Page 53 of The Kingpin’s Bride

I pushed two fingers inside myself and fucked them in and out while my thumb worked my clit in tight, desperate circles. The stretch burned in the best and worst way. I was swollen from him. Still marked. The thought only made me wetter.

I came with a broken, high sound I could not stop, thighs clamped around my own hand, forehead pressed to the cool marble, the wall of evidence the only witnesses. The orgasm left me empty and filthier than our wedding night had.

Cum and cream and my own slick dripped down my knuckles. I stayed on the floor until the worst of the aftershocks faded, then forced myself upright on legs that felt disconnected.

I washed my hands in the kitchen sink like I could scrub the evidence away. The water was cold. It did nothing. I could feel the empty flutter of my pussy wanting more. Wanting… him.

I was standing there when the front door opened.

Matteo walked in like he had never left.

Black trousers. Fresh shirt with the sleeves rolled. The same cold, focused face that had looked at me over Dario’s shoulder while he held a knife to the other man’s stomach. He took in the open drapes, the wall, the open diary on the table, the state of my dress, the way I was standing in the middle of his living room. The flush high on my cheeks. The faint shine of arousal visible on the soft white fabric between my thighs.

He did not speak at first. He simply closed the door, locked it, and crossed the space with the unhurried calm of a man who knew what he would find.

“Welcome home,” I squeaked.

“Thank you,” he said. “Did you miss me?”

I didn’t answer, and he just smirked.

Next, he picked up the diary. Read the visible entry. Then held the page with the blacked-out line up to the low light from the windows until the words showed through the ink.

Something shifted behind his eyes. Not surprise. Not anger. Something colder and more interested.

“Out of all the lines to cross out,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost conversational. “You crossed out that you hate me.”

I said nothing. My pulse hammered against the collar so hard I was sure he could see it.

He set the diary down and walked toward me. “Want to tell me why?”

“No,” I bit out.

“What a shame,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Now you’ve earned another punishment. On your knees for me, please.”

The marble was cold through the soft white fabric of my white dress. He stepped behind me so that I was facing the wall, the photographs, the proof of how long he had been collecting. I heard the soft sound of his belt, the slide of fabric, the quiet exhale that meant he was hard.

He did not make me wait.

He pushed the white dress above my ass, notched himself against me from behind, and pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust that forced a broken sound out of my throat. The stretch was there. The residual sensitivity from the cream he now made me use myself, and from my own hand made every inch feel too much, too deep, too real.

He bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the root.

“I bet you touched yourself again too, didn’t you,” he smiled, voice low and controlled against the back of my neck. “So bad at following rules, baby. Now you come for me.”

He set a deep, claiming rhythm that rocked me forward with every stroke. My hands braced against the marble. He fucked me like he was driving the truth of the wall into my body. Every thrust was hard enough to force another broken sound out of me. Wet. Obscene. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the glass.

“Still won’t tell me the truth” he said, never breaking the rhythm. “I can’t wait until you do and I can slit Dario’s throat.”

My walls locked down around him so hard he cursed under his breath. He kept moving, using the aftershocks to keep me open and pulsing, grinding deep so I felt every throb of him.

“Again,” he said. “And you are going to come looking at the proof that I chose you long before the Families ever demanded a wife.”

He did not stop. He angled deeper, hitting the place that made white sparks explode behind my eyes, and fucked me through the second orgasm while I shook and whimpered and tried to turn my face away from the wall. He caught my jaw with his free hand and forced my eyes back to the photographs while he chased his own release.

When he came it was deep and endless, the same thick pulses that had marked me on the stage and on the bed. Hot. Claiming.

He stayed locked inside me for long seconds afterward, breathing hard against the side of my neck. I had no doubt I’d be pregnant soon if this carried on. Just like he wanted.