Page 175 of Vicious Intentions
Still, my wife doesn’t listen. Instead, she closes the distance between us, her tear-filled eyes tracing every mark on my body as if cataloging all the ways it was abused.
Unlike Niccolò, who covered up the damage done to his body in tattoos, I never inked my skin to camouflage what was done to me. It’s not like I wear each scar or burn mark with pride. They just serve as a reminder never to put my trust in anyone. Not even on those who were put on this earth to protect me.
My proud older brother, Carlo, didn’t.
My poor defenseless mother couldn’t.
And Ginevra and my father… Well, they made sure I learned exactly where I stood.
Ginevra gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘wicked stepmother’. She used whatever was within reach to cause me pain. Once, she even hurled her favorite Tiffany’s vase at my head. The shards flew close enough to blind me in one eye, just because she didn’t like the way I looked at her one morning.
My father never stepped in to stop her. Quite the contrary. He loved watching his wife lose her shit, always with that infuriating smug smile on his lips. Sometimes when Ginevra was in a good mood, he’d lean in and whisper something in her ear, just to rile her up so she could take out all her frustrations on me.
And on the nights my asshole of a father sought out my mother in his brothel, I always knew where he’d gone. Because those were the nights when Ginevra would getreallycreative.That’s when the knives and other sharp objects always came out to play.
Still, more often than not, she fell back on her favorite pastime—burning her mark into my skin, branding me so I’d never forget my place.
I remember one time when she was trying to quit smoking, she was especially inspired. She made me stoke the fireplace until the poker burned red, then told me to press it against my thigh and keep it there while I recited her favorite poem, just to see me break. But I never did.
I might have cried. I might have wailed. But I never broke.
It was either one of my brothers or me.
She knew I’d endure anything before I let that happen.
However, it’s not Ginevra taking in her handiwork right now. It’s my Anna. My heart. My soul.My vita mia.
“Who did this to you?” Anna whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers trace the scars. I swallow hard, her touch searing me in a way nothing else ever has. “Matteo?” she says again, looking up at me.
Anna’s eyes dim, stripped of their light, filled with something I can’t bear to face. I can’t stand seeing such pain in her blue eyes, such misery. And when a tear slips down her cheek, I pull her into me and kiss her. Hard.
This kiss is not gentle. It’s not patient. It’s desperate. Hungry to chase away the shadows creeping in, the ones who seem determined to steal us of our joy.
This is our honeymoon, goddamn it! And I will not allow the ghosts of Ginevra or my father to ruin it.
All of Anna’s questions disappear as she melts against me, her hands gripping my shoulders when my tongue slides into her mouth, claiming it as mine. I feel the tension in my muscles begin to relax when she kisses me just as passionately, her fingers finding their way into my hair. Her skin is still warmfrom lying out by the pool, her hair smelling of the ocean breeze. She smells of summer and new beginnings. My entire world narrows to just this—her warmth, her breath, the feel of her bare skin beneath my fingertips.
My mind ceases to think, while my body does nothing but crave. I walk us toward the wall, pressing my hard length against her stomach, the pressure maddening me further. I swallow her little whimpers, one kiss at a time, while my hands begin to trail all over her body.
“Matteo,” she breathes into my mouth, her body unashamedly grinding against mine.
Anna’s already so needy, so overwhelmed with desire that she can’t think straight either.
Fuck!
I want to kiss her all over. Lick every inch of her sun-kissed skin, every freckle, every place my lips can reach. But most of all, I want to tasteher. Taste her sweetness on my tongue.
With that thought in mind, I pull my lip away from hers, Anna letting out a frustrated groan that I ended our kiss.
“What are you—”
But before she has time to finish her sentence, I drop to my haunches and stare up at her from my knees.
“Do you trust me?” I know it’s a loaded question, but I need her to answer it. Her gaze turns heavy-lidded as she nods. “Good girl.”
I hook my fingers into her bikini bottoms and pull them down her legs, slow and deliberate. She watches me on bated breath, her cheeks flushed with both shyness and arousal. I grip her waist, then drag my nose up and down her pretty pink pussy.
Fuuuuck!
