Page 25 of Mafia Bride
“Cheers, Violetta,” I whisper and swallow a mouthful of the terrible amber liquid. I always hated booze and now I remember why.
If I was to escape, or survive, I’d have to fit in. That’s what they’d do on television.
The liquor warms my belly and takes the edge off. It’s not so bad after all, if it has the power to do that. I drain the glass and get another.
“Careful.” A deep voice cuts through the Italian chatter.
“Your wife changed her mind.” The words feel stilted in my mouth.Wifefeels like a slippery eel.
Santino slips away, as if appeased enough by my answer.
Point for Violetta.
The second glass sends fire licking through my limbs. It’s a nice change from the frost of fear. More of this is in my future.
One of the thugs says my name again. I study Santino carefully, to see his response. Is he excited by me? Disappointed?
He looks...devilish. Like a man who takes what he wants without asking. The upturned cheeks and deep timbres go lewd. Are they talking about tonight?
Different parts of me run hot, and the space between my thighs catches a fever. Tonight, our wedding night. A man who takes what he wants, including a wife he doesn’t know, will no doubt take everything else he wants, including things of the flesh. Sore from his cock. Dress around my waist. Me begging for it with my legs spread.
The room feels several degrees warmer. I’ve never been with a man, and my first time is now going to be with one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Also, the worst man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
My cheeks tingle in memory from earlier today, when he forced my cheeks together for a vow. How it made my heart race in both pain and pleasure, how it was so confusing and terrible and erotic.
Will that be what tonight is like? Will he be gentle, making our first time sweet and as painless as possible?
I stop seeing the living room full of gaudy furniture and mobsters in dark suits, and instead see a room full of candles, soft music playing. This incredible sculpture of a man is naked, more beautiful than ever, with a heavy look of want and desire etched in his face.
Like he wants me and only me. Soft and gentle, tender and kind.
I take a shuddering breath and blink back into reality. Santino sits in an armchair like he owns the world. The king. As if he felt me watching him, his eyes suddenly meet mine, and my body goes tight and flush.
A fleeting smile crosses his full lips and then he returns to ignoring me and entertaining his guests.
A king would not be gentle on the first night. A king would take what he owns for his pure enjoyment. He would use my body until his could no longer stay quiet. He would grab me tight, pin me down, and force me to worship him.
He would pull my hair back and part my lips so I could take all of him in my mouth. He would make me beg and plead for relief. Maybe he would even tie me up and refuse me pleasure until he came in a shuddering gasp.
My heart is in my throat and my panties are soaked. The morning is shot, and his friends are gone.
Suddenly, it’s just me and my new husband in an empty house.
The frat party of a reception was only two hours.
“Come.” Santino is standing over me, hand outstretched. The touch of the devil returns to his face, like he can read my mind, see my thoughts like a projection. Like he knows I’ve been trying to picture the size of his cock and whether or not it would fit in the tightest of my spaces. I hesitate.
“Come,” he says again, and it’s not a question.
He leads me upstairs. My ears are so full of my own pulse I can’t hear my heels click against the granite steps. I’m not sure I can breathe. I’m not sure what I can do, or what I want to happen. The last 24 hours have been a roller coaster I’ve desperately wanted off of, but now we are rising high, suspense building, as if a drop is just on the other side. Can I hold on? Will I be flung from the ride? Will it be anticlimactic and boring?
We don’t go to his bedroom. He stops in front of the one I’d been unceremoniously dumped in the night before. Maybe I haven’t earned access to his room. Well, he’s not the fucking Beast and I’m not Belle. I have no talking servants to keep me company, so that’s bullshit.
He opens the door and walks in. I follow like a woman on a leash. I have never before been so aware of the presence of a bed in a room before. But my God, it’s all but glowing. A blinking neon sign:Fuck Here.
I don’t think I can breathe.
