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The scene that we enjoyed in the woods was completely improvised. Me chasing after her like a predator, and her running off in that red shawl making mefeellike a wolf stalking its prey. It’s crazy how we just fell into our roles without any discussion. We’d never done such a scene before, yet it went off so naturally, so smoothly, so erotically that I can feel myself getting hard just thinking about it.
I just felt that I needed to catch her, possess her, make her mine. The more scared she acted, the more she resisted, the greater my need to make her submit.
I laugh quietly to myself just remembering how I ran her down, the red riding hood roleplay. It was cliché, but it was effective nonetheless. She was just everything – a little scared, a little submissive, bringing out the sadist in me. The need to dominate and take her was visceral.
Stripping her slowly, having fun with her while playing with her body just made me realize that this was us; this wasgoingto be us for the rest of our lives. How lucky can a man get?
Still, as mushy as my heart was feeling, my body wanted something else – dominion, control – I wanted to play her like a violin. Seeing her struggle, on the edge, awoke something feral in me. Knowing that only I could satisfy her needs and end her suffering – oh the power of it… nothing is more arousing to me than making her body sing for me.
I wanted to push her to the edges, to her very limits and then just a little more. Her consent fueled my fantasies.
Her body was flushed, I could feel how swollen her clit was, she was dripping wet and giving off a horny musk. Everything about her is designed to make me wild but I take great pleasure in maintaining control anyway. In making sure that every single touch is deliberate and considered, designed to evoke from her the maximum amount of tortured, nihilistic pleasure.
I could see her failing, every system in her body crying out for completion. But I was so curious to see how far I could take her before she fell off the edge. She got impatient, pushing me so I pulled out, letting her stew. I was completely impressed with her self-control as she struggled to keep still in an effort to get what she wanted from me faster.
Atta girl.
I was applauding her even as I spurned her pleas. When I finally slid back into her hot, wet, throbbing channel, it was curtains for us both. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I pounded into her, my body reveling in how well she was welcoming me, taking me in, all of me, sucking me deep into her and not wanting to let me go again. I could have lived there forever.
She let go, her body clamping down on me, milking me for everything I am, and I let her have it. Just pouring my spend into her like I wanted to mark her as deeply and intimately as I could. I needed to have and claim all of her, just for me.
And once I gave her what she wanted, having her fold herself into my arms and let me take care of her – that trust was the real consummation of this marriage to me. A contract where I committed to take care of her and she committed to submit to me.
Even my wildest dreams couldn’t have prepared me for this.
I slide out of bed and go to the kitchen where I prepare a chacuterie board and a jug of fresh juice, ready for when she wakes up again. I have a strong feeling this honeymoon is going to be one for the books.
* * *
I wake up in the middle of the night to my phone ringing. By my side, Giada grumbles in protest, covering her head with the duvet.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I quickly answered the phone.
“Romano!” I jerk in startlement. Rose was the last person I expect to hear from. She sounds distressed.
Slowly, I sit up. “Why are you calling me?” I asked coldly.
“It’s M-Mark!” she sobs, and my heart sinks. I’ve heard those words too many times to not immediately know what she means.
“How?”
I can hear her sobs through the phone, and it just makes me more tense and impatient. I need to know what happened to my friend. Finally, her breath hitching now and then, she tells me what happened.
Eric, as the mediator between the families, had been trying to keep things calm between the Montis and the Cardinalis, to give Giada and me time to sort ourselves out. It was about as easy as herding a bunch of angry wolves and he'd been doing a half decent job of it.
But the Cardinalis wanted some assurances, and Rose had persuaded Tiziano to meet with Mark and Benedetto earlier that night.
“They were just supposed to talk, y’know? Come to some sort of agreement about how to proceed from here. ItoldTizzy. I told him repeatedly that there was no need for fighting. He turned up drunk and belligerent.” Her voice hitched as she drew in a shuddering breath. “I tried to warn your cousin. I told him Tiziano was in the wrong mood for a calm discussion. That maybe we should try again another time.”
“Okay, then what happened.” I’m already on my feet, getting dressed while Giada sleeps on, oblivious, behind me. I need to see for myself. I need to know what happened to my best friend before I can loop her in. It isn’t just that Mark is dead, it’s that this is my fault.
This had all been my idea. He was just the loyal son of a bitch caught in the crossfire.
“Well, Tiziano kind of shoved me aside-”
I can’t help but feel a bit of vindictive satisfaction at that. She’d chosen the wrong ‘un to cheat on me with. Honestly, I questioned her judgement. I shoved those thoughts away though, because there are much bigger things at stake at the moment even though it feels good to think that someone else has also fucked up.
“-and went after Mark, really getting in his face and saying how he was your bitch and if you’d done something to his cousin then Mark would know.”
