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“Is he an asshole the way your father was?”
“He’s not…or he’s what my father might have been if he’d been born with a conscience,” Duran mused. “He doesn’t want to get married, I don’t think he likes being pushed into an arranged marriage, but he won’t treat his wife badly.”
“So…why can’t he just not get married?”
“It’s not that simple. Our family has had an agreement with the Barones, his future wife’s family, for quite a while. We’re both wealthy and we both have substantial assets. Marrying outside of that would spring a leak in generations of wealth. Plus, there’s some bad blood between the families and it would smooth that over…or maybe make it worse. I don’t know.”
“It’s kind of weird and archaic,” I mused.
“Look around at upper classes everywhere,” he said, shrugging. “It’s not uncommon. Politicians, heirs and heiresses, even actors, do it all the time.”
A slow realization was sinking over me and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“So…you’re an Esposito,” I said.
“Yeah, I am,” he said.
“So…are you supposed to marry a rich girl?”
His jaw twitched. “Technically, yes.”
We looked at each other and the things we’d said in the heat of losing my virginity to him hung heavy between us. A surge of heat passed over his face and he gripped my upper arms and turned me around. His lean body pressed against my back and his cock hardened. Pushing hungrily into my ass.
“I will do whatever the fuck I please,” he said grimly.
In that moment, I believed him.
He washed my hair and I sagged against him, too blissed out to continue our conversation. I’d never had anyone do this for me except my hairdresser and it felt amazing. Then he washed my body, taking a suspiciously long time to clean my breasts and between my thighs. His cock stayed hard, but I didn’t offer to do anything about it.
My pussy needed some recovery time before he fucked it again.
No one had ever spent so much time focused on just me. He’d fed me well, he’d fucked me thoroughly, eaten me out until I wasn’t sure if I could come anymore, and then he’d washed me clean. I was feeling like a princess as I dried off with a fluffy towel.
Naked, I crawled back into bed.
I heard him laugh quietly as he walked out to get dressed. Sleepily, I cracked an eye.
“What’s so funny?”
He cocked his head. “So you can be a good girl if you’ve had all the fight fucked out of you.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I mumbled.
“I’ll order you breakfast,” he said. “Then I have to go out. Be ready in something nice for dinner at five.”
I was already fast asleep, curled up with the sheets wrapped around my body. A knock on the door woke me thirty minutes later and a concierge brought me a platter of breakfast. I burrowed against the pillows and lifted the lid, revealing waffles, strawberries, sausages, and a cup of coffee.
In the center lay a single red rose.
I couldn’t keep from giggling and curling my toes. He was making me stupid and I didn’t mind.
When my belly was full, I slept some more. There wasn’t anything else to do because he’d apparently instructed the hotel staff not to let me leave the premises. There was a bulky man with a stern face outside the door and when I peered out, he shook his head ominously.
I lay in bed and thought about him for a while which led to my fingers sliding between my thighs. This time when I masturbated, I didn’t feel such an overwhelming sense of guilt afterwards.
Instead I just stretched and rolled over and fell asleep in a haze of satisfaction.
By the time he’d returned at a quarter to four, I was up. My hair was pulled into a sleek, tall ponytail and my makeup was done with a razor sharp cat-eye. He strolled in and saw me and gave me a slow once over.
