He moves slowly back and forth, stretching me, and I know when he’s reached my barrier. I feel it. I tense, panicking until his hand is on my face, caressing my cheek.
“Shh. It’s okay. It’s for me, don’t you know that yet? For me to take.”
“Damian—”
“You feel so good. So fucking good.”
I swallow. It’s coming. I know it.
He takes my hand and puts it on his shoulder. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to watch you.”
I nod, and his next thrust sends a shiver of pain through me. I gasp. The sensation is strange, painful, then warm and wet.
I’m bleeding again.
“God…fuck.” He shifts his grip to my shoulder and both hands tighten. He holds me still and begins to fuck me. He’s still holding back. Or trying to at least.
“It hurts.”
He dips his head and I take more of his weight. Sweat drops from his forehead onto my cheek. He looks at me again, intense and different, like he’s seeing me differently too. He kisses me and I kiss him back. He tastes good. Like whiskey and sex.
His thrusts come harder, more frantic, and I swear he grows thicker inside me. Thicker and then throbbing as he stills. I can feel him. I feel him come. I feel him fill me up as he empties inside me, eyes locked on mine, my name a groan on his lips.
And when he slides his hand between us and finds my clit, I come again. I come with him inside me, with the pain cutting me, with blood warming my thighs. I come again and I cling to him.
Even as I hate myself for it, I cling to him, my enemy.
This monster who doesn’t hide in the dark. The one in whose bed I’ll sleep.
My monster.
8
Damian
Fuck.
Her cunt cradles my cock, throbbing around it.
Sweat drips from my forehead as I raise my head to look at her. Her nails loosen on my back. I’m sure she’s broken skin, but it’s the least I deserve.
She’s fucking beautiful when she cries. More so when she comes.
I wipe away a tear with my thumb, then kiss her cheek. Her soft mouth.
When I slide out, I can feel her tense, and I look down at the mess between us.
Blood on her belly. Blood on her thighs. On mine. On my dick.
Blood on the white sheets of my bed.
I smell it, too. Like rust. When cum slides out of her, she tries to close her legs and pull away. I grab one thigh to stop her, almost hard again at the thought of my cum inside her. Mixed with hers. Mixed with her virgin blood.
Sitting up, I push my hair back and look at her. She shivers, so I grab the blanket to pull it over her.
“Are you okay?”
She only nods once, and I wonder what she’s thinking, what’s going on behind those secretive violet eyes.
“It won’t always hurt,” I say.
“We won’t be doing it again, so it doesn’t matter.”
I snort, get up. We will most certainly be doing it again. I walk into the bathroom, wash my dick and my hands, then wet a towel with warm water and return to her.
When she sees the towel, she shakes her head and tries to sit up, wincing when she does.
“I can do it,” she says, trying to take the towel.
I push her hand away and sit beside her. “Rest for a minute.”
“Damian, I can…” I push her legs apart, but she resists, trying to tug my arm away. “It’s embarrassing. Please.”
“You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine. What’s embarrassing about that? And as far as not fucking you again, well, I can tell you we will be fucking again and often. Now lie back and relax.”
She lies down and looks away, her cheeks pink.
Opening her legs a little wider, I clean her belly first, then her thighs, and finally between her legs. She sucks in a breath at that and I think I should have been gentler. Gone easier. God knows I tried but only partly succeeded.
“We’re expected for dinner, so we won’t have time to shower.”
“Dinner? With your family?”
I start to get dressed while she sits up, holding the blanket to her.
“Your family too now, sweetheart.”
“I’m not…Did you see how they looked at me?”
“No one will hurt you.”
“They want to kill me, Damian.”
“They’re going to have to learn to live with that want because I won’t allow them to hurt you.” I walk to the door that connects my room to hers. From her closet, I choose a dress for her to wear. When I return, she cocks her head to the side.
“Your room’s next to mine? They adjoin?”
“It was convenient. Get dressed.”
“I don’t want to eat with your family.”
“You’re going to have to get it over with. You live here now.”
“Please!”
Leaving my shirt half-buttoned, I go to her and tilt her chin upward. She tries to tug free, but I tighten my grip.
“Do you appreciate your new phone?”
“What are you going to do? Give me something then threaten to take it away every time you want me to do something awful?”
“Marriage is a give and take, Cristina. I gave you a phone. Now you give me something.”
“Please don’t bullshit me about marriage being a give and take. All I’ve seen is you taking. And besides, this is a sham.”
She tries to tug free again, but when I don’t release her, she slaps at my arm.
I catch her wrist, pulling her to her feet, and tug her toward me.
“Did you come tonight?”
“Get off me.”
“Did you come?”
“Fuck you.”
“Twice. You came twice.”
“Fuck off, Damian.”
“Don’t push me. Didn’t I already tell you that?”
“Let go of me. I’m not going to your dinner, and as far as marriage being a give and take, you already took far more than you gave!”
“Be. Careful.”
“What’s the matter? The truth not really something you’re comfortable with?”
I grit my teeth, count to ten, and release her. “Get dressed.” I walk away, picking up my jacket.
“I’m not going,” she says, and when I turn to her, she sprints for the still open connecting door.
I catch her before she makes it, pushing her up against the wall. I hold her there by her arms.
“Get dressed or I’ll take you down naked.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I raise my eyebrows. “No? Do you really want to test me?”
She watches me. She knows I mean it. “Why do you want me to do this?” she asks, frustration making her voice sound higher. “They hate me, Damian.”
“And that’s exactly why. You need to be strong. They can smell weakness, Cristina. They can smell fear. It’s what they want, and it’s coming off you like you bathed in the stuff.”
Her shoulders slump as I ease my hold on her. Her eyes fill up with tears, morph into that color of sunrise when she’s about to cry.
Fuck.
“I’ll be there with you. I won’t leave you alone with them.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I? Just like the wedding. Just like that.” She gestures to the bed with her eyes.
“No, you don’t,” I say, although that last part bothers me.
“Let me go. I’ll get dressed in my room.”
“Fine.” I let her go and pick up her dress. I hand it to her.
She disappears into her bathroom, emerging ten minutes later. She’s rigid as I take her hand and lead her downstairs where everyone is gathered, drinks in hand, the music and the mood dark.
My sister is the first to stand when we enter, her martini glass half-empty. She approaches with a strange grin on her face, something about her different.
I only realize what it is when she’s standing directly in front of Cristina.
Mother. Fucker
.
“Welcome to the family,” she says, leaning toward Cristina, who is an inch taller than her, and kissing her on the cheek.
She shifts her attention to me. “Congratulations, Brother,” she says and kisses me the same way she kissed Cristina.
Judas.
Michela smirks, then makes a point of pausing as she turns before walking away.
Cristina gasps.
Because for the first time since her return to the house, penniless and desperate, Michela is wearing a backless dress.
And the silvery lines that crisscross her skin display my shame.
Fuck.
I see Cristina’s shocked expression in my periphery as her eyes lock on my sister’s skin.
Michela resumes her seat and takes a sip of her martini, her smile wide. Looking like a fucking hyena.
My brother gets to his feet.
Did he know she’d do that? Did he orchestrate the spectacle?
I give him a warning glare, but he only has eyes for my wife.
My wife.
I feel Cristina tense and I know it’s taking all she has to stand still.
My brother takes his time, making a point of looking her over. The expression on his face makes me fist my hands, squeezing Cristina’s. If I let go of her, she’ll run screaming from this house of horrors.
Lucas stands a little too close. His eyes move a little too territorially over her.
My wife.
My fucking wife.
“Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” he tells her.
She leans away as he leans toward her, but instead of kissing her cheek, he kisses her mouth.
And I lose my fucking shit.
I pounce taking hold of my brother’s throat. His grin eggs me on as I back him into the wall and smash his head against it.
“My wife, bastard. My fucking wife. You touch her again and I will take off the other half of your fucking face!”
He glares at me, that grin gone, only hate remaining.
“I’m willing to share,” he says.
“I’m going to fucking kill you.” I draw one arm back to smash my fist into his face, but someone grabs it.
“Rules, Lucas,” my father’s voice comes out thick from years of smoking.
It’s Johnny who’s got my arm. I jam my elbow into his ribs.
Just as I’m about to punch Lucas, I hear my nephew cry out.
I stop.
Fuck.
I hadn’t seen him.
I turn to find Bennie hugging Michela, face buried in her skirt.
When I look back at Lucas, he smiles at me, adjusts his suit, and glances beyond me where I can see Cristina is standing, hands on the antique table behind her for support.
Elise enters the room with the sheet in her hands. I wonder if she was standing outside my door listening to me fuck my wife. She walks over to my father and I see Cristina’s face morph into one of horror and humiliation. Elise holds the bloodied sheet out for him and everyone to see.
My father makes a sound. I’m not sure if he’s pleased or not.
Something shifts in the room.
Lucas swallows his drink, looking from the sheet to me. “You win this round, Brother. She’s yours in the eyes of God.”
“Am I supposed to believe that will stop you?”
“Stop your goddamned fighting. You know the rules, both of you. Lucas, you don’t touch her now.”
Lucas raises his whiskey to his mouth, and as casual as he tries to appear, I see how his knuckles have gone white around the glass.
“Careful you don’t smash that,” I tell him, walking to the bar and pouring two whiskeys. I carry one back to Cristina.
She takes it and swallows a gulp. I didn’t realize she liked the stuff, but I’ll need to watch her. Pretty sure she can’t hold as much liquor as she may want to drink right about now.
My father rolls himself toward Cristina.
I put a hand at her lower back to keep her from bolting.
“You didn’t like my gift?” he asks her.
She looks from him to me and back. “Gift?”
“Annabel’s dress. Something old and borrowed,” he says.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I tell her. I turn to my father. “Welcome her and move on.” I hate this next part.
“Come here, girl.”
Cristina looks at me with horror in her eyes.
I nod.
“I said come here,” he commands. I’m surprised he still can, in his diminished state.
“Damian…” She’s shaking her head.
“Just get it done,” I say quietly enough only she can hear.
“What—”
I’m about to take hold of her, to push her to him, wanting this over with. But then, with a strength I don’t imagine him to have, he shoots an arm out and grabs her wrist.
Cristina’s whiskey glass slips to the floor and crashes against the stone as she lets out a little scream. She’s trying to twist her arm free, but he tugs her toward him.
“Be still,” he tells her as she struggles.
She has to put her free hand on the arm of the wheelchair so as not to fall over.
He looks her straight in the eye, their faces inches apart. “Welcome to the family, girl,” he says, and kisses her cheek.
When he releases her, she stumbles backward.
I catch her arm as she wipes off her face.
My father rolls his chair out of the room. Johnny follows and they disappear around the corner.
Good, at least he won’t be staying for dinner.
Cristina wipes her eyes, trying to hide her tears. I’m sure she doesn’t want this bunch to see her cry. Her chest heaves with her breaths, and I imagine her heart is racing.
“Bennie,” Michela says.
Bennie turns to face Cristina and I’m not sure who’s paler right now. I make Cristina turn to me, take her face into my hands, wiping smudged eyeliner off her cheek. “Get it together. You’re almost done. He’s a boy, younger than Simona. Then you can go upstairs.”
She nods frantically, sniffling and wiping her eyes and nose. She’s about to crack.
“Go on,” Michela urges my nephew.
He looks up at her, then slowly makes his way to Cristina.
Bennie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He’s about to cry too.
Fuck.
Why the fuck did we do this in front of him?
And why did I let Lucas get to me?
“What’s that, Bennie?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound light.
He stares up at Cristina who sniffles, turning her face away. She can’t keep up with the tears.
“I made a drawing for her.” He gestures to Cristina.
“Look at that, Cristina,” I say to her. “Isn’t that nice?”
She nods, crouching down to take the drawing. “You made that for me?”
He nods but looks frightened.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Bennie,” Michela calls out.
He turns to her, then back to Cristina. “Welcome to the family,” he says and leans in to give her the tiniest peck on the cheek before running back to his mother.
When Cristina stands, I give her a nod, and without a moment’s hesitation, she disappears around the corner, heels clicking as she sprints up the stairs.
9
Cristina
I take a chair into the bathroom and lodge it under the doorknob, hoping it will keep out anyone who might try to come in. I can’t get this dress off fast enough. Can’t get under the burning hot water of the shower soon enough to scrub off their hands, their kisses.
I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life. And I’ve never felt so disgusted.
I want to peel my skin off. I swear I can still smell the old man’s breath on me. Death and hate. That’s what he smells like.
Lucas kissing me on my mouth? I can’t even begin to understand what he was thinking. Then their conv
ersation about rules after Elise showed them the sheet?
I scrub my face, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.
God. She showed them the sheet.
I don’t understand.
Even under the hot flow of water, I’m shaking. Freezing. I switch it off and dry myself with a towel, then put on the thick robe hanging behind the door.
I dislodge the chair, walk back into my room, and take a deep breath in, forcing it out slowly.
The phone. It was in his pocket. Did he put his jacket on before going downstairs? I can’t remember.
I open the door between our rooms tentatively but find it empty. A lamp shines on the nightstand at the far end of the freshly made bed. I guess Elise did that before taking the bloody sheet downstairs.
Did he know she’d do that?
And what if I wasn’t a virgin? What would have happened then?
The whole thing makes me nauseous.
I find Damian’s jacket hanging off the back of a chair. Grateful for that, I hurry to it, patting the pockets until I find the one with the phone. I slip my hand inside, relieved when I lift it out and see it’s mine.
Upon my return to my own room, I spot Damian’s bottle of whiskey. Without hesitating, I grab it by the neck and hurry back to my room, closing the door behind me.
I don’t like whiskey and have never been a big drinker, but tonight is a good time to start.
Twisting off the lid, I take a sip directly from the almost full bottle before setting it on the floor. Sitting down beside it, my back against the bed, I hold my hands out in front of me.
They’re shaking. I’m trembling.
I look at the phone, my one solace. Although it’s late, I dial Liam’s number.
The phone barely rings once before he picks up. I’m not surprised. He rarely sleeps.
“Cristina?”
“Hey.” There’s a long pause as I try not to cry. “You weren’t sleeping, I guess?” I ask, feeling my voice tremble.
“Sleep is overrated. Are you okay?”
I nod, wanting to say I am, but I’m not, and I can’t really speak for a long minute.
Tonight broke me a little. Not the wedding. Not even after, in Damian’s bed. He was gentle. Or tried to be. As gentle as a man like him can be, I think. I do believe he was taking care with me.
Unholy Intent Page 4