Page 16 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
MARCO
Karina is in my bedroom.
A short, lacy black negligee clings to the curves of her supple body. The fabric is sheer over her breasts, showing off her pert nipples. She smiles shyly as she loosens the tie around her waist and slowly pulls open one side of the robe. Her tight abdomen and the hourglass of her hips tease me as she opens the other side, keeping an arm across her breasts as if she’s too shy to show her body completely.
But I already know she’s perfect. My cock twitches and I cup a hand there to ease the ache.
“Take it off,” I say. “Let me see you.”
I’m not sure how she got in here. I came to my room and stretched out on the bed to watch a race, and suddenly here she is. Taunting me. Oh hell, is she taunting me.
My dick grows harder in my hand. Her eyes drop to track my movements, her cheeks flushing pink. Does she like to watch me?
She shifts the negligee open a little more, revealing skimpy black panties. The front is a triangle just wide enough to cover her pussy. Narrow bands of elastic run along her hips, begging me to pull them down with my teeth. Karina runs a finger under the waistband of the panties, looking at me through half lids.
“I bought these just for you. Do you like them?”
Fuck.
“Yeah.” My voice is breathy and fast. “I fucking love them. Come here so I can take them off.”
Her smile deepens but she doesn’t move from her spot in the center of my room. Watching me, she shrugs the robe off her shoulders. Then drops it lower. It slides down her arms and hangs there at her elbows since she still has her hands over her breasts. Squeezing my cock, I work my hand up and down, letting out a little groan. She’s driving me insane.
“I’ve never done this before, Marco. I’m a little scared,” she admits.
I groan again and drink in her body. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”
She’s a virgin and she’s mine. That body, mine. Those tits, mine. That sweet pussy.
All. Mine.
A thrum of pleasure rocks through me as I work my cock faster. She’s here, but she’s not here. I know somewhere in my brain that this isn’t real. But the need the dream worked up in me is, and I have to let it out.
I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman, ever.
“Karina, please. Come here.”
“Yes.”
She drops the robe to the floor. It flutters around her feet like the wings of a dark angel, settling in a gossamer puddle.
She’s heaven but she’s sin. She’s my salvation, but my damnation, too. Forbidden.
So forbidden.
She climbs onto me, pulling her panties to the side so I can glide right into her. I can feel her pebbled nipple against my tongue. Feel the hot, tight mouth of her wet pussy squeezing around my cock. As I pump into her, harder, faster, she leans down for a kiss and I savor the taste of her lips on mine. Throwing my head back against the pillow, I look at the ceiling and register the tiles above me, but I swear I can smell her perfume as my orgasm gushes out of me.
I come with a helpless moan, convinced it’s her body on me and not my hand. It’s all an illusion, a dream, but it feels so real. Panting, I lay there and let reality come back to me. Noise from the television seeps into my ears, the feel of my bedspread against my naked skin.
Dammit.
I don’t want to be awake. Warmth pumps through my veins, but it’s a strange sensation. One that leaves me irritable now that I know it wasn’t real. My arms feel empty and my bed, cold. What do I even do with feelings like these? I’ve never wanted something so much and not been able to have it. I’m about to close my eyes to try to regain some pleasure from the dream when I catch sight of the tux hanging on a hook near my closet.
I almost forgot. We’re hosting a thank-you dinner for the racing sponsors this evening. It’s not just about gratitude, though, since it also allows for a healthy amount of schmoozing and showing off and feeling out new sponsor dollars to line my racing account. Normally, I’d be excited to get going—but right now, it’s the last thing I want to do. My heart isn’t in it.
Something about the dream rocked me but I can’t put my finger on it. Karina in that black negligee. Why a black one? Why not white to show off the angel that she is? Forcing myself from the bed, I get in the shower to wash the haze of my nap off and try to reset my mood. As much as I enjoyed the hell out of that little peek of Karina in lingerie, I can’t shake the sensation that it was some kind of warning. A reminder, maybe, that she is off-limits.
The shower doesn’t help, though, and I’m crankier when I get out than when I got in. Checking the time, I start to get ready for the dinner. I accidentally wrinkle my pants, and then my cuff links won’t cooperate. I’m about to boil over when there’s a knock at my bedroom door.
“Marco. Can I come in?”
It’s Armani.
I yank the door open. “Only if you fix these fucking cuff links.”
He stands there and stares at me. Yeah, I know my mood is out of character considering we’re going to an event that’s so important to my racing career. But I can’t help myself, and I don’t know how to snap out of it.
Without crossing the threshold, he grabs my left arm, turns it over and shoves the cuff link into the in hole in my cuff and twists the back to secure it. He repeats the other arm, then raises one brow.
“All better now, little bro?” he teases, irritating the shit out of me.
“Thanks. And no. I need a drink. How about you?”
He shrugs. “Sure, after you finish getting dressed. Need help with that belt buckle, too?”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my clothes and grab the tux jacket from the hanger. “Ha. So funny.”
“Listen, I had this conversation with Dante earlier. Are you aware that the Brunos will be attending this evening?”
“Yeah. They’re apparently making their way around the racing circuit, too. I fully expect them to be there, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Armani frowns. “I don’t like it, but you’re right. We can’t bar their entry. We can’t let on that we suspect them of anything. You’ll need to bust out that poker face, even when they’re shaking your hand like you’re best friends and complimenting your skill on the track.”
I scoff. Like they’d go that far. The thought of having the Brunos on Bellanti property pisses me off, though, and I might have a hard time holding my tongue under different circumstances. Still. Armani has a fair point about playing dumb.
“Understood.”
He steps up behind me and pulls the shoulders of my jacket to align them, then briskly smooths them, spins me, and adjusts the lapels.
“Thanks, Mom,” I quip.
