The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(12)

Not one of them disagreed. Satisfied, he went back to his whimpering, moaning reward.





Chapter Seven


Nico ?onka rolled over and met with the warm, soft body of his wife. He slid his hand up her T-shirt to cup her breast as he pressed his erection into her backside.

“Wake up, Becki,” he murmured. “I want inside you before Michaela starts screaming.”

Swatting at him, she mumbled something incoherent and fell back asleep.

Laughing, he covered her belly with his hand, felt her skin and muscles still loose from giving birth, and then moved lower, down between her thighs.

“Nico,” she muttered, trying to squirm away from him. “Not now.”

Goddamn it. Not again.

“Yeah, now,” he growled, rolling her to her back and maneuvering on top of her.

He tried to pull her T-shirt up, but she grabbed the material and shoved it back in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m gross.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”

“My body,” she hissed. “I’m fat!”

Angry, he yanked her T-shirt out of her grip and up over her head. As tossed it across the RV, she tried to cover herself, but he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Becki was a damn beautiful woman, encased in silky bronzed skin with matching chocolate-colored eyes. Long, dark curls framed a sweetheart face composed of delicate, utterly feminine features. Nearly every man in camp appreciated a good, long look at her. She was also the most ridiculous woman he’d ever met.

“You are such an *,” she whispered, her eyelashes wet with tears.

“No,” he chastised, “you’re an idiot.”

Bowing his head, Nico took a large, heavy breast between his lips and suckled, tasting the sweet tang of breast milk as it trickled into his mouth. Instead of continuing to fight him, Becki whimpered.

“Feel good, fat??” he asked quietly.

“Y-yes,” she said shakily.

Moving down to her stomach, he took a moment to nuzzle against her extra weight before sliding even lower.

Ah…God.

He needed her.

“You’re f*cking perfect,” he said hoarsely, looking up her naked body to her beautiful face. “I’m so f*cking hard right now. That’s how bad I want my wife, my beautiful f*cking wife.”

With pure emotion gleaming in her eyes, Becki trembled beneath him. Feeling triumphant and grinning from ear to ear, he buried his face between her legs. And when she was nothing but a hot, writhing mess, he reared up over her and pushed inside.

She gripped his back, crying out. “Oh God…Nico…God…yes.”

Becki continued to cry out through her orgasm, and knowing their daughter was going to wake up any second now, Nico pounded into her like a jackhammer, following her over just as Michaela began to cry.

“Crap,” Becki hissed, trying to push him off her.

“Wait,” he said with a groan.

“No, Nico,” she demanded. “Get off me.”

He reluctantly left the warmth of his wife and rolled onto his side. Jumping out of bed, Becki dressed quickly and hurried across their trailer to where their daughter was screaming for her breakfast. Lifting Michaela from the cradle Nico had made her, Becki took a seat on the couch, wrapped them both in a thick woolen blanket, and gave the hungry copil her breast.

Observing them, watching Becki feed Michaela, Nico’s heart felt full. He was happy, happier than he’d ever been, and he’d owed all that to Becki. Other than the dangers lurking outside their camp, other than losing several dozen clan members since this bullshit had begun last spring, other than his little brother, Nicu, just up and disappearing…yeah, other than all of that, there was just one thing wrong in Nico’s world.

His clan baró, Tobar Popa, was Michaela’s actual tat?. Not Hockey, Becki’s deceased husband, but Tobar, the man she’d been sneaking around with behind Hockey’s back.

And Tobar, in Nico’s opinion, was a first-rate *. A first-rate * with a whole lot of sway within the clan.

Once Nico had married Becki after she’d given birth, Tobar had come clean to the clan, owning up to the fact that Michaela was his, and Becki—damn her—had agreed to let him be a father to Michaela. Now Tobar was abusing that privilege, using the time he was spending with Michaela to worm his way back into Becki’s good graces. Normally, Nico wouldn’t have given Tobar and his bullshit a second thought…if he could know for certain his recalcitrant wife actually loved him.

She liked him enough. Well, she’d liked him enough to sleep with him before he forced her into marriage. Yes, forced. He’d literally swept her up off her feet and taken her home with him. He hadn’t tied her up, like most Roma do when their wife of choice would fight them. At that point, she’d been too far along in her pregnancy for him to manhandle her, but he had barricaded the door and watched her like a hawk until the allotted three days’ time had passed and he could legally declare her his. Now, she couldn’t leave him.

Right?

Wrong. Tobar was baró now, and he was the only clan member who could declare Nico’s marriage to Becki null and void. And more than likely, he would happily find a way around the Romani law that clearly stated only a man could request a divorce. Nico could see it now, Becki getting pissed off about something trivial and running to Tobar, begging him to grant her a divorce.