by Reilly, Cora
My husband. I’d waited for so long to call Danilo my husband, and now the expected joy didn’t come.
Danilo pulled up in front of his mansion. I’d never been there before. It was a beautiful three-story estate with arched windows on the second floor and stone steps sweeping up to the wooden front door. It was too dark to make out the exact color, but it looked to be a light sandstone.
“This was my grandparents’ home. It’s the original Mancini family estate. My parents moved into their own home when they got married.”
I nodded, wondering how many maids were needed to clean this house. From the size of it, I’d guess it had at least forty rooms, probably more.
Danilo parked in the driveway, got out, and opened my door for me. I took his outstretched hand and let him lead me into the house. It was quiet and deserted. The silence gave room for my anxiety, but I tried to ignore it.
We didn’t talk as Danilo guided me up the white marble stairs toward the master bedroom. Always the gentleman, Danilo opened the door for me, motioning for me to go inside. At least, he was a gentleman to me. But I remembered his other side. His angry, unrestrained side. I gave him a tight smile and stepped inside the bedroom. With a soft click, the door closed behind me and we were alone. Completely alone for the first time since our horrid encounter five months ago.
I linked my fingers to stop them from shaking and took my time to take in the room. The floor and furniture were made from dark wood, a very understated design. There was nothing inviting to the room. It was meant for practical purposes, not for comfort or even relaxation. My eyes briefly darted to the bed, a king-sized dark wood piece with simple gray linen.
Panic bubbled up inside me.
Despite my attraction to him, I feared being with him again. He’d been frightening during our last encounter, and the pain . . . the pain was still fresh in my mind. I had been sore for days. He hadn’t been how I’d envisioned him to be—gentle and loving, whispering words of adoration. Maybe first times were never like that. Maybe they were doomed to be horrific, but that wasn’t any consolation.
Silence still reigned between us, but this time no melancholic music could cover it up. My breathing sounded loud. I dared to look at Danilo. He stood close to the door, regarding me with a small frown, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me now that he had me alone. His hands were pushed into his pockets. Tall and handsome, a man who had experience with women and had been ruling over his men for many years.
Maybe my worry was unfounded. He didn’t feel strong passion toward me. The past wouldn’t repeat itself, and somehow that, too, depressed me. I wanted passion, not just the fury-fueled passion of our last encounter. I wanted searing kisses and torn-apart shirts, flying buttons, and ripped panties.
Danilo strode toward me, causing me to knead my fingers harder. His eyes took in my hair. “I usually prefer your hair down, but this style really suits you. It makes you look like a lady.”
“It was meant to make me look sophisticated,” I said quietly, my voice shaking.
Danilo nodded slowly. His eyes seemed to see straight into my brain, which only made me more nervous. He reached for me and touched my arm, stroking up from my elbow to my shoulder over the thin fabric of my sleeve. I stiffened, even though the touch felt wonderful, but my body replayed other images. The truth was, I didn’t know the man in front of me. There was no beautiful memories, and the one major memory we shared wasn’t pleasant. The only thing I knew about him was that he wanted someone else, probably still my sister.
Danilo removed his hand from my arm and cupped my head before he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead as if I were a little child. “It’s been a long day. Get changed, and then we’ll go to sleep.”
Danilo didn’t want to touch me. Because it wasn’t me he wanted, not my body he wanted to claim, not my face he wanted to wake up beside. “Would you like me to get ready first?”
I almost preferred our painful first intimacy, anything was better than his ignorance, this feeling of being less than he wanted no matter how hard I tried to be enough.
I’d sworn to myself not to care, but I cared a lot. I wanted his desire, his love, his passion. Everything.
I nodded jerkily and walked into the bathroom, locking the door after me. I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror, an occurrence that seemed to repeat itself lately. A bride in her beautiful dress with hopeless, jaded eyes. I’d always thought I’d be delirious with happiness on my wedding day. Even in arranged marriages, the husband usually desired the wife and couldn’t wait to claim her. But Danilo didn’t even want me in that regard, much less the way I wanted him. Searing kisses and ripped panties . . . a bitter smile twisted my mouth at my idiotic fantasies.
A maid must have laid out my nightgown for the night. It was neatly folded on a small stool in the corner beside the freestanding bathtub. A beautiful, sexy silk piece with lace trimming in red. A color that suited me very well, Anna had assured me. I slipped out of my wedding dress, realizing that this was it. The day I’d been dreaming about since I was a little girl had come and gone, and I felt horrible. Tears pooled in my eyes and trickled down my cheeks as I removed my garters and underwear. After a quick shower, I put on my nightgown and the matching lace panties. Looking into the mirror, I felt like a fraud in the sexy garment. The red was daring and seductive, meant to show Danilo what he now had. Instead, it only reminded me how hard I was trying. He wouldn’t care if I walked out naked, why would he care if I wore sexy lingerie?
Bracing myself, I stepped back into the bedroom. Danilo had removed his jacket and checked his phone. He put it down on his nightstand when he heard me and looked my way. Something flickered in his eyes, something that gave me hope, but then his disinterested gentlemanly mask was back, and I wondered if I’d imagined the flicker.
“Why don’t you go ahead and try to sleep. I’ll take a long shower. It’ll be a while.”
I walked closer to him, still hoping. He gave me a tight smile, barely looking at me as he went to the bathroom.
I’d loved him innocently, wholly, desperately with my stupid naïve heart.
Could I learn to hate him with the same passion?
It was a matter of survival.
I couldn’t take it. His disinterest, how he avoided looking at me as if the sight of me was repulsive, as if he couldn’t bear it for even a second.
“Won’t you claim me before someone else can? I thought Serafina’s kidnapping taught you a lesson,” I blurted. I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my mouth, but at the same time it felt good to release some steam. I felt like I might burst any moment.
He whirled around in the doorway to the bathroom, his eyes flashing with anger from the past. “What?”
“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean someone else won’t claim me. Don’t you want to mark me as yours?”
I felt almost lightheaded with despair. I didn’t want a repeat performance of what had happened at the party, but I didn’t want this passionless gentleman, either. I wanted passion and love, tenderness and lust. I wanted Danilo fully to myself. I wanted him to forget what was and realize what he had.
Danilo moved closer again. His nostrils flared, a vein in his temple throbbing. This was his weak spot: Serafina.
“Remo didn’t hesitate and look what he got.”
His anger flared even hotter. It was better than his blank expression—anything was better than that. He bridged the distance between us in two long strides, grabbed my upper arms, and pulled me against him.
Fear pulsed through me, but I couldn’t back off now. I didn’t want to. This anger was so close to passion. I hungered for more.
“Won’t you take what’s yours?” I said, hoping Danilo couldn’t hear the tremor in my voice.
His smile was harsh. “Not as long as you look at me like that,” he growled.
Like what?
“Aren’t you a man who takes what he wants?”
Danilo pulled me even closer
until our chests were pressed against each other. His heart was pounding even harder than mine, and it felt good to know this controlled man could be unhinged so easily by a few words from stupid, naïve me. His grip was tight but not painful. “What are you doing, Sofia?”
His voice was drenched with warning and his eyes burned me with their intensity. I felt his emotions in every fiber of my body, and even if they weren’t the emotions I wanted, I drank them in hungrily. But I could see his anger waning, his fingers loosening.
“Maybe you need me to put on a blonde wig like last time. Maybe then you can finish what you started at the party.”
His grip tightened. “Taking you up against that tree. Blinded by anger. That’s not what I promised your family, not what I promised myself.”
I swallowed. I was losing him, his fury, his passionate hatred, and I didn’t want that. I could see myself getting drunk on his fiery hatred, could see myself pretending it was angry lust. I wanted something, anything. I wanted to feel like I had some kind of power over him, even if it was only over his anger.
“Remo took what he wanted, and he got everything. He laughed in your face and you let him,” I bit out.
Danilo didn’t let me finish. He shoved me back, and I landed on the bed, then he climbed on top of me. “Is that what you want? To be fucked in anger? Wasn’t last time enough? Is that what you want?”
His body pressed me down and even through the fabric of my nightgown I could feel his growing erection. “Is that what you want?” he snarled. His eyes were wild with anger, but pain lurked in their depths. Was this hurting him as much as it hurt me?
My chest constricted with unease. I wanted lovemaking and a beautiful fairytale. I was too old to believe in the latter, too realistic to hope for the former.
Some of the anger drained from his expression, regret passing his face and he began to push himself off me. My nails dug into the expensive material of his shirt, wishing it was his skin, desperate to draw blood and give him some of my pain.
I didn’t want him to pull away. I wanted Danilo. I wanted some part of him. Anything. “Remo will always win because he takes what he wants without regard for anyone. He took Fina. Her heart. Her virginity. He took everything.”
Danilo loomed over me, the anger slamming back into place, his breathing becoming louder. “Stop mentioning his name, Sofia.”
“Why? Because he got what you wanted, and now you’re left with someone you don’t want? Someone you don’t even want to touch, much less fuck.” The word burned my tongue and I had to stop myself from grimacing. It wasn’t a word I’d used before. It felt wrong in my mouth.
Danilo shook his head, his body pressing harder into me.
“Take me before someone else does,” I whispered harshly. It was a ridiculous thing to say. No one would touch me, not with Danilo’s safety measures regarding me, but it cut into the wound Remo’s attack had left, opening it up again.
Danilo’s lips came down on mine, but I turned my head away, not wanting a kiss full of anger. My first kiss would be romantic and beautiful, even if that meant it would never happen. He breathed harshly into my ears. “You don’t want this.”
“I do! Don’t pretend you know what I want. Just do your duty and fuck your wife. I bet that’s what Remo’s doing now.”
He growled and I could see his control snapping, his fury bursting forth. I doubted it was directed at me, but I could pretend it was. He tore at his belt and pants until they fell open. I didn’t look, scared I’d lose my courage if I did. I only focused on his face, on the beautiful mask of rage, at the fire in his eyes that almost looked like passion if I didn’t look too closely.
Anger and passion were very similar, I realized then. He didn’t bother to remove his shirt or pants before his hands reached under my nightgown and tugged my panties down. He moved his head lower as if he wanted to kiss me between my legs, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any kind of tenderness or affection because it wasn’t the real deal. Not like his anger. That was the only honest emotion Danilo could offer me, and I’d soak it up like a sponge.
“No,” I snapped, my hand shooting out to stop him. “Just do it. Fuck me like Remo fucked Fina.” I felt sick uttering those words, but they had the intended effect.
Danilo shoved back up, his eyes burning into mine with unabashed fury as he reached between us and lined himself up. “You’re going to regret this, but I’m done holding back. If being fucked is what you want, then you can have it. If you want me to be like Remo Falcone, then that’s what you get.” The name fell like a curse from his lips. My nails dug into Danilo’s shoulders, bracing for what was to come, daring him to put an end to this, to us.
Our eyes were locked and the wave of emotion in his held me captive. He looked as if he wanted to destroy everything. Full of anger and pain. His body was stone, frozen. I waited for the pain, wanting to drown in his rage and fury-fueled passion.
I’d fought for his love for years and gotten his anger instead. It had come quick and easy, and I hoped it would kindle my own. I hoped tonight would mark the turning point for me, from love to hatred.
The pain didn’t come. I glared up at Danilo, at the battle in his eyes.
My chest burned with anger and hatred so potent it threatened to make me implode.
Remo. Serafina.
Two names I never wanted to hear ever again. Least of all on my wedding night.
My cock was hard. This was like the anger-fueled fucks of the past, and my body reacted to it as if on autopilot.
Sofia’s nails dug deeper into my shoulder and she let a shaky breath. The sound burst through my fog of fury, shoving it aside to give way for reality. My wife. My young wife who deserved so much better than angry fucking. I wouldn’t do this to her.
Her blue eyes were frozen on mine. She held my gaze with a fierceness that caught me by surprise.
I froze, panting. What the fuck was I doing? Fuck. Why did she push me? Why did I let my emotions get the better of me? I’d almost fucked her out of anger.
My cock softened, overcome with revulsion at my own behavior and confusion over Sofia’s. Her brows furrowed, her lips parted. “What are you doing?” she practically growled. “I thought you wanted to claim me.”
Now that my fury wasn’t leading the show anymore, I detected the insecurity and hurt behind her spiteful tone. I swung my legs out of bed and perched on its edge, far away from my wife. Sofia’s sweet scent mingled with my muskier scent.
I stared down at my soft cock, remembering how it had been covered with Sofia’s blood after the party. I’d sworn to myself then that I’d always treat her right, and just seconds ago I’d almost let her drive me into fury sex. “Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
I glanced at Sofia. She still lay on her back, her legs parted. Her body called to me like a siren, her pussy inviting, but I didn’t want our sex to be like this, with Sofia like an injured cat clawing at me in despair.
Last time had been excusable. I hadn’t known it was her. I’d thought she wanted it . . . but tonight would have been absolutely inexcusable. Even if she’d practically urged me to fuck her, to take her like a fucking animal, I had to control myself. At least until she really wanted this sort of sex. But looking into her pale face, I knew she was as confused as I felt, and whatever she wanted, it wasn’t what I’d almost done.
“Sofia,” I murmured, trying to form words to make sense of the situation. “This . . . what almost happened. It won’t happen again.” It wasn’t enough.
Sofia’s gaze snapped to me, hurt and anger crossing her beautiful face. “Sleeping with your surrogate bride?”
She scrambled to her side of the bed and swung her legs out. Her shoulders were stiff. I reached for her, my fingers brushing her skin, but she jerked away. “You should have done what I wanted.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’m not blind. I could see in your eyes that you didn’t want our first time t
o go like this.”
“First time?” she scoffed.
“That doesn’t count,” I said firmly. Fuck, I hadn’t even been fully in.
She scowled at me, her eyes were glassy. “You don’t know what I want, so don’t pretend you didn’t claim me tonight because my eyes told you I didn’t want it. You didn’t want it.”
She shoved to her feet and disappeared in the bathroom, her shoulders stiff and straight. Confused, I gave her room. She obviously didn’t want my closeness. I stared down at myself. What the hell was happening? I didn’t usually lose control, especially with a woman. I’d promised myself to hold back, to give Sofia all the time she needed before we’d get intimate. I wanted to give her time to forget the events from the party. Instead, I’d almost added even worse memories to the old ones. How had everything spiraled out of control? I didn’t understand Sofia’s reasoning, not entirely. Why was making me angry her way to handle this?
I loosened my tie and threw it to the ground, followed by my shirt, but I closed my pants. Sofia didn’t need to see my cock now.
I waited for her. The sound of running water reached my ears and I moved closer to determine its source. I relaxed when I realized it was the sink not the shower. If Sofia had felt the urge to shower, I’d have felt even worse, even if we didn’t have sex. My guilt was an overwhelming presence as it was but beneath it simmered exasperation and frustration over my inability to understand my young wife.
Ten minutes later, Sofia emerged in the same sexy red nightgown, barefoot and without a hint of makeup. She looked innocent and young, but so gorgeous and delicious. I was torn between arousal and guilt. With Sofia, guilt had become a too familiar companion.
She avoided looking at my half-naked state and tried to pass me by on her way to the bed, but I grabbed her wrist. “Are you okay?”
She nodded but still wouldn’t look at me. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Sofia.”
“I don’t want your pity or your guilt. I wanted your anger and you gave it to me.” She tugged at my hold until I released her, and she headed toward the bed. I was at a loss what to say. I wanted to understand her. I wanted her to be happy in this marriage, but I wasn’t sure it was an option right now. I’d thought only I was haunted by the kidnapping and the events afterwards, but Sofia seemed to carry her own baggage.