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He dips into my wetness, sweeping his fingers up the length of my slit, and I would scream if I could take a deep enough breath. The hand around my throat only makes this more intense. There’s so much happening, almost too much. Almost enough to make me beg him to stop because I can’t take anymore.
Almost.
“No man will ever touch this pussy but me. No man will ever make you feel this way but me. Because you’re mine now. You belong to me.” He grits it out through clenched teeth, and I wonder somewhere in the back of my overheated brain if he’s taunting me or reminding himself. Maybe both.
He teases my entrance, and I gasp, going stiff, knowing what’s coming next. He’s going to put his fingers inside me before putting his dick in there. I don’t want it like this. Not the first time. Not ever.
But he only teases me, pressing a little, then circling with his fingertip. It’s torture, nothing less, the tension enough to break my brain. When will he let me come? I whimper under his hand, thrusting my hips in hopes he’ll touch my clit, so I can finally get relief.
“You wanna come for me?” he whispers, squeezing my throat harder and making everything more intense than ever. My body jerks on its own, fighting for air but even harder to find release from this overwhelming torment. “Do you? Are you going to scream until you can’t make a sound?”
“Yes!” I gasp, and I hate myself for it. For letting him do this to me, for making it so easy. I’m going to come, and when I do, I’m going to scream until my throat bleeds. I’m going to do all the screaming I haven’t been able to do since I got here. I can’t wait. It’s so close… almost there… just a little more…
The world comes into sharper focus when the pressure on my throat goes away. It doesn’t lessen. He flat-out lets go, just pulls his hand away from my pussy and leaves me hanging—writhing, whimpering, and almost weeping with frustration.
“What… why…” It comes out broken and gravelly, thanks to my aching throat. He laughs, shaking his head at me before climbing off the bed. What the hell? What’s this new game? My entire body is screaming for relief, and he’s crossing the room, walking to the door.
“What, feeling unfulfilled?” he mocks before laughing nastily again. “Poor baby.”
“But—”
He shoots me a dark look over his shoulder that cuts off any question I might’ve wanted to ask. “We have to save something for the wedding night, don’t we?”
16
ENZO
I’ve never so clearly understood what it means to wish I could go back and change everything. I suppose everyone goes through that at least once in their lifetime. Looking back on a decision they made that changed the course of their life. Wishing they would have chosen differently.
I should never have taken her. What seemed natural at the time, sensible, is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
And I’m going to be paying for it for the rest of my life.
I pace the house like a caged animal, kicking furniture aside and slamming my fists against the walls in passing. That bastard. I played straight into his hand, didn’t I? I left the way wide open for him to slither in and make a place for himself in my family. I ruined everything, all because of a simple, thoughtless action.
All because of her. I can’t remember now why it seemed necessary to take her from the warehouse. If only I had left her there, unconscious, none of this would be happening. I wouldn’t have my grandfather threatening to destroy me. I wouldn’t have left us open to a man like Alvarez, who only ever wanted to strengthen his position by using his daughter. Did she know? Has she been stalling all this time, confident in the knowledge he would eventually claim her and use her as a means of strengthening his family? I’m sure that’s all she’s ever been good for in his eyes, as it is. Someone to marry off. Here I am, the unwitting rube, thinking I could use her and have a little fun when really, they were all having fun with me. It just so happens I’m the last to find out about it.
“Motherfucker!” I slam the whiskey bottle onto the cart after filling a glass. I doubt there’s enough in the bottle to blot out my rage and regret, but I can sure as hell try.
Married. We have to get married. Has she known all along? My god. All this time, has she known?
I don’t know why it matters. I don’t know why the question burns more intensely than the whiskey now burning its way through my chest. Pretending to be frightened, knowing she’d be safe in the end. I should kill her for it. That would show Alvarez who’s in control, wouldn’t it? The thought brings me a grim smile and the first semblance of peace since I took the phone call earlier. He would learn how dangerous it is to fuck with me.
The thought is enough to make me start for the stairs, prepared to make her regret thinking she can pull some shit like this without facing repercussions.
Something stops me, leaving me gripping the banister as I stare up into the hall. I know how it’s going to go. How I’ll start out wanting to punish her but quickly end up wanting to indulge in her even more. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s managed to work her way into my brain, into my soul. Like a drug I can’t kick, always in the back of my mind, promising relief. Peace. Everything I crave most. All the empty promises an addict struggles with that’s what I wrestle with. And I can tell myself all I want that I’ll know when to stop, that I’m in control, but I know it’s a lie. A means of justifying my dark, primal desire. My weakness.
But oh god, how much do I want to watch her come? To see her unravel in front of me, to hear my name tumbling from her lips again and again. No man has ever done that to her, and oh, she’s so eager. She can fight all she wants, can pretend and deny, but there’s no denying her body’s reaction.
She’s a magnet, pulling me up the stairs. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I also know I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to face her eventually. There’s no running away from this—nor should there be. I put myself in this position. But I can’t touch her. Not now, not until after the wedding. Her father probably knows she’s untouched, and I have no doubt my grandfather would want proof of that, as well. He wouldn’t want me marrying anyone he doesn’t approve of, no matter how crucial it is to the future of our family.
Still, my feet are heavy as I climb the stairs, but my heart is heavier. I’ve never been someone who can live with being told what to do. I don’t dance to anyone else’s drum, only my own. Or so I’ve wanted to tell myself. Underneath all of that has always been the awareness of Grandfather’s power over me. I can deny it all I want, but that makes it no less potent. After all, if I denied the presence of gravity, would I suddenly float away?
I did this. I put myself in this position, and now my hands are tied. Hands that are clenched in tight fists when I stand in the open doorway, gazing upon the woman who is now my bride-to-be.
She’s curled up on her side, miserable if the pained expression she wears is any indication. I want to take my rage out on her. I want to tell her how much I regret the entire situation. I wish I could punish her. I wish I could comfort her.
One thing I know, or at least strongly suspect: she had no part in any of this. No one could look so miserable, so bewildered, and not mean it.
