and weighed less than I expected.

Ava walked toward me as I lifted the lid off.

It was wrapped in delicate white tissue. 

Frowning, I further unwrapped the item and froze.

Words wouldn’t come.

I lifted the pregnancy test and stared at it a while before locking my eyes with hers.

She was crying as she approached, and when she reached me, she crawled onto my lap.

Our attention riveted on the test that would change the trajectory of our lives. She leaned back and tilted her head so she could look at me better.

Emotion pricked my eyes as I stared into Ava’s beloved face. My wife had given me the best fucking gift I could ever ask for. 

She whispered, “You’re going to be a dad.” 

* * *

Ava

“Push, cara!”

I was panting, and it felt like I was about to deliver a watermelon from my vagina.

But thank God for the epidural. 

Glaring at my husband, I gritted, “Easy for you to say!” 

My doctor who was perched on a stool in front of me, said, “I can see the head. Give me one last big push, Ava. A really big one.”

“You can do this,” Cesar growled, dabbing a cool towel on my brow. “Give me my son, Ava.”

I pulled in a couple of shallow breaths, and pushed harder than any time in my entire life. My face was on fire. My whole body was like butter melting under the strain, but I drew strength from Cesar’s fingers clenched in a death grip.

It was surreal.

My final push.

My guttural yell that transformed into laughter and tears as the squall of strong lungs reached my ears.

The doctor lifted a baby.

Our son. 

Our tiny miracle was a blur because I couldn’t stop sobbing.

Cesar hugged me tight, telling me I was amazing. Telling me that I’d made him “fucking happy.”

The nurse carried away our squirming bundle of joy.

My arms instinctively reached out. “My baby…”

“They’re getting him clean,” Cesar’s soothing voice told me.

The nurse returned and handed me our son.

Cradled against my breasts, he was indeed beautiful.

Ten tiny fingers, ten perfect toes, and hair as dark as his father’s.

“Matteo,” I whispered. This time I felt Cesar’s kiss on my brow. I had a feeling he’d been doing it for quite some time. I glanced at him, and my breath caught at the love shining in his eyes.

For me. For our son.

For us.