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With a hand to each of her thighs, I pushed her to her back, and opened her legs. I trailed my fingers through the slickness of our releases, rubbing cum and blood into her skin, my masterpiece painting of torture and carnal pleasure.
She took my hand in hers, turned it, hissing at the deepest gouges on the pad of my pinky.
“Does it hurt?” She put pressure on the swollen flesh.
“Not when I have you beneath me.” Pain only made the pleasure more intense. Sitting back, I leaned against the wall, and she curled into my lap.
“When you’re inside me, that’s when I hurt the most.”
I stilled, my hand on her shoulder, her hair tumbling over my knuckles and her skin soft beneath my fingertips. “Because of Francesca?”
Her palm slid along my thigh, and her head rested in my lap.
“I didn’t fuck her.”
A small exhale ghosted past her lips. “You were in her room last night.”
I’d been sure she was asleep. “Nothing happened.”
She leaned up, her eyes searching mine for lies. “Did you kiss her?”
“I haven’t kissed her, haven’t fucked her, haven’t put my mouth on any part of her.”
“You kissed her neck when she arrived.”
“To punish you.”
She shuddered with an exhale. “Did you bring her here as your mistress?”
I tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you want the truth? Because there are too many secrets between us.” And still one that I would keep. I hadn’t touched Francesca. What she’d done to me in Italy had been a mistake. One I’d remedied after our conversation last night.
“No.” She pulled away. “You’re allowed your secrets, just as I have mine.”
I growled, pulled in one leg, and draped my wrist over my knee. “You still choose him over me.”
“Don’t ask me to choose.” She wiped between her legs with the edge of her blood-stained wedding dress. “Trust in this.” She pointed to the floor, the rumbled dress, blood, and cum. “Trust that I’m yours.”
I stood, unbuttoned my shirt, shrugged it off, and handed it to her. “You won’t see him again. He’s dead if he comes near you.” He was dead when I found him. He had too much influence over my wife.
She slipped her arms into my shirt. “Get rid of Francesca or I will, and I’ll bury her in the backyard.”
Chapter Thirteen
Allegra
With a glass of champagne in my hand, I mingled with my family. I was intimately aware of Marco. He stayed close to Ant, but his gaze never drifted from me for long.
With my dress destroyed, I’d changed into a white skirt and sleeveless turtleneck to cover the redness and bruising on my neck from both his hands and his mouth. A violent necklace from my fierce husband. Dangerously brutal. He was power. He was destruction. But he was also everything I needed.
I wanted to believe I was everything he needed. I’d hold onto the encounter we’d had in the library. He lifted a drink to his mouth.
A white bandage wrapped his palm. The triumphant gleam sparking in his eyes stripped me bare. Raw emotions swirled in my belly, taunting me to give in to him again. My pussy was wet with arousal, my nipples tight with need, and my heart dangerously close to breaking open.
Before I could fall, I needed to speak with Dee. I assumed she’d be with Orlando and Emilio, but they were sitting with soldiers drinking shots and laughing.
I approached Orlando. We’d barely spoken since the night I’d met with Knox. “Have you seen Deidre?” I asked him.
Orlando leaned back in the chair. “Congratulations, Mrs. Bruno. You’re my sister now, so I suppose I can’t ignore you. At least not without pissing off your husband. You don’t have exclusivity on that.”
