by Hamel, B. B.
“God, you’re right.” Sam stared at me, her mouth hanging open. “What are we going to do? He’ll never back down.”
“We’ll get married.” I grabbed her hand. “That’s all we can do right now.”
She shook her head and pulled away. “I need to think,” she said, wandering toward the door. “I just— I need to think, okay?”
“All right,” I said, catching up with her. “Come on, let’s go.” I led her back through the bar and out the front door.
Nobody attacked. No guns, no clubs, nothing but quiet suburban streets. Colm and Shaun were gone, likely already in a car and driving fast back to their turf before the Don could spring a trap on them, if that was what he planned. I steered Sam into the truck, got behind the wheel, and drove her back to the mansion, thinking about that conversation the whole way.
There’d never be peace. I knew it and Sam knew it, too. Not with Colm standing in the way, pushing for more war.
There was only one solution, and it was bloody.
12
Sam
I couldn’t sleep that night. My hands shook for an hour after the meeting and I barely managed to eat the very nice dinner Bea brought up to my room. She tried to cheer me up, and even offered to keep me company, but I didn’t want to be around anyone, not yet anyway. Matteo disappeared as soon as we stepped into the mansion to talk to Don Valentino, and I didn’t expect to see him anytime soon.
Around midnight, I finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed. The floor outside my room creaked as I walked down the dark hall toward the black staircase. The mansion at night was pretty creepy, and all the old art didn’t do much to make me feel at home. It was like living in a museum, except a rich person’s idea of a museum. I didn’t want to touch anything, but I couldn’t help brushing against the statues and poking at the oil paintings, just to see if they were real.
The kitchen was empty. I passed through it, into the massive living room, and out the back door. Down in the pool, a blow-up giraffe drifted around on invisible currents. The moon was massive and silver, and bright enough to guide me down the lawn, toward a huge oak tree.
I stood next to it then slid down its trunk and sat at its base, pulling my knees to my chest. It was a little chilly, but I wore a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and it was warm enough at least.
My uncle didn’t give a damn about me. That much was obvious. I doubted my dad even cared, though maybe more than his brother did. Still, they were all liars, and everything I knew about the family was built on a crumbling foundation.
Nessa betrayed me. Colm forced the family into a bloody war. And it seemed like I had no way out.
He didn’t care if I married Matteo. It was always a long shot to begin with, but now I knew for sure the Healys wouldn’t give a damn one way or the other. Maybe some of them might think twice about trying to kill me in the street or something like that, but really, I was just a traitor to them now.
But I was still going through with it.
That was the strange part. Every time I thought about Matteo, I thought about marrying him, about giving myself to him again. I leaned my head back and squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to suppress the strange twist in my gut, the odd, excited twinge that ran through my chest like a flutter. I wanted him, wanted Matteo, wanted to be his wife, wanted him to raise my child, and it scared the hell out of me.
It wouldn’t end the war. It wouldn’t do anything at all.
I wanted it anyway.
I knew why, and I wasn’t ready to admit it, but the truth was right there, just out of my grip.
He made me feel good. I could admit that much, at least. There were so few people in my life that gave a shit about me at all, and Matteo was the only one that was willing to fight for me. He looked at me like I was some kind of prize, like I was his princess and he’d die for me if I asked him to, and I thought he might really do that for me. I thought if I touched his cheek and commanded it, he’d go out and fight and die with a smile on his face.
The thought made my chest tighten, and a soft groan escaped my lips.
I looked back toward the house, not sure what I was going to do.
Lingering up near the doors was a single figure.
I scrambled to my feet. I couldn’t make out who it was from this distance, but the person didn’t move, only stood there watching me. I started toward him, and my heart rate doubled as I realized it was Matteo, standing with his arms crossed, wearing black shorts and a black tank top, his muscular arms and chest practically bulging. He stared at me as I approached, walking past the pool and up toward the back door.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“I guess not,” I said. “What about you?”
“I was lying awake in my bed when I heard a little mouse sneaking out into the hall.”
I bit my lip and cocked my head. “You’re listening for me now?”
“Always.”
I wanted to turn away from him and run. Maybe if I sprinted right then and headed into the woods, I could get away and leave all this behind.
But my hand drifted to my stomach where our baby was growing every day.
“What did the Don say?” I asked.
“There won’t be reparations,” he said. “But Colm knew that. It was a bullshit offer. He wants to save face.”
“He wants more war.”
He nodded slowly. “I think the war’s the only thing keeping him in power at this point. Your family can’t be happy with his leadership.”
I chewed on my lip, looked away. “If people are talking about it, they’re not saying it to me.”
“They wouldn’t. You’re his niece.” He stepped closer to me. “What can I do to help you, Sam?” His voice was strange, almost strangled.
“What do you mean?”
“This has to be hard. I can tell that you’re struggling. I want to help you, Sam. I want to help you sleep. I want to give you what you need.” He came closer, and I took a step back, heart racing wildly, eyes blinking quickly. “Tell me what you need, Sam.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You’ve given me a lot already.”
“It’s not enough though, is it? You need more.”
“Matteo,” I said, like I could ward him away by using his name.
But he kept coming. I stopped backing away and he closed in on me, a shark coming in for the kill, but instead of tearing me into tiny pieces, he put his hands on my hips and pulled me against him.
I collapsed into that embrace. I pressed my face against his chest then tilted my head up, looking into his eyes. He bent down and kissed me gently once, but I threw myself at him, suddenly intensely aware of the only thing that could make me feel anything but broken.
My tongue against his tongue, his lips soft and rough all at once. I let out a strangled moan as all my desire spilled into that kiss. My body tingled and buzzed, and I felt him pull me tighter, felt his cock stiffening between his legs. My nipples were hard, my pussy was wet, and I wanted more, more, everything he could give me. I wanted that first night again and so much more.
He pulled me into the house. He probably meant to get me upstairs, but we ended up on the couch instead. I pushed him down and he pulled me on top, his hands moving up my sweatshirt, then pulled it off and tossed it aside. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and his hands cupped my breasts, his tongue teasing my nipples, and I moaned into his ear, breathing hard, breathing wildly.
“This won’t change anything,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what we do. You don’t have to marry me.”
He kissed my neck then slid a hand down between my legs. “You think I want to marry you for the family?”
“I think you want to end the war.” I closed my eyes and gasped as he teased my clit. I leaned back, hands on his thighs. I loved the way his eyes stared at my breasts, at my hard, pink nipples, at the way they shook with every gasping breath.
I felt like a goddess, like sunlight. He ate me up with his eyes and I wanted him t
o keep staring, to drink me in and never let me go.
“I want that,” he said, still teasing, and pleasure blossomed wildly. “But I want you too.”
“Matteo,” I said. “Don’t tell me that if you don’t mean it.”
“You think I’d lie to you?” He glared at me and slid a finger deep inside. I gasped, back arching. “I won’t lie to you, Sam. Everyone else might feed you a bunch of bullshit, but not me.” He buried another finger in deeper. “I want you. I want your skin, your lips, your perfect tits, your gorgeous ass. I want this soaking wet pussy wrapped around my cock. I want you moaning. I want you shivering, shaking. I want you coming. I want you to say my name as I fuck you and I want you to look back at me as I fill you up, and I want you to know that every stroke is heaven, and every second I’m not inside of you is hell. I want all of you, Sam, every delicious inch of you.”
“Yes,” I gasped, and kissed him as his fingers moved faster. I moaned and felt it building, insanely and impossibly, but his speech rang out in my ears, god, he wanted me so much it almost hurt, and I came on his fingers, came as I kissed him, moaning into his mouth.
He let me finish, my body shaking, but he didn’t stop there. He didn’t get his fill of me yet.
I let him strip me down and watched him undress. He stroked his thick cock as I sat on the couch in front of him and took him deep into my mouth. I licked him, sucked him, took him into my throat as far as I could, my head buzzing with the orgasm, the impossibility of coming on his fingers like that, but it was his words and the sincerity of them, and how much I wanted it all to be true.
He pinned me back against the couch and spread my legs. His tongue lapped me up, licking along my lips and circling my clit. I pulled his hair and he growled his pleasure, sinking more fingers inside of me.
“I want you splayed wide open and dripping. I want you begging for me to sink my cock between your legs. Tell me you want me to fuck you, Sam.” He pulled back and pinned my hands above my head. I felt the tip of him pressed against my slick pussy.
I wiggled my hips, desperate to feel him inside. “I want you,” I moaned. “I need you to fuck me. Please, just fuck me.”
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours. God, Matteo, please, fuck me.”
And then gave me what I desperately needed and sank himself deep into my pussy.
I moaned as he filled me, stretched me to fit him just right. It was like he’d been made for me, or I was made for him, and I felt all that heady pleasure rush to my brain. He thrust once, then again, still pinning me down. I was taken, controlled, dominated, as he growled with joy and thrust again, again, deeper and deeper, taking my slick pussy, taking me so deep his balls pressed against my opening, his stomach grinding against my clit.
I threw my head back and moaned his name. My voice echoed into the cavernous living room and in that moment, I didn’t care if someone caught us. There was only Matteo, the man that wanted me, that looked at me like I was the moon itself, like I was all the stars in the sky, like I was a field full of perfect flowers. He fucked me faster, kissed my lips, bit my nipples, teased my breasts, pressed my legs up and took me, his muscles bulging, sweat running down his taut chest. I rolled my hips and moaned and said all the filthy things that came to mind—told him how good he felt, how his thick cock split me in half, how I wanted to suck him and choke on him and let him use me up until I was nothing more than a sweat-covered quivering ball of senseless joy lying in a puddle of my own cum. I wanted him, needed him, and he fucked me, and fucked me, and pushed me to my limits until another orgasm rolled down my spine.
This was him, this was the father of my baby, and soon I was going to marry him. Maybe we’d end the war together or maybe not, and I wasn’t sure I cared. It was him, god, him, my Matteo, and I was his.
He came moments after me, filling me in deep, hard spurts. I gasped and clenched down on him as my back shook and my legs cramped. He kissed me and massaged my calf until it passed, then pulled back. I moved to get dressed, but he dragged me into his lap, still naked, his seed dripping from between my legs.
I curled up against him, and he wrapped his arms around me.
“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, “but I promise we’ll make it through this.”
“I just don’t understand how my family can be like this. I don’t know why Colm hates them so much and why they don’t give a damn about me.”
“I don’t either,” he admitted. “But it’s not like that with me. You can be everything, if you want it.”
I bit my lip and tried not to cry.
I’d never wanted to be someone’s everything—but now that he’d offered it, I realized it sounded perfect. I never knew I could mean this much to someone, and it filled me to the brim with a confused and insane joy.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally, once I managed to control my tears.
“Good,” he said. “In the meantime, we’ll get married tomorrow.” He kissed my hair and laughed. “It’ll be fun. You can consider this the wedding night.”
“Oh, yeah? You’re not giving me another night like this?”
He tilted my chin up. “Sam, I’ll give you as many nights as you want,” he said, practically purring my name. “I worship you. Do you realize that?”
“I want to believe you,” I said.
“You don’t have to. All you need to do is give yourself up, and I’ll do the rest.”
I nodded a little and snuggled closer. “We probably shouldn’t have sex in the living room again though.”
He laughed. I grinned and laughed with him, and it felt like a balloon losing its air, all the tension blowing out of the room.
“Come on,” he said, getting me up. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“Big day tomorrow.” I pulled on my clothes. He watched me dress before getting his own shorts and tank top on.
“Big day,” he repeated. “But a good day. Once we’re married, I think it’ll hurt Colm’s legitimacy with your family. He may not give a damn, but everyone else will.”
I chewed on my cheek and nodded. “I think you’re right about that,” I said.
He took my hand, lacing his fingers into mine, and we walked back to the stairs together. I thought about going into his room and sleeping in his bed, but decided to sleep alone instead. I was going to marry him tomorrow, and I had a feeling he’d want to take his due as a husband in the future.
Which meant my days of an empty bed were nearly over.
I didn’t know how I felt about it, but a strange excited tingle suggested it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
13
Matteo
We gathered down at the old oak tree. Don Valentino was there with Bea and an old priest named Father Carmichael. He was some local guy, pulled in at the last minute and willing to do a quick and dirty ceremony.
Sam stood across from me. She wasn’t in a full wedding dress, but she was in white—a simply skirt and button-down shirt. Her hair was up in a braid with small flowers laced through it, and although her clothes and makeup were understated and simple, she looked like heaven.
She looked like my future wife.
Father Carmichael cleared his throat. “Don Valentino invited me here to do a small ceremony,” he said. “I suppose this is as small as it gets.”
“Keep it short, Father,” Don Valentino said.
The priest cleared his throat awkwardly again and flipped through his Bible then sighed and slammed it shut.
“All right then,” he said. “Shall we simply get to the good parts?”
“Please,” I said and felt a strange jab in my stomach.
Sam smiled back at me. She glowed like a lightning bug on a black evening. She was heaven, my sunflower, my north star. I didn’t know when the shift happened, but at some point she went from a beautiful woman I wanted to fuck over and over to a goddess I wanted to kneel down in front of and worship.
And the way she looked at me suggested she f
elt the same way.
I never wanted to get married. That was never in the cards for me. I figured I’d fight for the Don, maybe get rich for a while, and eventually die in a hail of gunfire. That was always my fate, but now Sam changed everything. She made me want to look back away from the abyss and imagine myself as an old man with a family.
Even if it was all fake, all to try to end this stupid war. I couldn’t help but want it to be real.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—” Father Carmichael started, but Don Valentino cleared his throat. “Okay, yes, okay, very well. Do you, Matteo, take Samantha to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” I said.
“And do you, Samantha, take Matteo—”
“I do,” she said quickly and laughed, covering her mouth.
Father Carmichael smiled. “Then I pronounce you man and wife. Go ahead and kiss the bride.”
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. I heard Father Carmichael grumble something about the fastest ceremony he’d ever done, and Don Valentino tell him to shut his stupid fat ass and take the damn check, but I was too busy kissing my wife to give a shit or notice.
Eventually, we came up for air. Father Carmichael was already lumbering back to the house. Bea smiled huge at the pair of us, and even Don Valentino seemed like he was in a good mood.
“How’s it feel?” Don Valentino asked. “Marriage is a sacred thing, you know.”
“Feels great,” I said. “Now let’s go end the fucking war.”
He laughed and headed back toward the house.
“Come on, you two,” Bea said. “I’ve got lunch prepared.”
“Can we come up in a second?” Sam asked, looking at me. “I wanted to talk to Matteo.”
“Of course,” Bea said. “Come up when you’re ready.” She walked off with a wave.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I hope you’re not getting cold feet for your wedding night. I know you’re not a virgin.”