Blood Always

by Ramsower, Jill

  She was wild, untamed—a goddess of war.

  The personification of indignant rage.

  I flashed my teeth in a vicious grin, inviting her to unleash her wrath. “The second you agreed to our marriage, your body became mine. No other man will see what is mine. No other man will touch what is mine. You need to be fucked, you come to me. You want to end up chained to my bed? Go ahead and tease me again.”

  “Oh, so I have to be unerringly faithful, but I’ll bet that doesn’t apply to you—does it? I’m expected to toe the line, but you can go out and fuck anyone you want. Well, that’s bullshit. I’m not some feeble wife who will sit at home and pine for you.”

  “You don’t think I’m fucking aware of that? This would have been a hell of a lot simpler if you were. Then I wouldn’t have cared who you fucked.”

  Her brows creased as confusion set in.

  I continued my lecture, inching forward one small step at a time. “I came here to talk about Rico … but fuck him. He was a liability anyway.”

  “Stay back,” she hissed, her bottom nearing the dining table as she retreated with each of my steps.

  I ignored her, never pausing my forward momentum. “Neither of us are happy about whatever this is between us. We didn’t plan it, but there’s no escaping it. Maybe all it would take is one good angry fuck to cleanse you from my system. But until then, until this crippling need vanishes every time we’re together, your body is mine.”

  Catching her off guard, I whipped my hand out and seized her wrist holding the comb. I spun her around and had her chest down on the dining table in a handful of lust-filled heartbeats. She hissed and squirmed, seething with righteous indignation, but it did her no good. I held her hands above her head, using the length of my body to fold her over the table and keep her immobilized.

  When our heart rates eased from a raging boil to a heated simmer, I consolidated her hands into one of mine, then used my free hand to pull her hair back from her face. I used my teeth to nip at her earlobe and tasted her sweetness with a long lick up her neck. “Swear to me you won’t even look at another man.” I sounded unhinged, my voice a maniacal growl, but I didn’t care. I needed to hear the words—to be reassured no other man would be sampling my wife’s fiery passion.

  “You’re deranged,” she huffed, her lungs constricted by my bodyweight. “You’ll never force me into anything.”

  My lips peeled back at the thrill of a challenge. In one clean motion, I reached for the hem of her dress and yanked it up and over her ass to find a black thong exposing the perfectly rounded globes of her ass.

  Fuck me.

  I didn’t have the best view from above her, but it was enough to make my balls constrict painfully with the need to cover her in cum. The sight was so intoxicating, I almost missed the way Maria’s body petrified into solid stone. A perfectly carved statue of tempered fury.

  “You fuck me without my permission, and I’ll kill you.” Her words were no longer breathy. Her entire being went glacial. Still and unyielding, promising to pulverize anything in her path.

  Saying I was walking on thin ice was a gross understatement. But I was too far gone. The insistent need that pulsed between us was all-consuming. It gave no room for rational thought or contemplation.

  I pulled back my hand, bringing it crashing down against her ass, the slap resounding loudly in the open room. “I don’t rape women,” I seethed beside her ear. Her wrath fueled my own, like two dueling flames merging into a raging inferno.

  Her body jerked at the spanking, but she didn’t make a sound.

  I’d shocked her into silence.

  I caressed my palm over the heated skin where I’d just struck and coaxed back the reins of my temper. “Now, I want to hear the words. Tell me you will not look at, kiss, fuck, or even think about another man.”

  My Maria had a spine of rigid steel. Commanding her to bend was as pointless as telling the sun to fall from the sky. I knew that, and yet, I knew just as assuredly that the right amount of heat, along with time, could melt that steel into something malleable and extraordinary.

  “I’ll do whatever I damn well please. Our marriage doesn’t make me your slave.”

  Smack. Smack. Smack.

  Three strikes in quick succession on the opposite cheek, their finish accented with a guttural moan from Maria. No doubt it had been meant to relay her animosity, but instead, reeked of yearning.

  I lowered myself back down to run my nose along her jawline. “Oh, Maria. Now you’ve done it. You’ve let me see how much you like this. Are you already wet?”

  “I hate you,” she spat.

  I switched sides again, exposing the first check and pressing my groin into the other to keep her in place. She was too feral and well-trained to give her an inch of wiggle room.

  Smack.

  This time, her ass pressed up against me, the delicate curve of her spine arching minutely.

  It was a good thing she couldn’t see the triumphant grin that spread across my face. She would have raged harder. Held firm to her convictions like a rabid dog with a bone.

  “Lies don’t become you. I can smell your arousal, feel your heartbeat skitter with anticipation.”

  “That’s just the alcohol.”

  Smack.

  This time, I aimed my hand between her cheeks. I eased up on my force, but came down directly over her opening, her most sensitive flesh. Maria bit her lip, arching her head back with a pant.

  “Just as I suspected,” I mused, bringing my hand up for both of us to see the glistening moisture soaking my fingers. “You’re not just wet, you’re drenched.”

  “Just because I’m horny doesn’t mean I want you.”

  Smack.

  Another moan, this one unleashed and wanton.

  Smack.

  “I could do this all night, Maria. I want to hear those words.”

  Smack.

  “Please.” The word was so small, so broken, I almost didn’t catch it.

  “Please, what? You know how to get me to stop.”

  Her breaths quivered beneath me, but not from my weight. I’d let up enough that she’d have no problem breathing. This was an entirely different struggle. An internal one. One she was losing.

  “I need more,” she whispered, releasing her confession into the night.

  “I can give you more. Make you come until white sparks blind your vision and you writhe with pleasure. But I need to hear the words first. I’m not saying it’s forever. I don’t know what the future holds, but for now, while you’re swimming in my bloodstream, I need to know there’s no one else.” I rubbed her scalding cheeks, sliding my thumb beneath the fabric of her thong and pulling the garment snug against her swollen entrance.

  Her breath hitched at the pressure. “There’s no one … no one else. Please, I need to come.”

  Triumphant cymbals clapped and clanged in my head, sending a surge of endorphins through every cell in my body. Pre-cum oozed from the head of my cock, my own need to come pounding in my ears.

  I yanked her thong down, wishing I had a better view of her folds. Next time. There would be plenty of opportunities now that we’d crossed that threshold.

  I brought my hand down twice more, once on each cheek. Maria abandoned all restraint, spreading her thighs and moaning loudly. I didn’t release her, not because I thought she’d fight, but because that’s how we both wanted it. Needed it.

  “I’m going to touch you now. Once my fingers are inside you, there’s no more running. Understand?”

  She nodded frantically, and it was all the permission I needed.

  My fingers slid into her folds, gliding easily in the moisture dripping from her warm cunt. “Fuck, Maria. You feel half this good when my cock is inside you, and I’ll never want to leave.” Still leaning over her back, I slid my thumb inside her entrance while my fingers drifted around on either side of her clit, rubbing and pinching the delicate nub. Unable to help myself, I rocked my erection against her hip, my bel
ly twisting with crippling desire.

  I sped the rhythm of my fingers for long seconds, just to withdraw them, allowing the cool air to reach her pussy and the nerves to crave my touch again. Sometimes I slipped two fingers inside her, stretching her narrow entrance and teasing my cock to a point of masochism. When she wriggled and writhed with the building of her orgasm, I brought my hand back and let loose another slap against her bright pink cheeks. I allowed the sensations to build like a conductor, ensuring the crescendo was perfectly timed.

  “Please, De Luca. I need it, please.” Her breathy plea was a hair away from a sob and the cue I’d been waiting for.

  I rained down attention onto her clit. Circling. Rubbing. Squeezing.

  Within seconds, her thighs began to quiver and shake, her muscles flexing and straining as release overtook her. She cried out a strangled scream, making my own thighs tremble with overwhelming lust. Slowly, I milked the last waves of pleasure from her core with a dozen more gentle circles around her bulging nub.

  When I finally released her hands, they stayed where I’d held them. My mighty Valkyrie warrior was utterly spent. She’d given me all she had, and I’d lapped it up greedily.

  I pulled her upright, and before her legs could give out, I scooped her into my arms. She didn’t fight me. In fact, she wrapped her arms loosely around me and rested her forehead in the crook of my neck. My chest ached with the need to pound my pecks Tarzan style—the conquering hero come home with his mighty kill.

  I found my way to her bedroom. It was swathed in deep grays with rich, purple accents. The purple was somewhat of a surprise—more feminine than I would have guessed.

  Using the hand that held her legs, I pulled back the duvet on her bed, relieved it wasn’t covered in a mountain of throw pillows. I laid her down and pulled the covers up to her chest. She was still in her dress and hadn’t removed her makeup, but she was past caring.

  “You’re leaving.” Her whispered words were a statement, not a question. There was no accusation in her tone nor request for me to stay.

  I leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “You need some rest.” I didn’t offer her any more than that because I had no clue what to say. What was building between us was uncharted territory for the both of us. I needed a chance to breathe, just as much as she did. I wasn’t ready to make any professions or reassurances when I wasn’t sure myself. The best I could do was tuck her in and give us both time to recover.

  That point of demarcation had come and gone. We were now firmly in the “after” phase. What that would bring, only time would tell.

  Chapter 9

  Maria

  There’s truly nothing like the lights of Vegas. The neon glow is a field of wildflowers on steroids, each burst of color claiming your eye, challenging you not to look away. The vibrant hues of Andy Warhol combined with the post-impressionistic dots and swirls of van Gogh’s Starry Night yielded a living canvas impossible to ignore.

  Add in a little alcohol, and it was easy to get lost in Sin City.

  I would never tell Giada, but the trip was exactly what I needed. We decided to plan our getaway for the weekend before my wedding—almost two weeks after my unabashed finger fucking by Matteo. I’d mulled over the incident a hundred times in my head and still couldn’t fathom what had gotten into me. All I could figure was it had to have been the alcohol.

  Never in my life had I allowed a man to spank me.

  Hell, I usually ran the show in the bedroom. Most men loved that, and it meant I remained in control. It also meant I rarely respected the men I slept with, but that kept things simple. No messy emotions to trudge through afterward. It also meant sex had never been good enough to jackknife my life and send me skidding off my charted course.

  I couldn’t seem to fight whatever it was that existed between us. It wasn’t corporeal. It didn’t have a name or a diagnosis. There was no antidote or killing blow that would sever the ties.

  And the worst part was, it was growing. Mutating. Warping my thoughts and controlling my actions.

  The concept of someone spanking me had always seemed demeaning and intolerable, but when I felt the delicious sting of his palm against my skin, electric need pricked at every surface of my body like a thousand tiny needles. I had to restrain myself from pressing my ass in the air as if I were a stray cat in heat.

  My senses had never felt so alive. So hyperaware.

  Each tiny hair stood on end, aching to sense the tiniest movement that might relay his next move. My muscles tensed with an awareness I’d never come close to experiencing in the studio while training.

  It made me feel powerful. Alive.

  Immortal even.

  I could have fought against him. I could have eventually bucked him off me, but I never truly tried.

  That was the scariest part.

  Every word he said about the consuming attraction between us was true, and I was just as much a victim to it as he was. Whatever the source, it made the slightest touch feel like an intimate caress, turned a glance into a physical touch, and transformed whispered words into an intoxicating promise. It overwhelmed the senses until only need existed. Only desire mattered.

  He made me feel like I was on one of those rollercoasters that suspends you from the track. One where you feel like you’re free-falling and totally powerless to stop it. I was disoriented. Giddy. Terrified.

  After he slipped from my bedroom, I lay awake for hours, despite a bone-deep exhaustion. Thoughts and feelings circled around me like fireflies. Instead of catching and examining them, I just played the part of spectator, too tired to think but too overwhelmed to sleep.

  In the days that followed, I needed space to wrap my head around all that had happened. It appeared I wasn’t the only one. After Matteo left that night, I only heard from him once. The day before we departed, he texted to remind me of my promise.

  No other men.

  I debated arguing that the promise was void because it was coaxed under duress, but what would be the point? After tasting his brand of seduction, I wasn’t interested in anyone else. It would only anger him and make my life more difficult. I had enough to worry about already.

  I gave him my assurances, painfully aware that our agreement was entirely one-sided. He had never offered his own commitment, avoiding the subject entirely when I’d mentioned it. I would rather hang myself by my thumbs than look pathetic enough to demand the same commitment from him. It would make me look weak and needy—two words I refused to allow to define me.

  Instead, I sat in my first-class seat on the plane to Vegas, catching sight of the brilliant lights as we circled the city, and tormented myself with questions about whether Matteo was fucking someone else while I was gone. Hell, maybe he’d had a lover the entirety of our short engagement.

  As if the imagery it conjured wasn’t torture enough, my obsession over the matter birthed a world of self-loathing. Why the hell did it matter if he was screwing someone else?

  I’d never been possessive of any other man I’d fucked. What was it about Matteo that made me feel the need to cling to him as if I had no self-worth without him? I didn’t need any man. Matteo was no different.

  The problem was, I wanted him.

  I wanted him all to myself to the point of feeling homicidal.

  I was willing to admit I’d become a tad unbalanced.

  That was why it was so important to have time apart. I needed to get my head on straight, and Vegas was just as good a place to do that as any.

  We had a limo waiting for us at the airport. Despite a five-and-a-half-hour flight, the girls were atwitter the moment we landed. Giada uncorked champagne on the ride from the airport, and I attempted to join in the festivities. I had promised myself to make more of an effort, and that was what I did.

  G had booked us at the Wynn, but that was as much as I’d been told. There were already too many cooks in the kitchen inputting their opinions. Girls’ weekend was one situation where I was totally fine in my role a
s a follower. I didn’t care where we went or what we did. The one thing I did know was whatever the plan, we were prepared.

  Six women. Three nights. Enough luggage to outfit a small village.

  It was a Vegas miracle we fit it all in one limo.

  Once at the hotel, Giada checked us in, and we headed up to the room with our luggage soon to follow. The girls giggled and teased one another while I breathed in the freedom of being thousands of miles from my six-foot, tattooed, god-like problem. I may have even worn a smile as the swift elevator swept us up to our suite.

  When Giada opened the double doors to our temporary home, I couldn’t hold in my surprise. “Jesus, Giada. How much did you spend on this place?”

  I had known she reserved a suite, but this had to be one step down from the penthouse. A fresh floral arrangement welcomed us atop a marble entry table, the pungent aroma of the lilies saturating the air. High ceilings and lavish décor in serene whites and golds gave the living area a spacious feel, but it was the wall of windows overlooking the enormous balcony that captured the eye. Plush lounge chairs and perfectly sculpted greenery made for an ideal setting to soak in the Las Vegas skyline.

  Giada waved me off with a swipe of her hand. “We needed the room. This baby has four bedrooms. Plus, what does it matter? We have plenty of money—we’re mafia queens after all.” Her eyes gleamed as she bit her bottom lip with mischief.

  My gaze flew to her younger sisters then back at her in question.

  “It’s fine. Dad told them after Sofia had her … incident with Sal.”

  “And I take it you already knew?” This time, my accusatory gaze turned to Alessia.