Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“I wanted you to pay attention. I feel like I’m nothing but an object to you. I wanted to rattle you.” It’s the bald truth and sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.
“Yeah?” he asks, as he lays his body down over mine. “Is this enough attention for you?” My ass throbs, and deep, deep in my core, my sex pulses from his nearness, his scent, and if I’m honest, the spanking he just gave me. It hurt like hell, but it doesn’t mean I’m not all kinds of aroused because of it.
I nod. “I guess, yeah.”
“You fucking played my family.” His fingers splay me open, and I gasp at the rough, unabashed feel of them. He spreads me wide before he teases my slit. “I won’t allow that.”
I nod mutely. “It’s more complicated.” My clit throbs, but he’s circling the edge of my channel, teasing me harder. He spreads my juices up my ass. It’s filthy and sensual and so deeply erotic I’m breathless. I’ve never been violated like this before, never been treated like a sex object, and damn if it doesn’t make me feel wanton and sexy. “It had nothing to do with your family and everything to do with mine.”
His fingers work their magic, slicking my ass. I feel the very tip of his cock right there, circling the tight ring of muscle. I hold my breath, my whole body tense.
Will he?
“I should fuck you, right here, right now,” he says in an angry, furious whisper. “I should fuck you into submission.”
He could. We both know he could. We also both know that it isn’t allowed, that we consummate our marriage on our wedding night.
But I’m not allowed to come to the wedding bed “defiled,” either. I didn’t bring my virginity here, and he likely knows it. I haven’t followed the rules. Any of them.
It’s the only saving grace. If I’d come to him traditionally and he found I wasn’t a virgin, he’d have the right to cast me back to my father, and I’d pay dearly. I’ve heard of such things happening before, but didn’t care in the heat of the moment with Piero. But I have no father to take me back, and my family’s disowned me. They want as little to do with the Rossis as possible, so here I am, whether he likes it or not.
I can sense that he’s warring with himself. I don’t reply.
If he wants to fuck me right here, he can. If he wants to toy with me, he can. I can’t stop him. All I can do is make the most of this, seek pleasure where he’ll let me.
To my surprise, he falls to his knees behind me.
“Bellissima,” he murmurs, before he curses up a blue streak.
“Grazie,” I reply before I think my answer through.
I don’t expect his snort, like an almost-laugh. I’m so shocked, I jump. I bite my lip when I feel his mouth on my ass, kissing the skin he just whipped.
“Why are you laughing?” I whisper, my voice husky, a surprise even to me. I almost convinced myself he wasn’t capable.
“Because I didn’t expect you to respond so graciously. You’re naked and welted.”
Welted!
His tongue licks the welts on my ass, before he kisses them again. I close my eyes against the rush of heat in my chest. I feel it cascade over my cheeks, tendrils licking my core. “You’re so wild and willful, yet you pull out the Italian delicacies like fine china.”
I shrug. I’m used to being treated like a second-class citizen, though he’s definitely the first to ever get a cock involved.
“Le ragazze spiritose—sono sempre ottime spose,” I say in perfect Italian.
“Ah, you speak Italian.”
I nod. Of course I do. It was expected of me.
“You think humor makes for a good wife?” Of course he knows Italian, too.
“I think many things make for a good wife, but I doubt a good wife is important to you.”
He kisses me again, but I don’t trust his gentle caresses. No, he has a purpose in this. I know from my upbringing never to trust an Italian man. They seduce anything with breasts and a pussy as easily as they walk.
Piero was the exception to the rule.
All others used a play of kindness like flattery, an Italian man’s easiest tool to get in your pants. And I’ve been around here long enough to know his brothers are no different from the men I grew up with. Mario especially flatters his next lay with the ease of an angel.
I know better. I know a devil in disguise.
“Hmm,” he says almost thoughtfully. “Now why would you think a good wife wasn’t important to me?”
“Because you took me for your own.” He didn’t know who I was. He could’ve had his pick of women he chose, but instead, he took the first one owed to his family as an act of retribution. “You took me for retribution. A payoff. I’m no more than loot from war or a stack of bills. You didn’t weigh your options or do your research. I’m no fool, Ottavio.”