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Sophia
Ihear the door close seconds after I whisper my thoughts out loud. I stand with my robe in disarray, my soon-to-be-husband’s scent all over me. It’s rich with a hint of smoky scotch and power. Can someone really smell like power? Because he did. It rolled off of him in waves. It was consuming.
I reach up and press my fingers to my lips. They feel bruised and puffy from the way Nick claimed my mouth. I could taste his desire for me in his kiss, could feel it in my hand as I stroked him through his pants while he ground his hardness in between my legs as I was pinned to the wall. My own pleasure coats the pretty lace panties that I’ve hidden under my robe for him. I can’t help my attraction. I want to believe that it’s only because of his vow to keep my brother safe, but that reasoning is quickly slipping away. It’s something deeper.
I want him. The same man who killed my husband mere hours ago. The same man who demanded that I marry him. The same man who is the most feared in our world. I desire him more than I imagined possible. I’m counting down the minutes until he slides his ring on my finger and then slides his cock inside of me, making me his. But what if it hurts? I put my thumbnail between by front teeth and worry at it for a moment. Then I stop. Because it’s going to happen. And maybe it will hurt, but then? Then I know Nick can make it feel good. The way he kissed me guaranteed it.
I’m attracted to him even though he’s a killer. Even though he’s everything I said I could never love. He’s just as steeped in this life as I am. Am I being naïve by thinking that he is any different than the men that I grew up with? Maybe. Still, something about him is different. It has to be. Why else would I feel this way? I’ve never sensed a pull to someone like I have toward him. Sure, my father kept me locked away, but many of his men came and went. None of them ever caught my eye. They never made me think about or desire the things I want Nick to do to me.
My cheeks pink at the filthiness that swirls in my mind. Perhaps I’m not the good girl my father raised, but more of a wild spirit like my mother.
I bite my lip. His cock was so thick in my hand. I close my eyes and try to imagine what it will look like, how it would fit in my mouth. My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens again. I look up to see Nick standing in the doorway.
“Cara mia. I forgot one thing,” he says as he strides abruptly toward me. Lifting my chin with his finger, he kisses me softly and whispers in my ear, “Do not touch your sweet pussy. I want your first orgasm to be either on my tongue or my cock.” I gasp, realizing I had been touching myself. I pull my fingers from my panties and out of my robe.
“Do you have cameras in here?” I jerk my chin away from him and look around the room. He probably does. I scrunch my nose at him, and I expect him to grab my chin back in his hold, but he doesn't. He only watches me with those assessing eyes that I know can read more than others.
I clear my throat. “Gross. I’m not into that kinky crap.” I’m not. Right? Would I want him watching me pleasuring myself? My thighs go up in flames at the thought, and I swallow hard.
“There are no cameras in here,” he says coolly.
I’ve been around enough men to know the things they do. I’ve seen the women come and go from my father’s bedroom. My eyes flick over to the bed where the seamstress placed my dress, but then I look into his eyes again. It’s probably stupid, but I believe him. He’s telling the truth, which is a relief.
His hand comes back to my chin, his touch impossibly gentle. “But I will put cameras in here if I find out you’re touching yourself. I might not always be able to stop you from doing it, but I would at least enjoy the pleasure of watching you.”
My nipples tighten under the silk robe just thinking about him watching me get myself off. It’s as if he can read my filthy fantasies. I doubt he could watch me any other way than looking at it on a screen. Otherwise he’d be all over me. I can see it in his eyes now. He’s fighting the urge to toss me onto the bed and have his way with me. I bet he’s been fighting himself since we first arrived here. Earlier, he almost caved, then left. But he came back, the same fire in his eyes. He wants me so badly that I can almost taste it. The thought makes me feel more powerful than I ever have in my life.
I narrow my eyes. “How many women have you had in this room? I’m not sure I want to lie in the same bed you’ve had others in. I’d prefer that you keep your mistresses elsewhere.” I jerk away from his hold once again. I’m a child testing my boundaries. I know it, but I feel powerful for once, and I want to see how much I can get away with. I walk over to the bed and grab my dress.
“Just the thought of you with someone else here is ruining this dress. That’s the second gown of mine you’ve destroyed in one day,” I scold. Then I wait for it. I’m ready for his anger to unleash, but a smirk pulls at his lips. It almost looks unnatural on his face.
“Only you and Carlotta are allowed in my room,” he says coolly.
“Oh.” I drop the dress back down. I know he’s telling the truth. He has no reason to lie. His smirk grows, as if he’s won the battle we were just having. But I can’t let him have the last word. “Well, you and Carlotta will need to do that elsewhere from now on. I’m not into threesomes either,” I say sourly, knowing my words are utterly ridiculous.
He does the last thing I expect him to do. He throws back his head and laughs. “You think I’m fucking Carlotta?” He continues to laugh.
The rich sound vibrates through my body. I turn my back to him so that he doesn’t see the jealousy that’s written all over my face. No, I don’t think he’s sleeping with Carlotta, but it was the idea of him sleeping with anyone now that he’s going to be my husband that bothers me. He didn’t say anything about the mistress comment. I know it’s dumb and hopeless to want faithfulness from a man like Nick, but I do all the same.
I feel him come up behind me. His hand grabs my hip, and he turns me to face him. I look up into his heated eyes.
“Cara mia.” His lips lightly brush mine. “Carlotta is like a mother to me. She’s been with my family for a long time.”
“A mother?” For what has to be the hundredth time today, my thoughts go to my own mom.
“Yes, my mother died when I was very young. Carlotta has been there for me ever since.” He pulls back a little, his eyes still intense, though now a little sad. “What about yours?”
“She left.” I hate the sound of those words. “When I was little, she left me. One day she was there, the next she was gone.”
“She just left without a word?”
“Yes.” I can’t believe I still feel the old hurt. “But I know she loved me.”
“Your father doesn’t know where she went?”
“No, or at least he won’t let me ask or talk about it.” I shrug. “So either he doesn’t know, or he does know but won’t tell me.”
“Mmm.” He seems to have a thought, one that doesn’t pass his lips.
