I’ve been kissed many times before. By drunk men who salivated in my mouth and cut my lip. By pedophiles whose fantasies were to ruin a little girl in ways they could never ruin their wives. Or daughters. By Jaxon, who only kissed me after each whipping. I associate the action with pain, disgust. I despise it. Yet, my legs shake. It starts like roaring, turbulent waves. Like an avalanche, rumbling in fury and bringing everything down in its path. Zefiro’s kiss is hostile, angry, hateful even. Like he despises me but can’t stay away, and for that, he is punishing me. Hot. I feel hot in all the wrong places. The angry glide of his tongue against mine mimics the movement I’d like not to think of while he holds me, but I can’t help it. It’s hard not to think of how his tongue would feel against my folds. My core tightens and I clench, twice. Hell, no. I push Zefiro off. But I might as well have hit an immoveable wall. Struggling against him does not
You would think that someone with little to no dignity left wouldn’t be bothered about getting eaten out on a veranda by the groom-to-be at his engagement party, but…it’s my first time. None of the men who ruined me particularly cared enough about that. Jaxon didn’t either, but it didn’t matter. Hard to miss something you never experienced. But more than that, there is a more pressing problem. How can I want this? Why do I keep clenching? I’m not some sex-starved—“Oh my God.” Zefiro has my ass in his hands, parted, and his tongue glides along my entrance as he arches me into a more accessible position. He licks me from my entrance to my clit and back again, and another harsh cry rips from my throat. I grapple for something to hold, my nails scratching against the surface of the wall, and I find nothing. The thumping of the music reverberates off the wall, synching with my heartbeats and drowning the sounds of my cries. I have no words for what his tongue does to me
Past Dressed in nothing but a robe, I walk down the stairs. I have been good for the past four months, and my reward is being let out of my room for long enough to take a dive in the pool. But even that grows old, and I yearn for something different. Something to break me from this unchanging hell I live in. I halt at the base of the stairs, my gaze drifting over to Jaxon on the couch. His head lifts and light blue eyes crinkle with a smile. My stomach flips twice as I beam. It makes me happy when he is pleased. It means he’ll listen to me when I talk. It means he won’t hit me. It means he’ll be gentle when he fucks me. “Work?” I nod towards the laptop sitting against his thighs. It’s been a year since he paid my stepmother off and bought me. One year since he aborted our child, thinking I had no knowledge of it. One year since he held a priest at gun point to officiate our wedding—not that he had to. I would have done anything to get away from Morwenna at that po
Present I have tried to avoid Zefiro, and I have failed. I am in every meeting, every fitting, every formal dinner or breakfast, all according to Adrianna’s orders. He doesn’t ever acknowledge me, though. We haven’t spoken to each other since that night, and if it weren’t for our gazes occasionally clashing whenever I serve him, or my fingertips mistakenly brushing against his knuckles, I’d think I might have become a ghost. I haven’t gotten close enough to ask him if my papers are ready, and I doubt I ever will. With the wedding drawing closer, the chores and events are crazy and choked up. Adriana barely has time for my antics, and I don't have a moment of rest either, with Valentina and Mrs. Visconti trying their best to murder me with chores. They can't have me thrown out--the former's argument with Zefiro on the matter was loud enough to make the topic of gossip the entire week--so they'll make my time here more difficult than a worker's should be.It doesn’t help that
Shoving every thought of him to the back of my mind, I get to work. In truth, all I can think of is him as I tire myself out. All I can hear is his faint laughter and that accent. I wonder who he’s speaking to, who he has deemed worthy of giving his time and his smile. All I can smell is his cologne. And when I get down on my knees to wipe underneath the white shelf, I think off his hands in my hair, his cock slamming against my throat. I swallow a moan, embarrassed as heat travels all the way to my core, causing my thighs to clench. I’m losing my shit over this dark Italian prick, whose presence saturates space and charges the air in the cool room. A man whose gaze sparks with cold indifference when I steal a glance at him.Deep irritation flares inside me--at him, at myself. “I need to clean the desk,” I snap. “If you would be so kind as to move.” The last word is a toxic blend of sarcasm and venom, sharp enough to make him halt mid-sentence. He cocks his head, like a viper
I'm a dirty little liar. I could never have the upper hand in this. Perhaps the anger had driven me, but it was more than that. It's that he is right. He's been in every dream of mine in the past week, making love to me like I never have been before. I blame him for touching me. It's easy to put the blame on him because it means I don't get to ask myself why I came for him that night. Why I begged for it. I push in another finger and it glides in easily, offering no resistance. I'm soaked. My fingers might be too slim, too small to reach where I want it too, but his razor sharp focus on my pussy does more than enough for reach. I release my bottom lip, intent on moaning loud enough for Valentina to hear when he speaks diplomatically into the receiver, "I have a meeting scheduled in five minutes. I'll join you in an hour." His eyes track the movement of my tongue over my bottom lip. "And thirty minutes." He hangs up. My chest rises and falls, my back arching as his
There is no pause for adjustments. None for gentle teasing. The position makes me bare, open, his penetration wickeder, deeper as he seats himself in so deep, my pussy burns, my abdomen cramps, my eyes water and my nails dig into his skin. I'm seated now, my head dropped back against his shoulder, his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply. "Are you hurt?" he asks me, his accent thicker, almost inaudible as his hands remain, bracing my waist. I hate that he doesn't sound as undone as I am. I hate that he has me gripped around him like a vise and he still sounds like an asshole. I hate him so much, I feel the fierce burn of it in my chest, right beside the awakening hunger as my muscles struggle relax. I must be broken somehow, damaged, to be attracted to this. When I don't respond, pain erupts inside me as he pushed yet another inch in. He isn't completely seated yet. I whimper, a tear rolling down my cheek and I nod, unable to think past the pain burrowing inside me. He raises
I open my eyes, expecting to find him flaccid, but he's far from it. Insatiable, I dub thee. Cum spills in small droplets, controlled as he strokes himself, ensuring it is enough to run down my lips, into my mouth, down my throat. But not nearly enough to be the entirety of his load. His reddened, pulsating tip says as much. He pulls my hair forcing me up from where I rest on my knees and he strokes himself, teasing the seams of my lips with his bulbous head. I stare at it, swallowing against the sudden thirst in my mouth. What is wrong with me? He pulls back, tracing my chin with it, my breasts, my nipples. Everywhere but my mouth. Tingles spread through my belly, sending warmth down to my very toes. I swallow, again, a word I will never utter forming on my lips. Please. But I was stupid to think he'd ask me to utter it anyway, because he doesn't need my permission to take what he thinks is his. He plunges his cock into my mouth, making me taste myself on him. It is disgusting,
Alessandro There’s a woman by the bar. A friend of Susanna’s, I suppose. Nice tits in that golden silk dress, jade green eyes that seem haunted, yet alive in a strange way, a trim waist and a dip in her hip. Usually, I hated those. But she’d turned slightly and I had been graced with a fucking boner when I caught sight of her ass.Round and fat. Fuck.And then, she’d opened her mouth and sang for Susanna. While everyone around me had been held captive by a voice that didn’t quite belong in this world.My mood had gone from zero to a thousand. A steady bitterness coated my tongue at the sight of Visconti’s tongue down Susanna’s throat, while my sister rotted in the hell of his choosing, the guilt and hatred eating me alive. I wanted to have even a taste of the sweetness Zefiro had in his life. Wanted to have his wife and his son. Wanted to have his power and his lack of fear. Wanted to be the mother fucker.And a little dainty thing had walked past my line of sight and distracted
Zefiro Eighteen months laterThe spoon smacks back. Soup hits me square in the cheek, thick and warm, sliding down my white shirt.Silence.Golden-hazel eyes blink up at me, wide and innocent. Then, a delighted squeal. “Fa-fa!”Nonna laughs, reaching down to pluck Dominic from his high chair. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, scowling, while she presses a kiss to his chubby cheek, murmuring, “Stellino mio.” My little star.I wonder what that makes me. Everyone has forsaken me for the little shit.Even Susanna calls our boy her greatest love, giving him most of her time, kisses and affection. It’s been nine months since she delivered, and due to the difficulty of her delivery and the severe degree of tears and trauma, the doctor advised strongly against…penetration.I understand this. I refuse to let her cajole me into ripping more of her stitches, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get jealous when Dominic has his lips latched around her nipples, blinking up at me with eyes too
He says nothing as he carries me inside. I spot Fabian and Erica pressed against one of the stone gargoyles, kissing like they’re about to rip each other apart.I look away quickly, swallowing the longing in my gut. “You have been avoiding me.”His eyes flick to mine briefly and his throat works slightly. “I’ve been occupied.”“You’ve been sneaking out of your bedroom before I wake,” I counter as he walks us through the crowded hallways of his mansion. His lips press together. His ears go slightly red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”I sigh, looping my arms around his neck as he ascends the stairs. “I know you’re still mad at me, but you can’t ignore me forever.”He doesn’t answer.“What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?”His gorgeous eyes slant at me suspiciously, but he stays silent. When we reach his bedroom, he sets me down gently on the bed. “You should rest. The party will go on past midnight, and I have business to attend—”“It’s our wedding night.”His eyes
My feet ache from being passed from one dance partner to another, and I lean against the table, swirling the orange juice in my glass. No alcohol for me—not tonight. Not for the baby, though. No, someone’s just terrified I’ll get wasted and take advantage of him again on our wedding night.Erica, on the other hand, is drinking like she’s trying to drown in it. Has everything to do with the fact that she just found out her boyfriend is… well, in the Mafia.“Lying, unfortunate dick,” she mutters, glaring at him as a cluster of women simper and paw at his expensive suit and pretty face. “Said his dad was Italian, his mom was French. That he’d only ever stepped foot in Italy last year to visit his father, since they had a terrible relationship. And I believed him. How the hell am I supposed to believe anything else that comes out of that beautiful mouth?”I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “So, his mouth is still beautiful?”Her cherry lips twist into a sneer. “No.” A pause. A glance
I don’t have my mother or father to walk me down the aisle, but I don’t do it alone. I clutch Rizzi’s arm like a lifeline, nails digging into the expensive black fabric of his suit as we step past the arched hallway and into the garden. My pulse is a runaway train, my stomach in knots that have knots, and my heels suddenly feel two inches taller.“Is it the nerves or the dress?”My nails dig into his black suit and I try to force down more floral coated air. The yard stretches out before us, decorated in wild flowers, vines and lush greenery, the shaded walk way covered in rose petals path draped unraveling under my feet. My train catches, sweeping across the floors and soft ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ fill the air as we close in on last row of white Chiavari seats.“Both?”“If it makes you feel any better, I was too.”An ugly snort slips past my lips before I can stop it, loud enough to make even the pianist flinch. Christ. "They must think I’m a mess."Rizzi taps the back of my hand, a smirk t
I’m shown to a bedroom beside Mrs. Della Rocca’s, and I barely have a moment’s peace before I’m assaulted by an army of designers.Dress fittings. Jewelry selections. Shoes. Flowers. Colors. Styles. Over and over again, until it finally dawns on me.I’m getting married. Again.The first had been nothing at all like this. There hadn’t been any arrangements made prior and I didn’t have a choice in a single thing. Now, I am consulted about every detail. The colors for the wedding and reception dresses, as well as the designs. The jewelry—Grandmother suggested I wear something of the family heirloom when I found everything I was shown to be more than exaggerated. Shoes. The type of flowers to be used for the decoration of the yard and halls, since we’d decided on a classic romantic garden theme.Not we. His grandmother did with such glee, I couldn’t say no.I often found myself wondering if Zefiro wanted a romantic wedding. If he even had a care in the world left for me at all. Then I’d b
Zefiro doesn’t take the envelope. Doesn’t even look at it. And for a second—maybe longer—I panic.“I’m twelve weeks.” My voice is hoarse, shaky. “I—I didn’t know. Not at first. Thought it was just the stress from exams, my shitty diet, my lack of sleep. But when I couldn’t keep food down, Fabian dragged me to the doctor, thinking I had the flu, and…”My words taper off into nothing as Zefiro takes a slow step back, then another, before sinking into his chair. He drags both hands over his face, through his hair, down again. Lets out a shuddering breath.“There’s a deal with the Chicago Outfit.” His voice is quiet, almost to himself. “This changes everything.”And then, he’s peering at me with a well -guarded, well-controlled expression. His eyes flick down once to my belly, and his nostrils flare. “Do you want it?”It is phrased like a casual question, but I see it for what it is. Another choice. The last choice I’ll ever likely make when it comes to whatever is left of us. And because
I went through day after day like a wraith. And before I could tell, a month had passed since the encounter. By the end of October, I have succeeded in not only failing every class woefully, but getting enough concern to get enrolled for counseling.November is the longest month. I can’t bring myself to do anything but breathe, bathe, eat, sleep and cry. By the month’s end, my clothes begin hanging off my frame awkwardly and my appetite is as dead as I feel inside.I stop calling him and leaving messages. I wouldn’t forgive me either had I been in his shoes.The loud banging on my front door rouses me from tired sleep, but I have no strength in my limbs to answer it. I draw the covers over my face and nestle back into the pillows.My room door slamming open startles me and I turn slowly at Erica’s remark. “It’s a pig’s sty in here.”The covers are thrown off my body and I voice my protest as larger arms yank me off the bed. “Put me down,” I whimper as Fabian takes me to the bathroom a
The memories return to me in bits over the next few weeks, fueling my need to see him. To explain. To apologize. To plead. But he never returned to London, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to realize why.As the owner, it was only normal that he attended the opening ceremony. The woman who had been perched on his shoulder that night is Diana Moreau, and she will be managing Oblio Nero. He has no reason to be here, when he has other engagements elsewhere.I wasn’t enough reason for him to stay. Not anymore. Because I’ve gone and ruined everything. Again.“I can’t have children!” The words rip from my throat like something jagged and raw, something torn straight from the center of my being. I hadn’t known for a long time. Not until a couple of years into my marriage with Jaxon. He’d returned home one night, drunk and angry. I was ill and didn’t feel like being subjected to his rage. I refused and the beating had been so bad, I’d broken a rib.He’d taken me to the hospital in b