The yards of crimson satin made me recall her rounded backside, red from my hand. I had to force my mind out of the gutter before I embarrassed myself in front of our closest friends and family. A man should be excited to see his new bride, but not so happy he tented in his pants. My sister-in-law was in the front row for Christ’s sake.
Managing to rein in a hair more discipline than a sex addict in a whore house, I pulled myself together just in time to accept Maria’s hand from her father. Enzo’s normally inscrutable gaze burned with unspoken warning. It was an unnecessary gesture. I had no plans to mistreat Maria—at least, not in ways she wouldn’t enjoy. Assuming she’d let me. My gut said she was a ripe peach begging to be plucked, but we’d see soon enough.
The traditional Catholic ceremony was just shy of an hour, which would have seemed like an eternity had my mind not been racing the entire time. When the priest announced man and wife, it almost caught me by surprise.
We turned to one another, and the rest of the world ceased to exist. I slid one hand around her small waist and the other behind her sleek neck and pulled her swiftly against me for a possessive kiss. Her eyes widened, but she quickly softened to my touch.
I started to lose myself in the taste of her and the knowledge that she was mine … until someone cleared their throat.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest chided, pointing out that he hadn’t reached that part yet.
Fuck him. Fuck the ceremony and the guests.
Maria was mine, and I was ready to taste my winnings.
I went in for a second round, but Maria bit my lip, a feisty smirk on her face when I pulled back.
“You’ll pay for that,” I murmured.
“You’d have to catch me first.”
Who the hell was this woman that I was joking and losing my mind in the middle of a church? She was the headiest wine, drowning my senses in her intoxicating flavor until I was no longer myself. Our aromas and textures blurred together until both of us were unrecognizable in the new mixture we created. And with the words of St. Andrew’s resident priest, the two became one—there would be no undoing it.
Maria was now my wife.
After a few last sentiments from the priest, the crowd broke into a chorus of cheers, and we made our way to the back of the chapel. I led my bride around the corner toward the enclosed office so that we could have a private moment. Her skirt swished as she hurried behind me, her hand clasped in mine.
“Slow down, De Luca. I’m not exactly in running gear,” she whisper-yelled at me.
My temper flared at the use of my last name. I had thought we’d moved past that.
I ignored her comment and my irritation, too fixated on having her to myself to worry about anything else. As soon as the mountain of fabric cleared the doorway, I slammed the door shut and pressed her against it, drinking in her full lips and an arctic gaze so icy it hurt.
“You are the fucking sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” If my voice got any more guttural, I ran the risk of being mistaken for a Neanderthal. That was what she did to me, muddled my brain until I was reduced to my most basic instincts.
Conquer. Fuck. Protect.
I lowered my face, breathing in her floral essence. The smell of rain and raspberries and uncompromised independence.
“The photographer will be waiting.” Her voice had drifted somewhere between distraction and blossoming hunger.
“I just needed one more taste.” I licked the column of her neck.
Her head fell back, resting against the wooden door, and a shaky breath slipped past her parted lips. An invitation if I’d ever heard one. My hand lifted from her waist to the satin bodice, pressing against her breast. The fabric was lined, but not heavily. I could feel her nipple pebble at my touch, and I would have bet money she wore no type of bra beneath.
Fuck. The mental image of her naked beneath that gown was pure delicious torture.
I grabbed her hand and cupped it around my cock. “You see what you do to me? Watching you walk down that aisle had me swelling in my pants like a fifteen-year-old kid.”
“So, you approve of the red?”
“Approve? Fuck. It’s my new favorite color. I may burn your entire wardrobe and make you wear nothing but red.” I grazed my teeth over her earlobe, across her jawline, then seized her mouth.
Her hand clenched in my hair, but I couldn’t tell if she was pushing or pulling. Either way, it didn’t matter. I was exactly where I wanted to be and nothing short of a bullet was going to move me.
Knock, knock. “Mr. and Mrs. De Luca? Are you ready for a few photos in the sanctuary?”
A bullet, or a photographer.
Jesus Christ. Would it kill her to give us five fucking minutes alone?
I groaned into Maria’s mouth, pulling away slowly and adjusting myself in my pants.
Maria choked on a giggle—the sound strangely coy on her.
“My mother wanted a full photo session, but I insisted we only take a couple shots here, so it shouldn’t take long.”
I grunted, eyes fixed on the indentations of her tight nipples pressing at the fabric, demanding my touch. I didn’t know what her plans were for our first night as man and wife, but I had no doubt about mine. I would be inside her by the end of the night, of that, I was certain.
***
We took a handful of photographs—after I’d convinced my dick to calm down, of course. Then we escaped through a shower of rose petals to the waiting Rolls Royce Phantom I’d borrowed from a friend. I’d lacked the foresight to pick something with chauffeur’s glass, which meant keeping our short ride G-rated. I wasn’t one to put on a show. I was entirely too territorial to let other men draw pleasure from my woman. Her breathless moans would be all mine—not some driver’s spank bank fodder.
We used the ride to discuss some of the reception details since I’d worked entirely with her mother on the planning. I had figured her mother was keeping her up to date on the arrangements, but considering the questions she asked, I started to doubt that was the case.
What an odd creature. I didn’t know a single woman who would approach her wedding day with no clue what was happening—whether she was marrying her childhood sweetheart or a man she’d never met. Women lived for their wedding, but not Maria. She was a venus fly trap, sophisticated and deadly, while other women were the pretty pink of a simple garden rose. She may be complicated, but there was nothing boring about Maria Genovese—no, Maria De Luca.
The primal creature inside me purred and rubbed against its cage at the sound of my name tied to hers.
Yep, I was totally fucked.
The next five hours, I was no more than a kid killing time before he was allowed to rip into his presents. Maria played the perfect blushing bride, welcoming guests and glowing with a radiant happiness I knew to be a show. She had sworn to me she could play the part, and I’d been skeptical, but damn if she hadn’t proven me wrong.
I introduced her to my brother Gabe and his wife, Mia. The two women appeared to hit it off rather well, but Mia was one of those people who got along with everyone. Nona, on the other hand, was not. However, she was on her best behavior at the reception, primarily focused on wailing about her Tito growing up and placing unwanted wet kisses on my cheeks.
I treated the evening like a giant to-do list, checking off items as we moved from one to the next.
Welcome procession. Check.
Toasts. Check.
Dinner. Check.
Cake cutting. Check.
We had a dance floor with a DJ, and that was the one bearable portion of the wedding circus. We kicked off the dancing with a sensual first dance to a young woman singing a sultry version of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love. I wanted to ask if she or her mother had picked the song, but it felt invasive, even though she was now my wife.
My wife.
I wanted every man to see Maria in my arms and hear the warning in my posture—this woman is mine. Fuck with her, and you fuck with
me.
After the traditional first dances, I was stunned to see Maria dance with her sisters and cousins. She’d had several glasses of champagne, which had to have helped, but I didn’t take her for a dancefloor kind of girl. Not that she didn’t have the moves. Her martial arts training had honed her body and given a gracefulness to her movements.
One of these days, I’d have her dancing privately for me.
When it came time for the bouquet toss, her cousin, Giada, caught the bouquet, immediately giving a sly perusal to the men in the room. She was hellfire and a headache waiting to happen. I wished the poor sap who fell into her clutches a swift demise.
Next, was the garter removal. Now that was a tradition I could get behind.
A chair was placed on the dance floor, and once Maria was seated, she slowly coaxed one side of her skirt up, revealing her red-soled, black stilettos and silky, toned legs, one inch at a time. Men whooped and hollered, but the second her thigh was exposed, giving everyone a perfect view of her blue-handled blade strapped to her thigh with a garter placed above, the crowd went wild.
She peered up at me, challenge intrinsic in her stare.
I crouched down, taking her delicate ankle in my hands, then slowly ran them up the length of her leg. Maria’s pulse point danced and fluttered as I slid the knife from its sheathe, then sliced through the flimsy lace garter. I held it aloft for all to see but never took my eyes from hers.
“Tonight, you wear the knife, the shoes, and nothing else,” I said, just loud enough for only her to hear.
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, but she didn’t specifically protest or consent.
I tugged her dress back down, preserving the wrapping on my present to be shredded later when we were alone.
At nearly midnight, the party was still going strong, but my patience had reached its limit. I informed my brothers they were in charge and swept Maria inside the house, back to the bedroom.
“I suppose this means the party’s over,” she said in a throaty voice that thickened the lust in my belly.
“It is for you and me. I think I’ve been exceedingly patient considering the degree of temptation I’ve been faced with all evening.” I pressed a button to send the heavy drapes cascading across the wall of windows, sealing us off from the party outside, then turned the lights on the dimmest setting.
“You know, just because we’re married doesn’t mean you get to fuck me.”
“Is that the best effort you can give me? A measly reminder of morals I never claimed to possess?” A humorless chuckle rumbled from my chest. “I’m afraid, dear wife, that you’ve run out of time. There’s no more hiding from me. If I detected an ounce of fight in your half-hearted protest, I might actually have considered. But that wasn’t fight—quite the opposite.” I closed the door behind us and stalked to Maria’s back, trailing a single knuckle down the pearls of her spine. “You want this as much as I do.”
“You can’t know what I want.”
My hand continued, taking hold of the zipper at her lower back and peeling the dress apart, then snaking beneath the relaxed fabric of her bodice and cupping her heavy breast. I kneaded the hot flesh, using my thumb and forefinger to pinch her already pert nipple, and pulled her back flush against my front. “Then tell me no, Maria. Tell me to stop.”
She’d taken the words exactly as I’d intended—a challenge. Not a challenge to do as I said, but the opposite. To give into the sensation and allow herself to be swept away. Her breathing shuddered. Her legs swayed. Her mouth stayed silent.
I lifted my free hand to clasp her around the throat, pulling her head back onto my shoulder and exposing the most vulnerable part of her body. “Do you have any hard limits? Anything I should know before we get started?”
“Limits?” she stuttered, as if she’d never been asked before. “No, not that I’ve encountered, but you’re not … this isn’t what … I’m used to.”
“Let me guess. The mighty warrior is used to running the show? You dictate what happens, you’re never pushed to explore what’s outside your comfort zone?”
“It’s not that,” she shot back defensively. “I like being in control. There’s never been any reason for me to let a man tell me what to do. I’m not even sure why I’m allowing you to touch me now.”
“Yes, you do. You know just as well as I do that you belong to me and I belong to you. Neither of us may want it, but I don’t see any way around it now that we’re married. I couldn’t be indifferent toward you if my life depended upon it, and you couldn’t push me away any more than force your lungs not to breathe. That thing that lives between us, it demands you offer yourself to me just like it demands I make you mine.” I moved my hands to the button holding the mesh arms of her dress together. With a twist of my fingers, the fabric came apart. I slid my hands beneath the material at her shoulders, pressing the fabric down the length of her arms. When I pulled the cinched mesh over her hands, the dress puddled on the floor around her.
Her back still to me, I was treated to the sight of her perfect backside, clad in yet another black thong, and a tattoo I hadn’t known she possessed. It looked like the features of a skull superimposed on the wings of a butterfly—lovely and haunting. It was artfully inked at the small of her back, low enough to technically be called a tramp stamp, but nothing about the tattoo was cheap or demeaning.
She stood perfectly still as I studied the priceless art that was her body. I pulled free my bowtie as I walked around her, tossing aside the scrap of fabric along with my jacket. When I turned to face her, I casually unbuttoned my dress shirt, enjoyed the ravenous glint in her eyes as they devoured my movement. I dropped my cufflinks into my pants pocket, then slipped my shirt off and discarded it onto the floor.
After seeing her tattoo, I was somewhat surprised to take in my wife’s naked form for the first time and not see any further signs of ink. People either had no tattoos or several. Rarely did someone adorn themselves with a single tattoo. I appreciated its symbolism—not that I knew what that was, but I had no doubt it was deeply meaningful to her. I had a myriad of tattoos myself and each bore significance. Granted, some seemed more meaningful when I was younger than they did now, but none were the result of a drunken encounter at a tattoo parlor.
Maria’s fingers traced the edges of her knife. I held my hand out in silent demand. She fingered the smooth carbonite before relenting and pulling the weapon from its sheath and placing it in my outstretched palm.
The courage it took in such uncertainty made me want to scream with pride that this was my woman.
She was magnificent.
I closed the distance between us, taking the knife and slowly, with the faintest touch of a butterfly’s wings, drifted the blade down her chest, past her sternum, and along the soft contours of her belly until I reached the black lace of her thong. Slipping the knife gently beneath it, I jerked the knife up, slicing away the fabric and sending it falling to the floor.
“I thought you liked thongs, considering the last one I wore disappeared.” Her voice was breathy from the adrenaline rush of my knife play. She fought to keep her breathing regulated, but her heart still pounded in her chest.
“It’s not the thong—it’s the woman wearing it. She makes my actions … unpredictable.” When I’d left her apartment after finger fucking her to the point of exhaustion, I spotted her discarded thong on the floor as I was leaving. Without giving myself time to think, I snagged the tiny scrap of fabric and tucked it into my pocket. Later, I had wondered if she’d notice. I should have known my little lynx missed nothing.
I lowered the knife and slid it back into its sheath on her thigh. “Get on the bed.” I removed my shoes and the rest of my clothing as I watched her follow my command with a sensuality Marilyn Monroe would have envied. She slipped off her shoes, then eased onto the bed facing me, her gaze glued to mine. She wore nothing but her knife, and I’d never seen anything more mesmerizingly beautiful in my life. She was passionate, untamed, and
one wrong move from gutting me.
I was completely transfixed.
Obsessed.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I prowled to the bed. Muscles coiling in anticipation. Cock extended forward as if desperately reaching for the thing it wanted most in the world. “There are so many things I want to do to you, but for tonight, I just need inside you. I need to feel that warm cunt swallow me whole. See those fucking gorgeous tits bounce as I pound inside you. Hear your moans as you give yourself to me and only me.”
On my knees above her, I wrenched her knees apart, eliciting a shocked inhalation from her. I held her eyes, testing to see if she was going to try to stop me. When she stayed silent, I slowly glided my hands up the inside of her thighs. Her skin was perfectly smooth and unmarred, her mound adorned with a neatly trimmed triangle of black hair.
I dropped down, burying my face in her folds. I’d daydreamed about tasting her. Inhaled her essence off the stolen thong. None of it compared to the reality of having her open and bare before me.
“Jesus, you taste so fucking good,” I groaned between licks, lapping at her juices and nipping at her inner thighs.
She squirmed and gasped above me, gripping my hair in one hand and the duvet in the other. “Matteo, oh God, it feels so good.”
My hunger for her was insatiable. I wanted all of her at once. My mouth on her clit, my cock in her pussy. I was torn with too many options, all equally tempting. Eventually, my dick won the argument, demanding I sink myself inside her.
I raised myself over her, giving her swollen breasts my avid attention before aligning our bodies. “Are you on the pill?” My voice shook with the effort of self-control. It was a topic we should have covered days, if not weeks, ago, but she’d been too busy playing hide and seek.
She shook her head. “I can’t. The hormones in birth control make me crazy. Doesn’t matter anyway—I don’t know if you’re clean. You’d have to wear a condom anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes, annoyance bleeding into my sex high. “That’s not going to work long-term. I’m clean, but we can get that in writing if you need it. Tomorrow, we start looking into options. I’m not wearing a goddamn condom every time I fuck you.” I reached over to my nightstand, glad I kept a stash there even though I rarely brought women to my home.
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