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Nicolette
Manuel attaches himself to my side from the moment he helps me out of the car at the wake the night before the funeral and never moves until we leave. He’s aware of the fear I can’t lose at the idea of facing Helena.
The moment is a painful one. Except it’s not like I thought it would be. Her face is bruised. There were long held rumors of her husband beating her, only she never appeared in public with bruises, and she never said a thing. Eyes wide, I meet hers. She refuses to bow her head. I might hate her for the blackmail—but I’m in awe of her strength.
“Nicolette, thank you for coming.” She’s two inches shorter than me, but I feel like she’s looking down on me, like I’m a peasant at her feet.
“I’m sorry for your loss. My husband, Manuel Rodriguez. Manuel, Helena Bianchi, her husband, Brandon.” I introduce them.
Manuel nods at her. And then we’re moving forward. Thankfully, Manuel keeps his large frame between me and the open casket. The attendants murmur amongst themselves that Ebba suffered a heart attack that killed her almost instantly.
Men greet Manuel, clearly expecting me to slink away to be with the women. I’m surprised none of the Sabatini’s are here. There are whispers of coldness between them and Brandon. Manuel doesn’t allow me to get an inch away from him. A few give in to speak quietly of business I pretend I don’t hear. After a brief turn around the large viewing area within the funeral home, Manuel asks if I’m ready to leave.
“Yes. I just need to run to the restroom before we go.”
I’m guided through the funeral home with his hand at my back. I’ve been here before and prefer the lesser used restroom in the farthest corner of the building rather than the nicer one at the front. I think it’s supposed to be for employees, but no one has ever prevented me from using it.
Leaning against the wall several feet from the bathroom, Manuel nods at me to go inside. I’m only gone for maybe three minutes. I come out to find Manuel ignoring Adrienne Rizzo, Brandon’s sister.
The sleek, blonde is one of the few people I would say I not only hate—I despise. Ten years older than me, she goes out of her way to belittle me at every opportunity. At onela familiaevent she said how sad it was to hear of the girls at my high school making the oinking noises at me during lunch. She said it loudly, to ensure everyone around us heard. Then followed up with an offer to help me lose weight. Another time, she spilled red wine all over the prettiest white lace dress I loved, ruining it.
She looks like she walked off a lingerie catwalk. Not just because of the blonde, thin, and beautiful thing. Because she’s wearing a black slip dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
I take satisfaction at how hard she’s working only for him to not even look at her. Then she lays a hand on his arm in an attempt to get his attention. I have no idea what comes over me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing putting your hand on my husband?” comes out of me in a hiss.
Eyes wide, she freezes. “I um—”
“Let me put it another way. Get your hand off my husband before I break it.” Franco felt it was his duty to teach me to protect myself. I might have frozen in fear the night with Josh. I’m not frozen now, I’m wondering if I might spontaneously combust from rage. I take a step toward her.
She runs faster than I could in four-inch heels down the hallway and out of sight. Heat is blasting me. I look up to find Manuel’s eyes on me with dark intent.
How the hell can he make me so wet with a simple look? I shake my head, it’s more for me than him. I think he knows that, because he begins moving toward me. I’m backing away until four steps of mine and two of his have me pressed into the door of the restroom.
“Manuel, no. We can’t. Anyone could see us.” I push the words out from tight lungs.
“My dear, beautiful wife. You expect me to watch you claim me and not do the same right back? To go without fucking you until you scream my name? I think not.” He’s too calm. The smile on his gorgeous face is so very wicked I sag against the door.
Sagging against it sends the door open. “Manuel, no we can’t. Anyone could come in.” I’m still taking steps back. He moves, and I turn to run. The instinct too deep to ignore. Even though I know there’s no escape, I have to try to talk some sense into him. I don’t move nearly as fast as Adrienne did. “Manuel. Stop. We can go home. I’ll—”
I let loose a scream as he catches me around the waist and pulls me into his hard body with force. His throbbing cock is pressing into my ass as he captures me from behind. He presses me against the long, low, sink countertop. “Manuel. Please don’t. I’ll swallow your cock.” I plead with him as our eyes meet in the mirror.
“You swallow my cock every time we make love. This time will be no different.” A hand is at the zipper at my back.
This man. “Fine. If you’re going to do it, just lift the hem of the dress and get it over with,” I mutter.
He doesn’t stop or slow. I’m trying to twist around to face him, but he has me trapped between his body and the counter. The dress tearing is so loud I swear it echoes around us. “What the hell?”
He’s torn my dress at the back as he bares my breasts. Rough fingers twist my nipple until it pulls a moan of pain from me. “Manuel?”
“Get it over with?” His mouth comes down at where my neck meets my shoulder and nips hard. “I believe you deserve a spanking for that and for telling me no.”
I blink, and he’s yanked my dress up to my ass and pushed me down over the counter. The smack of his hand meeting the flesh of my ass echoes around us. It’s no gentle love tap, I have no doubt my ass is red.
“Naughty girls get punished,mi amor.Take it like the good girl I know you are. Ten smacks, count them off.” It’s an order.
