Page 6 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re right. An annulment won’t fix anything. Not to mention, if you did marry Pietro, he’d probably turn around and immediately knock you off to avenge the sleight you dealt to his pride…and then cash in your life insurance policy to boot.”
I lose my nerve. Now’s not the time to tell him. Soon, though. I have to.
“So you’re voting no on the annulment then,” I say.
“Option two: you could stay here with me…” Marco says.
“There is that. And if I stay? Am I safe?” I ask, knowing I probably won’t like his answer but fighting the stubborn bit of hope that’s rising in me anyway.
He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “You’ll have the protection of my family, and you’ll be free from the Brunos’ control. The risk to our lives is still there, but maybe you can help us put an end to the threats.”
Me, help? I can’t possibly see how. I know nothing about my family’s involvement in pretty much anything. Just the mention of me being a source of information makes me angry all over again. “So we’re right back to what you told your brother. You using me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Karina. That’s really not how I think of you.”
He leans forward in his chair and the scent of his cologne practically makes me swoon. My nipples go hard, goosebumps rising on my forearms. The urge to pull him onto me is tempered only by my dissatisfaction with my options. Both of them suck. Which sucks less?
“So, basically, instead of living with my controlling family or my controlling new husband, I’ll be stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life, hoping nobody kills me?” I say. “Or tries to kill you? Or…or anyone else in your family?”
“No. I’d give you so much more than that.” He reaches over and grips my upper arms. My traitorous body trembles at his touch. “I’d make sure you had everything you ever dreamed about while you were locked away in that dungeon of a house. I’d get you signed first editions of all of Jane Austen’s books, I’d let you design your own sprawling English garden, and you can have your own horse, your own guesthouse. Anything you want. Isn’t that enough?”
“I…” My voice trails off, my heart sinking as I shrug him off me.
Because as lovely as all of that sounds, I’ve never been the kind of person who was happy to acquire material things. I’ve always had the nicest clothes and shoes, gourmet meals prepared by my uncle’s personal chef, chauffeured cars to take me to my pre-approved outings. And as trapped as I was, I knew I was surrounded by luxury. So dreaming about having more “stuff” isn’t something I’ve ever spent my time doing.
I wished to have people instead, close friends, family who cared about me, people I could talk to and relate to. Someone to banish the perpetual loneliness. I think it’s a big part of why I fell so hard and fast for Marco—that instant feeling of intimacy, of being seen and heard. So do I really want all those nice things that Marco is dangling before me? Do I have any illusions that rare books and pretty flowers and ponies will be enough to fulfill me? No.
My lower lip trembles. Here, before me, sits the man who gave me my biggest and most long-standing wish. And then just as quickly took it away.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. It’s the truth. I don’t know anything anymore. “I need more time to think about all of this.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s holding back something he wanted to say. He looks so good standing there, damn him. Even though I’m angry and hurt and confused, some traitorous part of me still yearns for him. For his taste, his touch. The way he gives me pleasure before worrying about himself, focusing on my body like it’s the most precious thing in the world—things that felt too real to be lies. Just goes to show how much I know about men.
“Fine. Take all the time you need,” Marco says, spearing me with a heated gaze.
I don’t think he means what he just said. He doesn’t want me to think about it; he wants me to do what he wants and stay so he can continue his plan to squeeze me for information. Won’t he be surprised when he realizes that I truly don’t know anything about my family’s business? What will he do to me then?
“Okay. I will.”
Nodding, he stands up and towers over me. “For now,” he whispers huskily, “I have something to show you. Lie back.”
I don’t want to know, but at the same time…I do want to know. So, so badly.
Stretching out on the bed, I watch as Marco moves with strong, masculine grace onto the bed beside me. The firm cut of his muscles teases me through the fabric of his shirt. I’ve had so little time to learn his body, to feel and taste him the way that I want to. He’s been generous with his hands, his mouth, but I long to return the favors and explore him the way he’s done to me. I long to let him keep on teaching me things. He’s hurt me, and I shouldn’t want to do those things to him, with him, for him. But I do.
“What do you want to show me?” I ask.
He moves closer, leaning slightly into me as he runs a palm flat down my middle. His lips find my ear, his teeth giving a soft tug on the lobe. I gasp, my scalp tingling.
“Another reason to stay with me,” he says.
I shiver at the press of his mouth along my neck, his hands stroking my curves through the light cotton of my dress. My abdomen goes tight at his touch, anticipation racing through me. Closing my eyes, I let myself fall into this.
He kisses my neck, my jaw, working his way back toward my lips as he slowly works the hem of my dress up over my thighs, my hips, my waist. I should get up and make him leave. I should grab his hand and stop him. I should…not be lying here, dying to know what he’ll do to me next.
“You taste so sweet,” he whispers. “I’ve been craving you all day.”
Craving me. Using me. Playing me.
Clenching my eyes against the pleasure humming in my body, I sit up and hold my arms over my head so he can pull the dress off me. I lie back down in my underwear, my breasts aching for his touch, my lips burning for more bruising, hungry kisses. I hate this. I hate wanting him this bad, even knowing he doesn’t love me. Doesn’t intend to love me. But not as much as I’d hate depriving myself of him.
He claims my lips, digging his tongue deeply into my mouth as his hand slips down my panties and his fingers find my wet slit. My legs spread, and two skilled fingers brush my most sensitive spot. Colors burst behind my eyes as he rubs circles over me, sending shockwaves of heat from my clit straight to my toes. A part of me fights the instant pleasure. I won’t enjoy this. I can’t allow myself to—
Oh, God.
My attempts to hold myself back are abandoned as Marco starts alternating between the circles and a kind of hard, agonizing tapping. Then he dips his fingers lower, gliding into me, pumping so slowly it brings tears to my eyes. And then faster. Harder. The pleasure builds and builds, like fire and electricity and breathless exhilaration all at once. I try to tense up, to not feel this bliss, but I can’t. He kisses me until I’m completely weak, everywhere, save for the tension in my center that keeps ramping up by the second. Damn him. I don’t want to love this—
But I can’t fight it.
I start moving my hips in time with his thrusts, imagining his fingers are his cock instead. All too soon, I feel myself slipping over the edge. I can’t hold back any longer. Tears spill down my cheeks as an orgasm rips through me, Marco’s soft words fluttering in my ear. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing and tempering the sound of my moans. Marco lies there for a long time, until the last wave of the orgasm is long gone. But I don’t look at him. I don’t speak. He finally gets up and a moment later, the door clicks shut as he leaves.
My eyes burn when I open them, my lashes tight with dried tears as I stare up at the bedroom ceiling with its ornate crown molding and decorative rosettes in the corners.
If I go, I die.
If I stay, I die slowly inside while being trapped in a loveless marriage. I’ve never known love or safety, so what’s any of this mean to me now?
Pulling the covers over myself, I roll onto my side as fresh tears spill onto the duvet.
Nothing makes sense. The only thing I know for sure is that my life, no matter which path I choose, will never be the same.
