by Bella J.
“I said no.”
“You don’t get to say no, Daniela. You never had the fucking luxury of ever saying no. You were born and bred to say yes to every fucking man in your life. First, your father and now me, your husband.”
Whimpers rolled from my lips, tears slipping down my cheeks as the taste of my sorrow exploded on my tongue.
He slanted his head to the side. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you, yet here we are,” he growled. “I knew from the moment I looked into your eyes, those flawed fucking eyes—I knew you’d ruin me. Taunt the monster I’ve worked so goddamn hard to keep caged.”
More tears escaped, traveling down the side of my face as the pleasure he forced into me drained me of strength, suffocating my fight one fiery circle at a time.
“Stop fighting it, Faye.”
“Never.”
“You want to come. I can already feel your walls throb around my finger.”
He was right. My body was at the edge, begging to be tipped over, but I tried to hold on to the last threat of control I had over my own body. It was torture, fighting to deny my body what it wanted. Release.
“Open your fucking eyes!” His demand slammed against stucco walls, an echo of lust-tainted rage. My mind was a haze, unable to form a single coherent thought while his assault between my legs transformed from violating to pleasuring.
Don’t.
Please.
Stop.
Don’t stop.
I hate you.
I want you.
“Daniela!” He forced a second finger inside me, and I cried out, the blunt pressure erupting in my core. Pain seared until pleasure dominated. “If you don’t come, I swear to God I will fuck you without remorse.”
Tears lapped from my face onto the silk sheets, but I no longer knew if they were tears of pain, or tears for a battle lost—the battle between what I convinced myself I didn’t want and that which I truly desired.
“Jesus. Please,” I whispered.
“I’m afraid Jesus isn’t here.”
I let out a breath and opened my eyes. “But the devil is.”
“You’re right.” Dark hooded eyes were trained on my tears as he shoved his pants halfway down, reaching for his cock. “And he’s determined to claim what’s rightfully his.”
Gian clasped his palm around his cock, no longer holding my legs apart. But I was too far gone to even try to stop what I knew was about to happen. I’d never been with a man while my father held the key to the gilded cage he kept me in all these years. But it was the twenty-first century, and sex was all around us. Human beings were driven by it. Controlled by it. Technology and magazines flooded with it. I’d seen naked men before, but it was nothing like the image I saw in front of me now. I couldn’t look away. Gian was raw power. Majestic. A savage king who ruined and ruled, taking what he wanted without hesitation. A mix of carnal lust and summer heat clung to his olive skin, the dusting of dark chest hair enticing me, my fingertips burning to touch and feel. Gian Silvestro was the devil, a beautiful beast. And I was the lamb he craved to slaughter.
I watched as the head of his cock glistened with sin, his palm pumping hard, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside me. Every muscle in his abdomen was taut, the clefts of the prominent V more pronounced, stained with a sheen of exertion. It was a moment of madness. The moment when I desired the devil’s destruction. The moment I welcomed my ruin.
Like a wrecking ball, pleasure slammed into me, breaking me into pieces—fragments of ecstasy piercing my soul. I cried out, my bones about to snap in half under the pressure of sheer rapture. It was pain and pleasure, agony and delectation all in one as his fingers kept stroking, touching, penetrating. Everything moved too fast, the world spinning around me, Gian’s guttural moans clashing against my cries.
“Fuck.” His voice split through the haze in my mind, his hand gone from between my legs. I opened my eyes as he fell forward, supporting himself with an outstretched arm, and vigorously pumping his cock, propelling toward his climax. “Jesus fucking Christ.” The veins in his neck bulged, his hair disheveled, and face flushed, and he came. The second I felt the warm liquid of his pleasure on my thigh, I leaned my head down, closed my eyes…and I wept.
Chapter Twelve
Darkness pulsed through my veins. I could feel it infect me. Growing. Multiplying. Taking control. My skin was overly sensitive, and every drop of sweat that trickled down my back and chest felt like icicles against my heated flesh.
My cock twitched, gradually going limp in my palm. It was only when I gained control over my rapid breathing that Daniela’s sobs cracked through the thick ecstasy that still lingered in my veins.
I straightened and watched her cry into the sheets. Her tears had already stained the cream fabric with a darkened mark. Her cheeks were flushed, almost the same shade of red as her curls splayed in a mess around her face.
I took a step back and pulled up my pants, staring at the woman tied to my bed. Panties torn and nightgown bunched around her waist—exhausted and used.
My wife.
Something twinged inside my chest, but I shook it off immediately, refusing to feel remorse.
I grabbed my pocketknife from the bedside drawer and rounded the bed, slicing through the silk ties that kept her bound, leaving red marks on her skin. The second I cut her loose, she clambered off the other side of the bed, grabbing at the sides of her gown and clutching it tightly in front of her.
Blinking rapidly, her wild eyes were bloodshot and teary. Torment tainted her every feature, with pain etched on her face as she glared in my direction.
I pulled a hand through my hair. “You expect an apology?”
“I don’t expect anything from you.” Hate clung to her every word, her animosity palpable and toxic.
“Good, because I won’t apologize.”
“Because I’m your wife. Yeah, you made that abundantly clear.”
“Good.” I glanced at her thigh, cum dripping down her leg, and I loved the sight. It was like a fucking imprint on her flesh, a mark of ownership. And now I wanted it inside her, branding her soul with my motherfucking DNA.
Jesus Christ, I was a soulless bastard, but I got sucked down the dark hole I’d spent so long trying to stay out of. One goddamn night in the same room with this woman and my resolve got shot to shit.
I glanced around the room and grabbed the first shirt I could find before pulling it on.
“You hurt me,” she murmured, her eyes downcast before looking up at me. “You made me come, but you fucking hurt me.”
“You’ll get over it.” I buttoned my shirt and tied my belt.
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms and brushed curls from her face. “I have a lifetime to get over it, right?”
“Like our vows say, ’til death do us part…wife.” I sucked on my bottom lip as I stilled a few feet away from her, reaching out to touch the side of her face. But she turned her head, denying my touch with a bitterness that oozed from her pores. Remorse knocked at my fucking skull, witnessing the affliction in her eyes. But I refused to let it in and reminded myself I didn’t give a shit.
I grabbed a fist of her hair and yanked her head back, her curls soft in my palm as I forced her to look me in the eye. God, I had to admire the fight that burned so fucking bright in her forest irises, the perfect cupid’s bow of her top lip curled with loathing.
“You should make a note of this.” I tightened my grip, and she merely snarled in response. “I don’t care about this marriage. I don’t care about you. I have no motherfucking empathy for your sad little story of how you got traded like a goddamn cow. Do not mistake me for a man who would dedicate his life to make shit easier for you, because you’ll be sadly disappointed.”
“I have zero expectations when it comes to you, so I doubt I’ll set myself up for any type of disappointment.”
I smiled. “Soon you’ll learn that this fight you have, this defiance you’re so hellbent on showing,” I placed my lips aga
inst her ear, “it does nothing but make my dick hard. Now, take a shower. You smell like cum.”
I let go of her, our eyes still locked. That damn flawed iris of hers demanded all my attention. It was like staring at a wall full of priceless paintings, yet the one that made the least sense was always the one that garnered the most interest.
My phone vibrated on the bedside table, and both our gazes cut toward the sound.
Fuck. And they say timing is everything.
I grabbed the phone and answered. “Hold on.”
Daniela stood to the side as I brushed past her without giving her a second glance. There was no goddamn oxygen left in the room, and I stomped out, shutting the door behind me. I took a few steps down the hall when I heard an engine starting and looked out the window. It was Darion, driving off the estate in my Aston Martin. “Fucker,” I muttered and brought the phone back to my ear. “Irina, this is not a good—”
I stilled. “What?…No, I can’t. Fuck.” I lifted my fist, wanting to slam it against the wall, but then thought better of it. “You know I can’t just up and leave with her here. I don’t want her asking fucking questions.”
I turned and leaned against the wall, craning my neck and closing my eyes, wondering if this was the universe’s way of lubing me up so it could fuck me in the ass. “Yes, Irina. I get it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Fine. Okay. Give me half an hour.”
I hung up and slipped my phone in my pants pocket, brushing my fingers through my hair. What a clusterfuck this night was turning out to be. Just a few moments ago I was jerking off while finger-fucking my wife as she begged me not to, and I wanted nothing more than to be balls deep inside that virgin cunt of hers. I wanted to taste her purity on my tongue while tearing her virtue in fucking half. The thought of her never being with another man before was a temptation that fucked with my head.
Would she cry out in pain if I thrust inside her for the first time?
Would she moan and writhe while her pussy adjusted to being impaled? Would her innocence stain my sheets with the most beautiful shade of crimson?
I could practically feel her red hair twined between my fingers as I held her head in place while fucking her from behind, her ivory skin glistening with lust. And, fuck, the sight of her red pussy-curls had me tied in a vise. I wanted to spread those legs with a goddamn spreader-bar so I could stare at that cunt all day.
“Fuck!” This time I did slam my fist into the wall. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from slipping further and further into a fucking cave I’d fought so long to stay out of. Daniela was pulling me toward the edge without even knowing it while everything she did tempted the devil to drag her down to hell with him.
I had to leave; Irina was waiting for me. But Darion was right. I was risking a lot by continuing these meetings with her. Still, she needed me, and I made this commitment long before Daniela Moretti catapulted into my life—uninvited and unwanted. At least Darion left too, and his presence here was one less thing to worry about while I was gone.
I glanced at my bedroom door and quietly moved closer. There was no sound coming from the room as I leaned in to listen. No sobs. No cries. No weeping.
Of course not. She was too stubborn to pity herself. Too strong to break. Too determined to drown. It made me wonder how such a strong-willed woman allowed herself to get bullied into doing something she didn’t want to do. To let her father force her into a marriage she wanted no part of. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she had a reason—a real fucking good one.
She and I…we weren’t that different.
Chapter Thirteen
The last tear trickled down my cheek, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. I couldn’t remember a time when I ever cried as much as I did since I married Gian. All my life, I had fought against allowing my father to see my tears. But with Gian, it was different. Maybe because I knew I was trapped with this man for the rest of my life. At least here in hell my tears kept my soul alive during the unrelenting torment that seemed to get harder and harder each day.
I placed my palm on the thick curtain, my finger tracing along the gold filigree pattern. Gian had just left in the back of a black Audi, and I wondered if his sudden departure had anything to do with the phone call he received, if it was the woman from the other night. Maybe. Maybe not. What did I care?
After staring out the window long after Gian had left, my mind void of any thought, I got into the shower and ran the water as hot as my skin could handle. It stung, but it felt good—like it had the power to wash his fingerprints off me. The hot water burned my scalp as it cascaded down over my head and face. I kept my eyes closed, allowing the memories of Alessa and our childhood together to soothe the storm inside me. I loved my little sister. From the first time I saw her, her tiny body wrapped in a blanket and cradled in my mother’s arms, I swore to do whatever it took to protect her. That I would always put her happiness above mine. It was my only solace.
I lathered soap on the white sponge, the scent of rose geranium breaking through the heavy steam. It was that one place on my inner thigh I focused on the most, scrubbed until my flesh was tender from chaffing. I wanted it off. I wanted his cum off me, to erase every trace of it. But it wouldn’t go away. I could still feel it, clinging to my skin. The filth. The humiliation. The indignity of my own body betraying me, and my husband finding some immoral satisfaction in it.
The sponge dropped from my hand, and I crouched to pick it up, water gushing down on my back, streaming down the sides of my neck and face. I shifted my heel to cover the outlet, water backing up around my feet. Against the gray marble floor, the water looked like a molten mirror, and it kept rising, becoming more and more. I wanted it to drag me under. I wanted to feel the liquid force its way down my throat as it drowned me, taking with it the wretchedness of how I found pleasure under the devil’s touch. Through the tears I cried into his silk sheets, I felt the heat. I felt the anticipation. The need. It pulsed like a lifeforce through flesh and bone. My body was pulled tight like a rubber band, and all it craved, all it cared about was finding a release before it snapped. The thought alone forced bile up my throat, leaving an awful taste in my mouth.
I was no fucking martyr. I wasn’t a victim…because, in the end, I liked it.
I lifted my heel as I stood and watched the water be sucked through the outlet in a spiral. I was that water—rushing down a hole I had no idea where it led to, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Knowing Gian had left the house, I decided to go downstairs to get myself a drink. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight, and I needed something to take the edge off. Dressed in black leggings and a tank top, I made my way through the dimly lit house toward the bar. It was quiet, the only sound that of the swimming pool pump coming from outside.
I brushed the thick curls back from my face and went straight for the tequila bottle that chilled in the glass-door fridge. The first shot I tossed back stung as it slowly traveled down my throat, past my lungs, and settled into stomach. The second shot quickly followed. And then the third.
I was thankful for the freedom of being alone—especially now, since I had no idea in what direction my emotions moved from one second to the next. My head and heart were all over the place, and my resolve stretched thin now that I had caught a glimpse of the monster Gian could be.
A monster I desired. “God, this is such a mess,” I muttered to myself as I pulled a palm down my face.
“Why is it every time I walk into this house it’s either Gian getting drunk or you?”
I turned in my seat and watched Darion stroll in my direction. “I guess you could say we bring out the best in each other,” I mocked.
“Or not.” Darion smirked. He took a seat next to me, reached over, and pulled the bottle of tequila closer. He poured a long stream of tequila directly into his mouth and cringed as he swallowed. “Where is that dear brother of mine?”
“I have no idea, and tonight, I really don’t care.”
I took the bottle from him and did the same, not bothering with a glass this time. I winced and heard Darion snicker next to me.
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise so soon? And,” he took the bottle from my hand, “have you ever had tequila before?”
“Yup.” I swallowed. “Once when Alessa and I stole a bottle from our parents’ stash. They were at some charity gala that night, and when the staff retired, we snuck down to the bar and grabbed the first bottle we could find.” I smiled at the memory. “Which happened to be tequila.”
He placed the bottle down and leaned back in his seat. “How much of that bottle did you drink?”
“Oh, not much. Alessa could barely breathe after her first shot, and the room started spinning after my second. In fact,” I tilted my head, “I think that bottle is still hidden in my room somewhere.”
“I bet one of the Moretti staff will be quite happy if they find it.”
“I bet they will.”
“So, you and Alessa, you have a good relationship?”
“Yeah. We do.” I absentmindedly traced my finger along the label of the tequila bottle. “I love my little sister more than anything in the world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.” I gave him a sideway glance. “And you and Gian?”
“What about us?”
“Do you have a good relationship?”
He cleared his throat and straightened in his seat, placing his elbows on the bar, staring out in front of him. “Our relationship is…complicated.”
“How so?”
He shrugged, his fingers causing a scratching sound against his five o’clock shadow as he brushed across his chin. “Gian and I are just two different people, I guess. I’m more of a laid-back, take life as it comes kind of guy where Gian is just so—”
“Intense.”
“I was going to say stuck-up, but I guess intense works.”
I snickered, my brain feeling the fuzz of intoxication as the tequila quietened my thoughts. It pushed what happened between Gian and me farther and farther from my mind, and I could feel the pressure being lifted little by little.