by Bella J.
I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and allowed the air to settle in my lungs, willing the tension to ease out of my shoulders. The black silk robe I wore fell to my sides as I stood, and I tied it around my waist. It took forever to decide what to wear since I only had red, white, and black nightgowns and robes to choose from. I went with a design that covered the most skin and removed every trace of make-up from my face. My hair was a wild mess of deep red curls, and I didn’t even try to tame it. The last thing I wanted to do was tempt the beast while I slept in its cave.
I eased open the bathroom door and spotted Gian on the other side of the room just as he removed his shirt. The light of the bedside lamp cast shadows across his silhouette. It wasn’t his broad shoulders and muscled back that held my attention, but rather the large tattoo covering almost his entire back. I stepped closer, intrigued and wanting to get a better look at the snake inked on his skin, its body swirled and curved.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to stare?”
I clutched the edges of my robe together to cover my chest. “Your tattoo.”
“What about it?”
“It’s amazing.”
He turned to face me, surprise gleaming in his eyes. “Amazing? You think a tattoo of a snake eating its own tail is amazing?” He crossed his arms, and my gaze fell to the movement at his naked chest. Smooth skin glowed under the light. Strong. Majestic. Powerful.
A pang of desire surged inside me, and I instantly looked away. “Where will you be sleeping?”
He snorted. “On my bed. Where else?”
“I’ll take the couch, then.”
“Daniela.” His voice echoed around the stucco walls, and I froze. “Get into the bed.”
“Gian—”
His fingers wrapped around my elbow, and he swung me around to face him, a swoosh of air escaping my lungs.
My neck craned back as our gazes locked, and I smelled the potent stench of bourbon on his breath. “You’ve been drinking.”
“It seems I haven’t stopped drinking since I married you.”
I tried to yank free, but my attempt proved futile against his grip. He leaned down, and I heard him inhale while his nose brushed against the skin of my neck. “Still wearing that cheap perfume.”
“Yes, well, I’m hoping it will ward off the insects.” My glare shot daggers at his forehead, but he just smiled as if my animosity merely amused him.
Abruptly, he pulled me closer, my chest flush against his, our bodies fused together. Whether it was the wine at dinner, the dim light in the room, the heat of his naked chest, or the soft silk against my skin—I didn’t know. But this thought popped into my head, a voice that said, ‘There is something about this. About him. Something threatening yet enticing.’
I couldn’t look away, and his hand on my arm remained on that one spot, yet I could feel it everywhere.
Gian leaned his head to the side, scrutinizing my every feature. “Tell me, Faye,”—my insides coiled tight from the sound of him calling me that—“did you like feeling my cock against your naked ass?”
My cheeks burned. “Don’t.”
He moved forward, forcing me to step back, the plush carpet feeling like a cloud beneath my bare feet. My back hit the wall, and I sucked in a breath, knowing I was trapped.
“Did you?”
“No. It was disgusting.”
His mouth pulled into a wicked grin, drawing my attention to the scar above his lip. “That cunt of yours is still intact, isn’t it?”
“That’s none of your business,” I shot back, trying my best to hide just how much he intimidated me.
He stepped up, pushing his body against mine. Heat spread from the back of my neck straight down to between my thighs. I hated it. I loathed the fact that my body had any kind of reaction toward him, toward the feel of his body cocooning me in.
He eased the back of his hand down the side of my face, his gaze following the movement. “I bet daddy-dearest made sure no man has ever touched you. The purer they are, the more they are worth.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s the truth.” He kept staring at the side of my face as he brushed the curls behind my ear. “If you weren’t still a virgin, your father wouldn’t have had a lot of options to pick from. He would have had to take whatever he could get,” he shrugged, “which wouldn’t have been much if your virtue wasn’t still intact.”
“Why are you doing this?” I lifted my chin. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate me, that you can’t stand me, yet this is the second time you have me pinned against a wall like a starved animal.”
“I do hate you.”
“Then what the hell are you doing right now?”
His hand dropped to my waist, fire erupting in my belly. “Maybe,” he started as he slowly wound up the skirt of my nightgown between his fingers, “maybe I’ve decided that the best way to piss off Emilio Moretti is to ruin his daughter.”
I scoffed. “Do you think my father gives a damn what you do to me?”
“No.” His fingers touched my thigh as he bunched up the silk. “Perhaps I just want to break you for my own amusement.”
“I don’t break easily.”
A single finger snaked inside my panties, and I sucked in a breath. “There’s more than one way to break a woman.”
I knew what he was referring to because I felt it. I felt it as he brushed his finger against my sex. It was the foreboding of my ruin. My inevitable destruction was right there in his touch.
He leaned down, pressing his lips against my ear, and I closed my eyes. “What would I find if I slip a finger inside you right now…Faye?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? I like it.”
“Stop.” I thrashed against him, but it was pointless. He kept his hand between my legs, and it started to throb with an aching need that spread to my core.
I bit my tongue and clenched my thighs as the world spun around me. Nothing made sense. What I felt didn’t make any sense. There was nothing but animosity between us, nothing but disdain. Yet while his presence overwhelmed my senses, his finger touching the most intimate part of me, my body reacted oppositely. Like it wanted more.
My core tightened with heated anticipation, a craving that kept intensifying and wouldn’t stop until it was sated. I had no idea how or why, but all I knew was I had to fight it with everything I had in me. I couldn’t break.
“Would you take a woman against her will?”
“Oh, you’re not just any woman. You’re my wife.”
He flicked his wrist, pressing his thumb between my sensitive folds.
I hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About how it feels to have your cunt filled and stretched. To fuck and fornicate.” He bit his lip, his expression that of a starved animal as he jerked my leg to the side, forcing my thighs apart.
“Gian, don’t. You’re drunk.”
His other arm shot up, and he grabbed my face with cold fingers biting into my cheek, pursing my lips. “And you are my wife.” He tightened his grip and leaned closer, the smell of alcohol on his breath rancid. “You belong to me now, and I have the motherfucking papers to prove it. So, if I want to touch you,” he pushed his hand deeper into my panties, cupping my mound in his palm, “then I will. If I want to slip my finger inside this cunt of yours,” I whimpered as he slid a single digit inside me, pushing deep and hard, pain shooting down my thighs, “then I fucking will.” The scar above his lip moved as a malicious grin appeared. “Will you look at that. You’re wet.”
“Fuck you.” I forced the words out through puckered lips, tears of fear morphing into liquid anger.
His grip on my cheeks loosened the tiniest bit. “Your body wants this.” He moved, flexing his arm so he could push deeper into me, every nerve ending, every muscle set alight, yet my stomach crawled, and my chest constricted.
&nbs
p; “You feel that, Faye? It feels good…doesn’t it?”
“Please.” Another thrust of his finger, and I closed my eyes. My legs grew weak, and my hands shook as I started to welcome the blunt invasion. “Stop. I don’t want this.” The lie brushed past my lips while my hips rocked against his palm, an action I had no control over.
“Your body seems to disagree.” He moved, and his finger was no longer inside me as he slid it through my sensitive folds, arousal coating every inch of my sex until he found my clit. Every limb trembled, and I gasped from the desire that stabbed my insides with a thousand blades, every muscle pulled taut, ready to snap under the pressure. His touch was that of an expert seducer turning my body into a warzone where my mind had no chance of victory. It was lava and ice, chaos and enmity all rolled into one while I succumbed to the wicked temptation he drowned me in.
“Gian,” I murmured breathlessly, my fight dissipating with each passing second. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please…” Please stop. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop. God, I was so lost. Lost in his touch. Lost in his words, his voice, his scent. My innocence was no match for his expertise.
“You want it, don’t you, Faye? I could taste it in our kiss,” he rasped by my ear. “How you loved the intrusion of my tongue. How you craved more.”
“That kiss was nothing but a show.” Yet it felt so real. The warmth of his lips against mine, how his kiss made the world disappear around us. “It wasn’t real.” I tried to convince myself.
“It woke something in you, and you can’t deny it. It made this unused cunt of yours yearn for something it never had.”
My silence was the only reply he needed. He shot me a lopsided grin of victory and pushed his body harder against mine, our lips a breath apart. It reminded me of our first kiss in the church. How warm and gentle it was. His taste, how it exploded in my mouth. It was the kind of first kiss every girl dreamed about. And now I wanted that again. I craved it. His taste, along with the electric surge of desire he forced through me. But this wasn’t right—and neither was the fact that I wanted it.
“Gian—”
“Being married to you has to have its perks, right?” He flexed, grinding his hard cock against my hips. “I’d say fucking you should be my goddamn reward.”
Anger surged, and it overpowered every other sensation that flooded through me. I started thrashing, his weight like a boulder against my chest. With strength I didn’t even know I had, I forced my arms in between us and pushed as hard as I could, peeling his body from mine. His hand slipped from my panties as he stumbled back. Eyes dark and hooded, cheeks flushed, and a sheen of sweat covering his chest, Gian oozed with wicked intentions.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I warned, and this time I couldn’t stop the tears. The fear was too strong, the anticipation too fierce.
He wiped at the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, lips parted, his expression that of a ravenous beast who just experienced a taste of what he craved most.
My rapid breathing had my chest rising and falling, and with a sweaty palm I brushed my hair back out of my face. I didn’t take my eyes off him. My fight or flight instinct seared my veins as adrenaline swooshed to every corner of my body, but I couldn’t get my feet to move.
Gian regarded me with his amber eyes, staring at me, watching me, daring me to run.
Run, prey. Run.
Every edge of his roped muscles across his stomach glimmered under the dim light in the room, dark shadows painting every curve of his body. Malice oozed from his pores, but instead of fearing it, I was drawn to it. Like that stupid moth flying toward the light, knowing it would lead to its beautiful demise.
Gian smirked, and I watched as he placed his finger in his mouth—the same finger that was inside me a few seconds ago. Dear God. The way he lapped and licked and sucked, savoring the taste—it was vulgar and sinful. But it entranced me, the look in his eyes. It was pure lust, a driving need to find release.
He dragged his fingertip along his bottom lip, the tip of his tongue brushing against his finger. It was a twisted display of carnal hunger, a show of pure sin that clung to his lips. “Who would have thought a Moretti girl could taste so fucking good.”
“Just stop.”
It happened so fast. I had no way of anticipating his next move. He launched himself at me and grabbed my wrist, pulled me from the wall, and hurled me across the room toward the bed, the black silk clinging to my skin.
There was no mercy in his touch, the skin around my wrist burning with his cruelty. He yanked me past him and threw me on the bed, my body slamming against the mattress. Adrenaline surged, taking the place of air in my lungs, and I scrambled to try to get to the other side of the bed, away from him.
“Don’t,” I pleaded when he captured my ankle and pulled me back, my nightgown banded around my hips.
I gripped the silk sheets in my palms, and with my free leg, I kicked, thrashed, and flailed. My skin was ice cold while my veins burned with an inferno of fear, instinct knocking at my skull, screaming at me to get away.
The mattress dipped, and Gian caught my wrists, his knee pressing torturously into my back, making it impossible for me to move.
“Did your father never teach you?” He tore the belt from my robe and tied my wrists. “Act like prey, and the predator will hunt you.”
“You’re hurting me, Gian.” I could no longer breathe, suffocating on panic as full-body tremors wracked through me. He yanked me to the side and tied me to the bedpost, the muscles in my back strained from the awkward position my body was bent. My courage eluded me as tears took its place with a sickening weight inside my stomach. “Gian, please.”
He rounded the bed, sweat dripping down the side of his face. His naked chest glowed with perspiration and pure menace, his expression stone and eyes hooded. I didn’t need experience with men to know the look on his face, the dark shadows of sexual hunger, and lechery. It was hypnotizing, and something inside me liked it, the thought of him wanting me so much he would lose control for it. For me.
He reached up and gripped the top of the four-post bed, arms stretched, and every muscle taut. I stopped thrashing, and our eyes locked. Predator and prey—one fearing the strike while the other craved the slaughter.
“Your mind must be one giant clusterfuck right now.” Lips curved at the edges. “The voices inside your head screaming that you don’t want this, yet your body craves it.”
“That’s not true.”
“I can fucking smell you, the scent of your wet cunt. It’s driving me insane.”
“Then walk away.”
He let out a mocking laugh. “Walk away? Oh, dear, Faye, that’s like expecting a lion to walk away after he’s tasted the blood of his prey.”
“I’m not your prey. I’m your wife.”
“All the more reason for me to have my fill.”
I thrashed against the ties that bound me. “You can’t do this.”
“You do not fucking tell me what I can and cannot do.” Abruptly, he reached out and forced my legs apart, placing his palm against the inside of my thigh. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t beg. I couldn’t even fucking breathe. My limbs were frozen, the only heat that of his touch as it slipped farther up my thigh. “This would be so fucking easy,” he murmured, his voice low and deep. “I could break through that thin barrier of your virginity with one thrust, make you bleed, and fuck you until morning.”
His fingers reached the apex of my thighs, lightly brushing against my panties. Something between a moan and whimper made its way through my quivering lips.
“You know what the worst part is for you?” He flicked his wrist and tore my panties in half. “No one will fucking care whether I hurt you or not. The poor, beautiful Moretti daughter, trapped and enslaved as a Silvestro wife.” He pushed a finger inside me, and my thighs clenched. “Forever.”
I sucked my bottom lip hard, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of my skin. I
held back a scream when his thumb found the sensitive nub, massaging the bundle of nerves and causing my legs to tremble. Every muscle in my body tensed, and my breathing hitched. A thousand sensations assaulted me all at once, threatening to tear me in half. Everything was wrong, yet his cruel touch forced me to the edge.
Blood rushed to where he touched me, my thoughts screaming for him to stop, yet my body begged for him not to. This was wrong, but by God, I wanted more—no matter how hard I tried to deny it.
“I’ve never fucked a redhead before.” His thumb slipped from my clit and circled my sensitive folds before tugging at the hair between my legs. “Normally, I prefer a clean-shaven pussy.” He tilted his head to the side as his gaze dropped to where he touched me, my legs spread wide. He bit into his bottom lip and let out a subtle groan. “But I have to admit, I fucking love the sight of the red curls around your cunt.”
“Then I have no choice but to shave it all off.”
He tightened his grip, pulling hard, and I winced. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“I swear to God, I will.” I bit out the words, glowering at him as if my hate alone could snap his fucking neck.
He pushed a finger inside me, and I buried my face in the sheets as I moaned. “Shave this pussy of yours, and I will tie you to this fucking bed, gag you, and make you come over and over and fucking over again until you beg me to stop because your body can’t handle it anymore.”
“Gian,” I breathed as his finger circled my sensitive flesh, spreading my arousal.
“Your cunt is all swollen for me, Faye. Should I take that as an invitation?”
“No!” I kicked at him, but he laughed, amused by my fight, and shoved my legs wider apart. My back ached, the muscles in my thighs complaining from the awkward way he had me bent and tied to the bed. “You sick bastard!”
“Oh, I’ve been called far worse than that.” His thumb moved faster, pressed harder, rushing my body to a plateau I convinced myself I didn’t want. “You call me a sick bastard, yet you’re the one with the weeping pussy.”