There was nothing wrong with being wealthy. My family wasn’t exactly innocent in that respect, but it sort of got to me where all that money had come from over the years to get to its current amount. As a couple, he controlled the finances because he was the one making money since I was no longer working. Even though that was the case, he never begrudged me a single dollar. Sometimes I thought he wanted me to spend more money. It was like he thought that maybe then I would be able to desensitize myself from the numbing boredom of being home all day.
I didn’t know the extent of the Orsini fortune, but what I did know was that Marcelo Orsini was in no way worried about his funds. To my surprise, he hadn’t made me sign a prenuptial agreement. I was certain that—given the fact that our marriage was fake—he, or at the very least his family, would have drawn up some sort of legal document to protect him from my dirty, money-grubbing little hands. Maybe the fact that it was fake was something he could plead in court so I would not receive any sort of settlement in the event of divorce.
He either was prepared and didn’t care about parting with half of his wealth when we finally got a divorce, or he was just certain that there was no way I was ever going to leave him. I admired his confidence, but he was lucky he was married to me—and not some other girl who was intending to be kept at the level of wealth she had become accustomed to after the divorce papers were signed.
Heaven forbid if we had any children. He was really much too reckless. What if I was a cold-hearted opportunist and completely sucked him dry once we split?
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” I told him.
He smiled then and glanced over at me.
“Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
Half an hour later I was in the shower in our suite. We had gone to a hotel, a really nice hotel, and we had checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Orsini. It was only the late afternoon, but I wanted to take a shower to wash the smell of the kitchen out of my hair. The deep fryers had been going—and I didn’t want to smell like a county fair. I wrapped myself in a fluffy dressing gown and took my time drying my hair. I didn’t have any clothes besides the ones that I had been wearing. I had some makeup in my bag, but I didn’t bother.
We were hiding out. He hadn’t told me anything else and had been on his phone on the balcony since we had gotten there. I came out of the bathroom and found basically an entire buffet on room service trolleys filling the room. There were tons of dishes with cloches over them. I uncovered one and saw racks of lamb covered in a sauce over polenta. Under another was two servings of crème brûlée. Under yet another was lobster with a buttery sauce.
I reached for the crème brûlée and a spoon, cracking its crispy top and scooping out its creamy insides. It was delicious. I kept peering under a few more of the silver domes, wondering how much all the food had possibly cost. There wasn’t anyone joining us, was there? How the hell would we eat it all?
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got some of everything,” Marcelo said, walking back into the room.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked.
“A few of my father’s guys. I want to know who’s after you. You like that dessert?” he asked. I nodded, digging into my crème brûlée.
“How did you know I liked crème brûlée?”
“Everyone likes crème brûlée,” he said, picking up the other dessert and cracking the top. There was a knock at the door.
“More food?” I asked, incredulous.
“Nope,” he said, walking over to answer the door. He rolled in a trolley with four bottles of wine on it.
“When’s the rest of the party getting here?” I asked.
I saw him try to conceal the smile that broke across his face.
“Red or white?” he asked simply.
There were times when Marcelo Orsini didn’t completely drive me insane, and this was one of them. I could take care of myself. I had been doing that all my adult life. I wasn’t going to lie though…it felt nice to feel protected by him. It felt good to have him make the effort to make me feel comfortable and safe in our new state of exile from our home. What had he ordered? Everything off the menu? There was no way we’d be able to get through all that, but it was the thought that counted, and I appreciated it.
There was also the little fact that this side of him was very, very sexy. I liked a man who could take control of a situation—and that was what my husband was. Did he have his faults? More than I could count. Had I been more stressed out these two past weeks with him than I had been at any other point in my life? Yes…but something he said earlier came to me.
I didn’t know him.
It was true.
We didn’t know each other. We had gone from strangers to spouses in the blink of an eye, and we hadn’t gotten to know each other yet. What I could say so far was I liked this side of him. We ate off of all the plates that he had ordered for us, him disappearing from time to time to talk on his phone, but overall, us speaking to each other civilly. I actually learned a few facts about the man to whom I was married. We were this far into our marriage and we were just finding out when each other’s birthdays were.
The wine was going to my head then, and I felt warm and happy. Whomever Marcelo had been speaking to must have said something to annoy him because when he came back into the room, his whole mood had darkened.
“Why do you keep leaving the room to talk on your phone?” I asked him, my tongue loosened by the alcohol.
“I don’t want to involve you in this… this stuff,” he said. He began taking his clothes off. He had already ditched the jacket and vest earlier, but he was unbuttoning his shirt. The pants stayed on. I feasted my eyes on him—shamelessly. Gorgeous. Blindingly gorgeous.
“If someone’s after me, doesn’t that mean I’m involved already?” I asked.
He smiled wryly.
“Sometimes you can be a part of something without it threatening your life. You lived your whole life without knowing what your father did,” he pointed out.
I nodded silently.
He sat on the bed with his back to me. He was shirtless, so I could see the hard, bronzed planes of his back. I sat up and reached for him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders from the back.
“Are you scared?” I whispered.
He sighed. I felt his body swell then relax.
“No… nobody’s coming near you,” he said, his voice hard. I gently kissed his neck and ran my fingers through his thick, black hair.
“Thank you,” I said into his ear. “Thank you for taking care of me.” I tightened my grasp on him, hugging him. He took my hand and kissed it gently. I felt warm from the wine I had been drinking, but I knew I wasn’t that far gone. Maybe I was a bit drunk, but right then, with my arms around my handsome, protective husband, I wanted him. I wanted to give myself to him.
I slid into his lap, straddling his hips. He looked at me quizzically, obviously surprised. Hell, I was surprised, too. We had only slept together twice before. Granted the alcohol had definitely gotten the ball rolling between us a little, but it was more than that. We were both each other’s physical types, if our previous encounters were any sort of reference point. Sitting there in that hotel room with him, I wanted him near me. He was so sexy and capable. I wanted to show him that I didn’t hate him as much as I seemed to all the time. His hands went around my waist.
“What’s this?” he asked flirtatiously. He pulled me into him so our bodies were flush.
“You’re my husband,” I said. “This is what husbands and wives do.” I ground my hips into him, and he smiled. I kissed him before I lost my nerve. His arms went around me as he kissed me back. I opened my mouth and let him inside. His tongue explored the inside of my mouth. He tasted like the wine we had both had that night. I broke the kiss and pushed him down onto the bed.
Laying down on his back, he looked up at me with an expectant smile on his face.
“Move up,” I said, giggling. He scooted up the bed and pr
opped himself up on his elbows to watch me. I undid his belt and made quick work of his zipper and button. A large erection was pressing against the fabric of his underwear. I pulled it down revealing his thick, veiny dick. Holding it by the base, I ran my hand slowly up and down its length. He lay back on the bed, sighing in satisfaction.
The two times that we had been together I had never used my mouth on him, but that was about to change. I knew he wanted me to. I sucked on the rounded mushroom tip before easing him inch by inch into my mouth. His hands found their way into my hair, and he fisted a handful, gently guiding my movements. He hissed, guiding himself deeper into my mouth, the tip pressing into my throat.
“That’s right, baby. Take it all,” he whispered. I obliged, relaxing my throat so I could swallow his entire length. I began moving, in and out. His breath steadily mounted, as his hands controlled my speed, moving me faster and slower, deeper and shallower. I felt him struggle to stay still on the bed. He held my head steady, asking me to stop. He pulled me up and kissed me, rolling us over so he was on top. I was naked under my robe, and he growled appreciatively when he pulled it aside and found that out.
Pulling his pants off, he hurriedly tossed his clothes and my robe aside. He took me by surprise, diving between my thighs and latching onto my clitoris. I gasped and fisted the bed covers in my hand. He spread my legs as far as they would go, holding my body down with his strong arms. My body lifted off the bed, as his teeth grazed my sensitive button. I cried out, feeling his fingers tease my opening and push into me.
His lips and tongue manipulated my folds expertly. I wanted to tell him I was close, but I was incoherent, a writhing, sweaty mess from what he was doing to me. I reached for his hair and my fingers got lost in it. I would have bucked clean off the bed if he wasn’t holding me down when my orgasm came.
It ripped through me, making me scream and shake. As the waves subsided, I felt Marcelo kiss his way up my body, sucking my nipple before kissing up to my neck.
“Was that good?” he asked. I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn’t so spent. He just wanted to hear me say it. He knew it was good. I felt his cock against my entrance and the thought of a condom crossed my mind briefly. I knew he hadn’t been with anyone else. There was too much at stake with our fathers this early in our marriage.
His huge piece ran up and down my slit, becoming slick with my juices.
“Tell me what you want me to do, Sophie,” he said.
“I want to feel you inside of me,” I told him wantonly. His thick, round head pressed against my entrance, breaching the slightest depth before he pulled back out. I could have cried from the frustration. I wanted to feel his hot, hard length deep inside of me. As deep as he could go.
“Beg me for it,” he instructed.
“Please… please, Marcelo, I want you to fuck me,” I begged. I shut my eyes, feeling him fill me up. My arms went around his neck, and he braced his weight on the bed, thrusting into me. His body was a masterpiece, all muscle and sinew, hard and powerful. When we were together like that, him on top of me, inside of me, the complication of our situation just fell away. We became two people connecting with each other, pleasuring each other. We became dead set on enjoying each other’s bodies, working each other and ourselves into a sweaty, satisfied mess.
I felt another orgasm rise and break inside me. Marcelo’s strokes became shallow and fast, telling me he was close, too. He came soon after I did, spilling his seed inside of me, milking himself dry before pulling out. He rolled onto his back, taking me with him so my body lay on top of his. We were silent, waiting to come down from our highs. My head rested on his chest, both of us still completely naked.
“Do you hate me that much?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
He moved underneath me, making me look up at him.
“Is it that bad being my wife? Do you hate being married to me?” he asked again. I lowered my head to his chest where it had been. I sighed, happy that I wasn’t looking at his face.
“No… I don’t hate you,” I said. I ran a hand lightly over his hard abdomen. The light from the lamp glinted off my wedding band.
“But you don’t like me either, do you?”
“You can be… difficult. I mean, if everything was as good as this, then I’d have no complaints.” His chest rumbled as he laughed.
“You just want me for my body?”
“As far as I can see, that is the best part,” I said. He pretended to be wounded, putting a hand to his chest.
“Ouch. That’s not fair. You don’t even know me,” he said.
“I only know what you’ve shown me. You’re a very difficult man to live with.”
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked. Surprised, I raised my head to look at him.
“Well, you’re bossy. Short tempered. Chauvinistic. Macho—”
“Macho?”
“Turning me into your housewife. Pulling me out of work today. I’m just saying, I’d like you a lot more if you toned it down a little.”
“Oh, come on. You love it,” he said.
I laughed at his confidence. “There it is again,” I said. I felt his hand running through my hair.
“The way you jumped on me tonight? I would have thrown you over my shoulder—like a caveman—weeks ago if I knew you’d react like this.”
I ignored his comment.
“Don’t invite Alana to our house again,” I said quietly. He was quiet—though I knew he had most likely heard me.
“I won’t.” He stroked my hair and pressed a kiss to my head. For one of the only times since we had promised to love and cherish each other, I felt like a real wife.
Chapter Eight
Marcelo
She fell asleep with her head on my chest.
We were in a hotel room so the options were a lot more limited than they were at our house, but there was a couch she could have retreated to if she was too mad at me to sleep in the same bed… or she could have banished me to it for the same reason. After having amazing sex, we had gone to the shower. Clearly, her giving mood had not been diminished by our session on the bed.
She looked beautiful under the water. So fucking sexy. Her hair looked even darker when it was wet, nearly as dark as mine was. It was plastered to her skin, which turned light pink in her cheeks from the hot water and steam. She had turned around and braced herself against the wall, letting me fuck her from behind.
It was about time. Shit. I was getting desperate. I hadn’t thought about cheating on her. I wouldn’t do that…even though our marriage was just on paper. No. I had been taking care of things myself, but while my trusty right hand got the job done, it just didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
Besides, I wouldn’t do that to Sophia. She was as innocent in all this as I was. She didn’t deserve that. She was gorgeous. I would never have gone after another woman because there was a lack of attraction between us. I loved her body. I would lick every inch of it if she wanted me to and if she’d let me. We didn’t do it often, but when we did do it, it was fantastic. She was so tight around me. Her skin was velvety smooth and soft under my hands. She responded to every little movement, every single touch. I wasn’t blind. I hadn’t stopped noticing the beauty of other women just because I had a ring on my finger now, but I had a responsibility to her not to act on those feelings—and I hadn’t.
It made me feel, I don’t know, sort of good that she was a little insecure about Alana. Not good, but it made me feel like she wanted to stake her claim on me. She didn’t want another girl getting close, which was good because I didn’t want another girl getting close either. Or another man getting close to her. I knew she was innocent, but I didn’t know how innocent. It wasn’t any of my business how many guys had come before me, but I was willing to take her body count back down to one if she was willing to do the same for me. She had nothing to worry about. Alana was hot, but she didn’t come close. My wife was voluptuous…curves that could stop traffic and sex appe
al that could peel the paint off a car. There wasn’t really a competition, but if there was, Sophie had Alana beat out completely.
This felt good. Being in bed with her. We slept in the same bed more often than we didn’t, but having her close like this, especially after we had just had sex felt really good. It felt like one of the few times that we were doing that newlyweds thing right. We hadn’t argued. The conversation hadn’t been tense. We had had sex. This was nice. Was this how every night could be? I smiled thinking about it.
Was it so bad to imagine every night being like this? We had gotten married at the behest of our fathers, but that didn’t mean we had to keep living the way that we had been until our marriage ended. We had so many fights, and there was so much coldness between us. It didn’t have to be like that. We just had to channel whatever it was that was at work tonight again and again—and maybe one day it would become natural.
The Don's Baby: A Bad Boy Romance Page 6