“Moving forward, what? You want me to keep my hands off you? Forget it. You’re my wife.”
I cross my arms. “That may be, but I insist that we come to some terms.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I am not. This is my body and—”
He juts a hand at me palm out, silencing my tirade. Then he makes a move with his fingers as if I’m supposed to give him something. I have no idea what he wants.
“What?”
“The fucking credit card,” he says impatiently. “And the keys to my new car. Now.”
My heart is racing so fast, I can barely breathe. Fuming and feeling like I might burst from my anger, I spin around and head down the hall to my room, grabbing what he wants and then storming back. But instead of handing over the card and the keys like a good little Stepford wife, I march straight past him, throw open the French doors leading to his balcony, and step out into the storm. My eyes catch his and hang on as I launch the keys and the card as hard as I can over the railing and out into the rain.
I give a cocky jaunt of my head as I come back in and yank the balcony door closed, letting it slam satisfyingly behind me. I’m soaking wet again but oh wow, do I not give afuck.
He follows me as I exit his room, with a hissed, “Jesus Christ” racing from his lips. I skirt past the staircase, Dante still on my heels as an overly sweet voice calls up to him.
“Dante, are you ready? We’re going to be late.”
Fucking Jessica.
“I’ll be right down.” Dante barks the words while staring at me.
It’s my turn to smirk. I’ll never let him see how much it pisses me off that she’s literally at the bottom of the steps waiting for my husband to come to her.
“Go on, then,” I say, doing my best impression of Jessica. “Let her suck the taste of me right off your dick.”
I don’t wait for a response as I go into my room, shut and lock the door, and then stand there until my pulse and my emotions wind down. I can hear his footfalls across the marble floor, descending the steps, and then fading completely. Good riddance.
I imagine Jessica waiting downstairs with open arms, her boobs nearly popping out of whatever she’s wearing. With a huff that’s so unlike me, I go to the bathroom and fill the tub with water as hot as I can stand. Then I add a generous pour from a bottle of Lollia bubble bath, inhaling deeply as the scent of white tea and honeysuckle fills the room. I need to soak both the chill and the touch of my husband out of me.
The water stings as I sink into it, but I grit my teeth and wait it out as my skin adjusts and the burn becomes welcome relief. But as I close my eyes and enjoy the tickle of bubbles against my jaw, I somehow can’t stop thinking about Dante.
His eyes had been so determined, so intense as he’d ripped my panties off me. My fingers stray down there, exploring my hips, my thighs. I didn’t look, but I’m sure there are marks from the force of the elastic digging into my skin. I remember the feel of his palm against me, pressing, his fingers stroking and searching until I was helpless with want.
A flood of desire washes over me. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers wander to the ache, plunging them inside me, recreating the sensation Dante had caused when he’d fucked me against the car. I spread my legs and stretch out in the oversized tub. He’d kissed me so hard. I never realized that kind of aggression was something I’d enjoy.
I slip my fingers out and rub my palm over my center, feeling my own wetness as I thumb my clit and start making slow little circles around it. I wish he’d kissed my neck, my breasts. Maybe worked his way lower until that wicked tongue was right here where my fingers are. Tension swirls and cascades as I rub and stroke, trying to get some relief. But the more I try not to think about Dante, the more I flash back to his granite face, the naked desire in his dark eyes, the hard perfection of that proud cock.
And the more I imagine him, the closer I get. It was foolish to think I could set boundaries on whatever this is between us. I want it, even though it’s so far from something I ever imagined I would enjoy. It’s as if I’ve become a different person in the few short days I’ve been Dante’s wife.
A swirl of sweet tension flies high, bringing me to the edge, and I start panting with anticipation, my free hand sliding up to squeeze my breast. But no matter how hard I try, how close I get, I can’t seem to get there. Even when I reimagine the rough sex against the car, it’s no use. I can’t reach the place I’m looking for. My release escapes me.
14
Frankie
Hello,new wardrobe.
I turn from side to side before my full-length mirror, assessing the outfit I’ve chosen to wear to dinner tonight. I’ve dressed well, every stitch of clothing brand new and very expensive. I know I look my best, too, in a vivid red dress that covers me from neck to knee. A strip cutout over my chest shows off a few inches of tantalizing skin, but it’s a subtle tease—nothing too flashy.
It’s absolutely perfect. There’s not a thing about it that Dante can scoff at or complain about. Then again, from what I know of him so far, he’ll find something to nitpick.
Slipping into my heels, I can’t help wondering what time he arrived home after his “meeting” with Jessica last night. I fell asleep shortly after my bath, despite my determination to wait up and listen for his footsteps in the hall. Who knows? Maybe he was out all night. Asshole.
Double-checking my makeup one last time, I finally make my way down to the dining room. I’m ten minutes late, on purpose, partly because I’m nervous about seeing my husband again after our face-off last night, and partly because I want to make him wait. Antagonizing him comes pretty naturally, and I can’t deny there’s a part of me that likes getting a reaction out of him. He certainly knows how to drum one out of me, so fair is fair.
