Thinking of him with his hand in her shorts, sharing her secrets and mouth, sends electricity up my spine, hot enough to sever the cord from my brain. I slide my hand from my wife’s neck around her back, palm flattening and fitting her flush against me.
“I don’t fucking care what this is,” I growl into her hairline. “You’re mine, and I will destroy anyone who thinks they can take you from me. And I won’t stop until these streets run rampant with their blood. Now, turn around and put your hands on the counter.”
“Elia…”
“Caroline. I’m losing my fucking patience. Either turn around or get on your fucking knees.”
“I think we should talk about boundaries and expectations. We hardly know each other, and I’m just not sure getting hot and heavy every time we’re together is doing us any favors.”
“Honestly, I don’t give a shit what you think. Turn around and spread your fucking legs before I do it for you.”
Heat flashes in her eyes; she hesitates for a moment, defiance flickering like an electrical fire, wild and out of control.
After a moment, she pushes my arms aside, turning on a three-hundred-sixty-degree angle. Jutting her perky ass into my groin, she flattens her hands against the marble, arching her back and glancing over her shoulder.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
Has there ever been anything sexier than this? The prim and proper, fiery daughter of a U.S. Senator submitting to her mafia boss husband. Fucking perfection.
My dick’s never been harder, and it pulses painfully against her. “Jesus, mio amore.” I swallow over the knot forming in my throat, suddenly nervous. The gentle curve of her ass, clad in these shorts, beckons me, a siren leading sailors to their death, and I run my hands over her, cupping the backs of her thighs.
She starts to turn her head toward Luca, whose moans have silenced in the minutes since I beat his scrawny ass, but I reach forward and fist her hair, using it to press the side of her face into the counter. “I didn’t tell you to move. Remain absolutely still, and maybe we’ll both make it out of this alive.”
Her fingers stretch, body tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I think you know.” My free hand explores her body, squeezing her tit through her shirt and sliding around to hook in her waistband. “Are you wet for me, baby?”
She doesn’t answer, and a slight chuckle works its way from me as I push her shorts down over her hips. This is the first time I’m actually seeing her bare, under bright lights; as her luscious ass and the half-moon of her pretty pink pussy come into view, I find myself following the movement of her shorts, unable to keep away.
Releasing my grip on her head, I fall to my knees, the sight of her dripping and swollen and vulnerable, knocking the wind out of me. I shuck off my suit jacket, tossing it somewhere over my shoulder, and shove the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows, pushing my clunky Cartier watch further up my arm.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.” Reaching up with both hands, I spread her pussy lips wide open, thumbing through the juices collecting at her entrance and spreading them up to her clit.
Her hips buck, banging into the cabinetry, as I pinch the bundle of nerves, probing her seam.
“You’re such a liar, Caroline. You’re drenched.”
“I never said I wasn’t,” she breathes, leaning to press her forehead into the countertop. The angle gives me more access, spreading her wider, and I nudge her thighs apart even more, fitting my head between them.
She cries out at the first lash of my tongue against her lips, legs shaking by my ears. I grip a thigh with one hand, and shove a digit inside with the other, continuing the ministrations of my tongue in needy, circular motions.
The sweet scent of her skin makes my dick leak in my fucking pants. I adjust my angle, plunging deeper, scissoring her open with two fingers now and using my tongue like a whip against her sensitive flesh.
“Would you have let Luca fuck you?” I say into her, refusing to pull back for even a moment. Like I want to miss a second of this.
“I—what?”
“Answer the question, Caroline.” I speed up the lashings of my tongue, spearing between where my fingers pry her open, and drag it up between the crack of her ass, rimming the puckered little hole. “Fuck, you taste amazing. The sweetest, purest sin I’ve ever indulged in.”
A strangled sound rips from her throat, and she beats her palm against the counter.
I push a third finger into her as my tongue pierces her ass, massaging the ring of muscle. My knuckles breach her lips, my fingertips meeting resistance, but I don’t stop pushing, even though I’m sure it must be uncomfortable. She jerks into the pressure like she loves the bite of pain.
“Answer me.”
“Jesus! I already did.”
“Already did what?”
“Fuck him. I fucked Luca.”
I freeze, my tongue snapping back into my mouth. “Wrong fucking answer, mio amore.”
Her pussy flutters around my fingers, and I can tell she’s holding off, trying to deny herself the orgasm for as long as possible. Maybe until I’m buried inside her.
White-hot rage burns through me, zinging up through my thighs and rushing to my brain. I yank my hand from her body; she cries out at the loss but quiets when she hears the clink of my belt buckle. Her fingers flex against the counter as I undo the buttons on my pants, letting them drop to my knees, and shove my boxers down.
My cock, angry and red, bobs free, immediately curving against the swell of her ass. I pump it a few times in my fist, running the tip between her cheeks, and then line up with her entrance.
She braces, planting her toes into the floor until they bloom purple, hands white-knuckling the edge of the counter.
I shift my hips forward, my tip splitting her lips as it disappears into her, inch by glorious fucking inch. It takes a few thrusts before I’m fully seated, but once my pelvis sits flush against her perfect little ass, both of us let out low groans of pleasure.
I’ve never in my life felt anything as heavenly as this. Her pussy is warm and so goddamn wet, clinging to me like rain-soaked clothing. Gliding in and out, I push even deeper on each thrust in, hitting what must be her cervix.
Small body and tight little pussy, meet my massive cock. Happy to be of service.
“Cristo,” I grit through my teeth, the muscles in my ass clenching as I rut into her. “Your pussy is tight. Fits my cock like a goddamn glove. Didn’t think it’d be this perfect, did you?”
She makes some unintelligible sound, twisting her head on the counter. My hand rears up, palm covering her face, keeping her from getting distracted. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t look at him. Don’t even fucking think about him.”
Pulling out, I watch as I disconnect from her body, landing a harsh slap on her ass. Then I fist my shaft and line it back up, a low groan emitting from deep inside my chest as I shove back inside. Her pussy swallows me whole, the sounds of her arousal as I fuck her filling my ears.
It’s a flood down there, sloppy and succulent, a symphony I want to fall asleep to for the rest of my life.
That’s how I know I’m already in trouble.
UP UNTIL THIS POINT, I’ve only been with two other men in my life, although I don’t like to count the first. Maintaining the prudish daughter trope so that I’d look good while my father groomed me didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for fooling around. If I even looked at a man he didn’t have plans or debts with, there was hell to pay.
Juliet, on the other hand, has left her mark on nearly every man in town.
And while our comparisons had me thinking I understood what the average dick looked and felt like, this—being fucked over my new kitchen counter by my husband, while my cousin lies in a bloody heap of flesh to the side—is unlike anything I ever could’ve imagined.
Because, holy hell, Elia is huge. Definitely bigger than average in girth and length, and he ruts into m
e like a mad bull on steroids.
His grunts, hot and moist in my ear, make my inner muscles clench, and his calloused fingertips pressing into my skin make me feel pure and innocent.
Loved, even though that’s the furthest thing from the truth of our situation.
A harsh knock on the front door pulls me from the impending orgasm dreamland I’m floating in; Elia’s thrusts stutter, and he presses as deep inside me as he can go, freezing, his tip nearly puncturing my womb. His front is flush with my back, curled over me in a somewhat protective manner, and I force my body to relax and not read too much into the situation.
If someone’s at the door, I can only assume he doesn’t want them seeing me naked. Despite the promises made when we first wed, I don’t fool myself into thinking this is anything more.
I can’t afford that theory. Don’t want to acknowledge what it might mean.
He rolls his hips again, a rough move that sends my pelvis into the counter, eliciting a squeak from my throat. The doorknob rattles, the banging continues, and he pushes my hair over my shoulder and licks a trail up the back of my neck, nibbling lightly.
My vision blurs at the sensation, like being pricked by tiny needles coated in liquid ecstasy.
“Elia,” I whisper, frantic, as the lock unlatches to the front door; the movement seems to happen in slow motion.
Without answering or removing his body from mine, he turns and tugs me to the opposite end of the island. We drop to the floor, and then he’s rolling, slipping out of me and propping his back against the cabinets.
“Ride me,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes are half-lidded, blazing with a fiery lust I feel all the way to my toes. Stretching his legs out, he yanks me down on top of him so I’m straddling his thighs, finally seeing his cock in the light for the first time.
And what I see gives me pause.
“You’re not wearing a condom.” I bite my lip at the creamy arousal coating his dick, which twitches slightly under my perusal. Yep, he’s definitely bigger than I imagined, with thick purple veins and a slight curve to the right. It’s a wonder he even fits inside me at all.
“So what? I’m clean, and I know you are, too.”
I press up on my knees, putting distance between our genitals. My breaths come in sporadic bursts, matching the tempo of his. “What do you mean, you know I am?”
He tsks. “Mio amore. Did you think I wouldn’t do my homework on you prior to establishing a legal, committed relationship?”
“That’s extremely creepy.”
Hands come up and grip my hips, squeezing lightly, trying to coax me down. “It’s creepy to want to protect me and my assets?”
“I signed your stupid prenup. It’s not like I get anything if this goes awry.”
He frowns, clearly not understanding my sudden voracious anger. Yeah, well, join the club, bud.
Men don’t get me, though it’s never stopped them from trying to.
Elia peers up at me, and suddenly there’s a softness in his stony eyes. “If this were a normal relationship, you must know I’d give you everything I have.” He brings his hands up, cupping my jaw, and my body melts into his.
At least, as much as it can without reconnecting, because I’m weak for this man, and we barely know each other.
“Besides,” he continues, dropping my face and reaching around to cradle my ass, “what do you need my money for, when you’re the daughter of a senator?”
I glance over the countertop at the front door, which has ceased opening for the time being. Maybe Benito thought better of coming in. “I’m not getting an inheritance.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” I half-laugh, tipping my chin down to look at his face. I want to run my tongue along his dark stubble, want to fold myself up and let him consume me, and that worries me because I’m on a mission here.
I’m supposed to be using him, not the other way around. He’s not supposed to confuse me, make me feel things.
But the way he stares at me has me reconsidering everything, and that does me no good. Not getting revenge means not reclaiming my power. My body. My innocence.
It means the stains on my soul won’t ever be washed out, replaced by the blood of those who’ve wronged me.
“If my father even has any money left at this point, he’s certainly not giving it to me. Not after I disobeyed him and married you.”
My husband blinks, fingers flexing into my skin. It’s almost like we’re not still naked, dripping with our need for each other—like all of this is ordinary. “Your father’s not a good man, is he?”
The hard glint in his eyes tells me he suspects more than his question might initially let on, and I don’t have the energy to fight him on his hunches. Instead, I shrug. “None of the men I know are good men. Some are just better at hiding it.”
His gaze narrows, his grip on my flesh tightening. “What has he done to you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Elia. I’m not there anymore, right?”
“It does matter, and I want to know.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you. Maybe you should’ve dug deeper before you married me.”
“Caroline, I—”
But he doesn’t get to finish, because the front door flies open, banging into the wall with such force, my teeth almost rattle. Although, it could be less because of the force and more because of the figure standing there, meeting my gaze over the countertop. I’m still sitting atop Elia, partially naked, his half-mast erection plastered against my thigh. My father’s eyes darken, a sinister smile stretching across his face.
Speak of the fucking devil.
Elia
“Christ, who the hell is that?” I snap, twisting around to get a look across the kitchen, but Caroline’s thin arms wrap around my neck, pulling my face into her chest. Though she still has her tank top on, I can’t deny that I could get used to this position.
“It’s my father,” she hisses in a low voice. I can tell by the strain in it that she’s clenching her teeth. Her spine tenses, and I raise one hand to smooth along the ridges, trying to calm her.
“What the fuck is he doing in my house?”
She shakes her head, but nothing comes out. As she shivers in my arms, I glance around for the suit jacket I discarded earlier. It’s a few feet away, tossed haphazardly on the floor, and I use my leg to drag it closer, draping it around her shoulders.
“Is that any way to greet your father-in-law?” The bastard’s voice is close, far too close for my liking. When I manage to wrangle my head free of Caroline’s breasts, I glance up and see him standing above us, a perverted grin plastered on his rotund face.
“It is when he shows up unannounced and then lets himself in.”
“I didn’t let myself in. Your guard finally put me through after I spent nearly fifteen minutes convincing him that I am, in fact, Dominic Harrison.” He stuffs his hands in his khaki pants, pressing them in a way that showcases his semi-hard dick straining against his zipper.
What the ever-loving fuck?
Stroking my hands over Caroline’s body to ensure no part of her shows under my jacket, I tuck my chin over her shoulder and glare up at him. “I prefer people don’t make house calls. Especially those who owe me and the rest of the state of Maine money.”
He scoffs, pulling out a hand to run it over his hair, greased back with so much product he looks like he just climbed out of my pool. “I just came to see my daughter.”
“You came to see my wife, who lives in my home, for which you need an appointment.” I push Caroline gently from my lap, keeping her turned away from this man, and tuck my dick back in my pants, getting to my feet. If the gesture embarrasses him at all, he doesn’t show it.
In fact, he simply keeps his gaze trained on his daughter, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
And for some reason, one I don’t have proof for, I don’t fucking want her to.
I st
ep in front of him as I zip up my slacks, shielding her from his gaze. It surprises me that she seems to cower in his presence, at odds with the spitfire nature I’ve become accustomed to in our short time together, but maybe it has more to do with the fact that she’s naked than anything else.
“What can I do for you, Harrison? Need another bailout? A soul? I hate to break it to you, but I damaged mine a long fucking time ago.”
Shaking his head, he finally peels his eyes from where they landed on my thighs, his face pinching like he’s just sucked on a lemon. “I suppose I should ask about my nephew’s body in the corner, but I’m sure it has something to do with my whore daughter. She never was very good at keeping those legs of hers closed; I can’t say I’m surprised marriage hasn’t changed her.”
A dam breaks inside my chest, setting free the vilest, cruelest parts of me. I clench my fists by my sides, resisting the urge to land one in his cheek, to sucker punch his round gut. He wants a reaction from me, to test the waters and see how much I care for the damsel I bought.
If I take the bait, he’ll use it against me, use her against me.
But I’m no fool. Instead of rushing to her defense, like my heart demands, I stay silent. Watching him. Fuming.
“In any case,” he says, studying me with black eyes, “I came to formally congratulate you two on the wedding. Not exactly who I saw my princess auctioned off to, but I suppose it worked out for the best, regardless.”
He throws me a wink, and I suppress the violence clawing its way through my veins. The way he calls her princess, in such quick succession after calling her a whore, laces my stomach with hot nausea. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t fucking like it.
It’d be so easy to wrestle his disgusting body to the floor and pin him there until his face pinkened, eyes went bloodshot, and the last measly breath escaped his lungs.
But I don’t. Because I promised to protect Caroline, even if I don’t trust the feelings she evokes in me.
“Great. Thanks.” My voice is tight, deadpan, but he doesn’t seem to notice or take the hint.
“I’d also like to invite you two to a fundraising gala I’m hosting in July. Black-tie, at the Montalto Arts Center. Your appearance would do wonders for my reelection campaign, and I’d love to get to be the one to introduce you as a married couple to the world for the first time.”
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 9