I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two

by Knight, Natasha

  When we told Lenore about Mara, she was momentarily beside herself happy. But only momentarily. Because she understands the kind of life Mara could be living. The life she’d have been made to endure to survive as long as she has.

  I visit Dante daily. I think his singular task—no, his obsession—is keeping him from depression. Maybe keeping him alive.

  Find Mara. Bring her home.

  He was her protector when she was little and I’m worried about him. Maybe because he’s like I was about Marcus Rinaldi. Like I was before Scarlett.

  “He’s just a big softie,” Scarlett says as I shove Cerberus out of our bedroom.

  The dog is reluctant to leave and I hear him settle down directly outside the door.

  “That’s exactly the opposite of his training,” I say, turning back to my wife. I look her over. She looks good. She looks happy, brushing out her long, dark hair. She’s wearing a soft lilac tank top and matching sleep shorts. She’s put on a couple of pounds finally so she’s not all skin and bones.

  I walk toward her, pulling my shirt off over my head.

  Her smile fades and she puts the brush down.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, her tone more serious than I expect.

  “After.”

  She licks her lips when I wrap my arms around her waist. I didn’t tell her I know what her uncle did to her. It serves no purpose. I have a feeling she left out some things about Mara, but she probably did it for the same reason.

  I look down at her, into her soft caramel eyes. She is so beautiful, my wife.

  Walking her backward to the wall, I kiss her, taking her wrists from around my neck and dragging her arms up over her head.

  “I don’t like these,” I say against her mouth, pushing the silk shorts down with one hand. “Skirts and dresses only.”

  She kisses me back. “I’m not wearing underwear. You like that, don’t you?”

  I cup her sex, feel the soft hairs that have grown back in since the terrible night of the auction.

  “I do. Very much. But I’m still burning any jeans or pants you own.”

  Her lips stretch into a smile as I kiss her. When I flick a finger over her clit, she gasps into my mouth.

  I take her mouth in a deep kiss. Then dip my head to kiss her neck, releasing her arms only to pull the tank top off so she’s fully naked. I stand back to look at her, take in her fuller breasts with their darkened, hard nipples.

  “Fuck,” I say, shaking my head, dropping to my knees before her. This woman, my goddess, my Fury, she deserves to be worshipped. “Spread yourself open for me.”

  She puts her hands on either side of her lower lips and spreads herself open.

  I look at her, at her swollen nub, her glistening pink pussy. I dip my head down and flick my tongue over her hard clit before taking it in my mouth. I need to catch her when her knees buckle as she wraps her hands around my head.

  I stand, lift her with me and carry her to the bed. Drawing the blankets down, I lay her back on the pillows and spread her legs open. Feasting first with my eyes, then with my tongue and mouth, I taste every inch of her. Hearing her gasps, her cries, feeling her fingers in my hair, twisting it, curling into it, drawing me to her as she pulls her knees back offering me all of her. She’s mine. All mine. And I’ll never let her go again.

  I dip my head down to taste her again and listen to the sound of my name on her lips as her body jerks, as she fists handfuls of the bedsheets, arching her back, giving me everything.

  I stand, draw her to the edge of the bed, wiping the back of my hand across my lips as she watches.

  “You taste so fucking sweet. I could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” I push my jeans off, step out of them.

  Her gaze drops to my cock. She licks her lips and slips to her knees before me, touches the tip of her pretty little tongue to me.

  “Fuck,” I mutter as she wraps her lips around the head and sucks just a little. Just enough. “That’s so good. So fucking good.” I brush the hair back from her face. She looks up at me and I think about how much I like her mouth on me, how soft and wet, but that’s not what I need tonight. I need to be inside her.

  I draw back. She groans as I lift her to stand. I bend to kiss her before bending her over the foot of the bed. She keeps her legs spread wide and arches her back.

  “You’re perfect,” I say, dipping my head to lick the length of her, hole to hole, before straightening, bringing my cock to her entrance.

  She looks back at me as I push into her. I slip one hand under her to play with her and lick my thumb before laying it against her back hole.

  She likes this, arching her back for more. I’m happy to give it to her and I’m harder as I look at her like this, stretching to take me, offering herself to me. I press my thumb into her, and she lets out a deep moan. I draw out and flip her onto her back before sliding into her again. I lean in for another kiss, all teeth and tongue now as the fucking grows more frantic. Before long, she’s moaning against me, clutching me to her as she shatters around me, making me lose control as I lose myself inside her.

  When I finally open my eyes, I find her watching me.

  A tear slides down the corner of one eye as she cups the back of my head and leans up to kiss me. I think this is ecstasy. Not the orgasm. Not the physical. But this. My wife beneath me, filled up with me, her hands on me, her smile, her tears.

  My heart belongs to her. My soul belongs to her. And hers to me.

  That’s the real ecstasy.

  “I love you, Scarlett.”

  Epilogue 2

  Scarlett

  We’re lying in bed, Cristiano’s big arms around me. I’m curled into him, our heads resting on the same pillow.

  He’s playing with a strand of my hair. I touch his unshaved face, liking the stubble.

  “I would be dead if it wasn’t for you,” he says.

  I study him, thinking about what I need to tell him.

  “I didn’t want to live afterward. I wanted to die. Even though I knew it would kill Dante, I just couldn’t. But then there you were, and you made me remember things. Made me feel things. Made me care again. Maybe you make me less selfish, Scarlett.”

  “You’ve never been selfish, Cristiano.”

  He shrugs a shoulder.

  “I need to tell you something,” I start. I take a breath in and lay on my back to stare up at the ceiling.

  He puts a hand on my belly. Slides it up to cup a breast.

  “I like this,” he says. “I like a little more meat on you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

  I sit up, put my pillow on my lap.

  “What is it?” he asks, all serious when he sees my expression. He sits up too and takes the pillow out of my arms. He takes my hands. “What?”

  I bite my lip. “I know it’s soon.” I don’t know how to do this. I’ve only known for a few days myself. I feel a tear slide down my cheek and turn my head away. But not fast enough, because he turns it back to him and wipes the tear away.

  “Whatever it is, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out together.”

  I put a hand to my mouth and look at him. What if…

  “I missed my period a couple of weeks ago,” I blurt before I can chicken out.

  His forehead wrinkles and he looks confused.

  “I mean, I’ve been off anyway with all the stress for so long, so it wasn’t a big deal. Honestly I wasn’t even paying attention, considering.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “When I was out with Noah the other day, I picked up a test.”

  I think he stops breathing then. His body goes stock-still.

  “A pregnancy test.”

  His throat works as he swallows.

  “There were two in the pack and well, I took the first one and I thought it was wrong because…I mean, it’s not like…”

  “What are you saying?

  “So I took the second one and that one, too…”


  “Scarlett?”

  I feel myself crying now. Shit. It’s not that I’m sad. Not at all. It’s just so unexpected.

  “I was at the doctor earlier today. That’s why I made a big deal of going into town alone.”

  Cristiano’s eyes intensify their gaze on me as he studies me. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him speechless.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

  “Say it.”

  I study him, search his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

  It’s quiet. Like dead silent. I stare up at him and he stares back at me.

  “Cristiano?”

  He blinks, shakes his head, exhales audibly and smiles. Shakes his head again.

  “I want to keep it and if you’re not ready, I understand. I mean, I get if you—”

  He laughs out loud, eyes so bright they make mine fill up with tears. He’s happy. He lifts me and hugs me so hard, I’m sure he’s bruised a rib.

  “Oh, Scarlett.” He draws back to look at me, then hugs me again. “Scarlett. Fuck. Scarlett.”

  “You’re hurting me a little.”

  He softens his hold, looks at me again, kisses my mouth and pushes the hair back from my face.

  “Say it again.”

  “We’re going to have a baby.”

  Again, he laughs, shakes his head, exhales, shakes his head. Then he lays me down, looks at me, at my belly. It’s still flat but he lays his hand on it.

  “It’s early. I don’t think you’ll see—”

  “We’re going to have a baby?”

  I nod, still crying because his eyes have filled up too. He lifts me again, hugging me tight.

  “We’re going to have a baby,” he repeats.

  “Yes.” I’m surprised by his reaction although I didn’t know what to expect. “Are you…happy?”

  He throws his head back and laughs before his expression grows serious again. He takes my face in his hands, kisses my mouth, keeps hold of me.

  “Am I happy? My God, woman. Don’t you see how happy I am? How happy you make me?”

  I hug him this time, sniffling a little. “I love you so much.”

  He draws back and takes my face in his hands again, using his thumbs to wipe away tears. “No more tears, Scarlett. No more fucking tears. I love you and we’re going to fill this house up with a dozen babies. Fill it up with laughter again, like it should always have been.”

  He kisses me.

  The end

  I hope you enjoyed Scarlett and Cristiano’s story and would consider leaving a review at the store where you purchased the book.

  Keep reading for a sample of Requiem for the Soul!

  What To Read Next

  Requiem of the Soul by Natasha Knight and A. Zavarelli

  I drift in and out of sleep. My old bed feels foreign, too small tucked up against the wall, the deep pink gauze draping it too childish. I reach out a hand and touch it, remember how I used to like it. Used to pretend I was a princess in a tower.

  Wind whistles in from the window I opened to air out the room. The curtain billows, filtering the light coming in from the lamp in the garden. I watch the shadows that dance on the far wall. Remember how I would do that when I was little too. I see figures there, ominous always. The branches of the tree outside make for an eerie gathering as my eyes close again.

  I don’t know if I drift off for a minute or an hour but when I wake again, it’s because of the rain. It’s hammering the window. I need to close it, or mom will be angry. Water damage. Like she cares about the house.

  I rub my face and untangle myself from the blankets to sit up. I’m momentarily dizzy but that’s always the case when I first sit up, so I just close my eyes until the wave passes. But then I hear an unfamiliar rustle then the window giving way as it’s pushed closed.

  Confused I open my eyes and almost jump out of my skin at the sight that greets me.

  There at the window is a figure. Tall and dark and wearing robes like the Grim Reaper.

  But the Grim Reaper wouldn’t be worried about a little rain getting into the house.

  I almost scream as it—he—straightens, turns toward me. I push my back to the wall.

  The figure is in a black cloak with a wide hood pulled up over his head so the little bit of light coming in from outside doesn’t illuminate his face. The cloak reaches the floor and he’s tall. Well over six feet.

  I want to scream. I want to open my mouth and scream for help but when I do, nothing comes. No, a sound more pathetic that nothing.

  Am I dreaming? Is this a dream, a nightmare I’m trapped in?

  But some part of my brain remembers that it knows these robes. Ceremonial. My father had worn one once. I’d been terrified when I’d seen him too.

  We remain like that neither he nor I moving, me not even breathing. He has an advantage. He can see my face. See my terror. I can’t see his.

  Him.

  It’s a man. His height and build give that away. More reason to scream if only sound would come. Where is my brother now when I need him?

  I stare wide-eyed as he takes a step toward me and when he does, the light just touches his face. But it’s even more terrifying then because he’s wearing a black half-mask and what I glimpse of his face is impossible.

  “Wh…what—”

  “Ivy Moreno.”

  Cold, bony fingers seem to crawl along my spine at the deep tenor of his voice and I visibly shudder. The devil's touch. It’s what Sister Mary Anthony used to say when that happened. I make the sign of the cross. Habit.

  That makes him laugh. It’s an ugly laugh. Short and unamused and hard.

  I rub my eyes wanting to wake up but when I open them again, he’s still there. Closer even.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “You don’t remember me, Ivy? I didn’t make an impression? I’m offended.”

  “I...I don’t—”

  “You’ll be my wife,” he continues as if I hadn’t stammered my feeble attempt at a response. “It would be strange if I didn’t know your name, don’t you think?”

  His wife?

  I peer closer. This is Santiago De La Rosa? Why is he wearing that cloak? The mask? It's for ceremonial purposes only. Worn by the founding family members. Males only. And only when tradition dictates it. They'd lent my father a similar cloak when he’d attended one such event. I still remember his excitement even when my sister and I had been terrified to see him in it.

  But there’s a more pressing question. What the hell is Santiago De La Rosa doing in my room at two in the morning?

  Then I remember hearing Abel out in the hallway at some point this night. I remember being irritated that he was making so much noise he’d woken me.

  Did Abel let him in here?

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  I can just make out how his eyes roam over me and I look down at myself. I’m wearing a T-shirt and panties, one foot up on the bed, the other dangling off it. I pull both in, gather up the blankets.

  “No need for that,” he says, stepping closer still to take the edge of the blanket and tug it slightly off me. “I came to give you something.”

  I press harder against the wall when he steps to the edge of the bed. He takes a moment to look at the ornate frame, all the pink.

  “A bit childish, isn’t it?”

  “What do you want with me?”

  He looks down at me and I don’t know if I see or imagine a grin. Don’t know if I imagine the skeleton that peers closer as I back into the corner.

  “Oh, that’s no way to behave with your husband-to-be, sweet Ivy.” He sits on the edge of the bed, inches closer.

  “What do you want?” I scream it thinking surely Abel will come. Surely someone will help me.

  But nothing. No one comes. I am alone with this man.

  He exhales like he’s disappointed, then reaches out, touches the tips of his fingers to my cheek, slips them to my neck where my pulse beats wildly.

  I keep the back of my
head pressed to the wall.

  I’m dreaming. I must be. But he feels so real.

  “What do you want?” I ask, this time in a quieter voice, a frightened one.

  “I already told you that,” he starts, voice low and deep.

  He takes my hand, his fingers like a vise around it and pulls it toward him. His touch is ice-cold. Maybe it is the Grim Reaper after all.

  “I have something for you.”

  He stretches out my hand, reaches into his pocket then, as I watch in shocked silence, he forces a ring onto my finger.

  “What—”

  It’s too tight but he doesn’t stop until he gets it past the knuckle, the ring icier than his finger.

  “There.” He releases me.

  I pull my hand back and look at it. At the large teardrop-shaped dark stone on my finger. At the skeleton like fingers that seem to hold the huge rock in place. Like bones. I glance at him then instantly try to pry it off.

  “It’s no use,” he says, watching me.

  I still try. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it. And when he moves to stand, I swear I see that smile again. A dead man’s smile.

  I feel blood drain from my head, my vision fading as the room begins to spin.

  “You belong to me now, Ivy Moreno, for better or for worse. Until death do us part.”

  One-click Requiem of the Soul Now!

  Also by Natasha Knight

  The Society Trilogy

  Requiem of the Soul

  Reparation of Sin

  Resurrection of the Heart

  To Have and To Hold Duet

  With This Ring

  I Thee Take

  Dark Legacy Trilogy

  Taken (Dark Legacy, Book 1)

  Torn (Dark Legacy, Book 2)

  Twisted (Dark Legacy, Book 3)

  Unholy Union Duet

  Unholy Union