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His hand is heavy on the back of my head, guiding my lips to the swollen tip of his cock. I can already see pre-cum beading at the tip, begging for me to flick my tongue out and taste it, swirl my tongue around the straining flesh, tease that soft spot just beneath it the way I know he likes. I did that to him in Ibiza, learned what he likes, tried to repeat those things to please him—but at this particular moment, I have the rebellious urge to do anythingbutthe things that I know he likes the most.
He said he didn’t want to be teased, and so I decide that I simply won’t.
I slide my lips down over the tip as his hips lift up, his hands guiding his cock and my mouth exactly where he wants them. He was never this controlling, even in Ibiza, and I hate the way it turns me on, that the forceful press of his fingers against the back of my head makes me tighten with a throbbing need. I wish he would touch me—god, even just give me permission to touch myself, but I have a feeling that I knowexactlyhow that would turn out if I tried it.
The last thing I want is to end up splayed out over his lap while he spanks me in full view of anyone who might walk by, even if there’s a part of me that clenches with unwanted arousal at the thought.
Even in the month since Ibiza, I’ve lost the trick of being able to fit him easily into my mouth. I struggle as he slides over my tongue, pushing to the back of my throat, and I realize quickly that he’s not going to give me much of a chance to get used to it again. This is about whathewants, not making it easy on me—or even all that pleasurable, for that matter.
It makes me wonder if this is how he plans to delineate between what we were in Ibiza, and what we’ll be now, as a mafia husband and wife.
“Good girl,” he breathes, pressing my head down further. “Take all of it.Fuck—”
The way he groans aloud sends a jolt of arousal down my spine, pooling between his thighs. I moan around his cock before I can stop myself, and the satisfied way he chuckles as he threads his fingers through his hair, clearly pleased with himself, makes me hate him even more.
I hate him, and I want him, and he’s going to drive me insane. This is going to be the rest of my life, and I have no idea how I’m going to make it through. How either of us are going to be able to exist together, with the way things are now.
I choke as he pushes himself further into my throat, his fingers pressing into the back of my head as he groans with pleasure. I can feel him throbbing on my tongue as I brace my hands against his thighs, struggling not to choke. The tears in my eyes well hotter at the corners, and I feel his hand fist tighter in my hair. “Fuck,” he breathes again, his hips jerking as my throat convulses tightly around him, and then he pulls me back off of his cock, one hand fumbling in his pocket.
“Take your pants off,” he groans, ripping at a foil packet. “Now, Amalie—”
I almost laugh, seeing the condom. I want to tell him how fucking ridiculous that is, how useless, that the time for remembering protection is long past. But my mother’s voice chiding me to keep the secret echoes in my head—momentarily dampening my arousal—and I keep my mouth shut.
It won’t get me out of this now, anyway. The baby is David’s, and all that revealing it will do is tie us together even more tightly. I fumble with the button of my pants, feeling that hot embarrassment creep up my cheeks again at the thought of one of the flight attendants coming down the aisle and seeing me this way. David doesn’t seem to care—his cock is jutting up hard and throbbing from his open fly, stiff in his hand as he rolls the condom down his length.
He barely waits for me to step out of my pants before he grabs my hip, pulling me forward. I stumble, and he jerks me into his lap, pushing my thighs apart as I straddle him, his fingers slipping beneath the edge of my panties. I gasp as his fingertips graze my clit, a jolt of pure pleasure arcing through me, and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes my lips when the sensation disappears. I want more, and I grab onto his shoulders as I feel the pressure of his cockhead against my entrance, his hand still hard on my hip as he drags me downwards onto it.
I cry out. I can’t help it—he’s too thick, and it feels as if he’s splitting me open at first, even the lubed condom and my own wetness not enough to entirely take away the burn of that first hard thrust. He sinks into me to the hilt, his hips snapping up to bury himself inside of me as he groans, both hands on my hips now as he starts to fuck himself into me.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, one hand moving to drag his fingers through my folds, over my taut and aching clit. My flesh is stretched around him, swollen and pulsing, and I let out another gasping moan, hating myself for it. I want to be silent, to not give him the pleasure of knowing how he’s affecting me, but I can’t stop the sounds that spill out of my lips. He feels so good, filling me up like this, fucking me hard,usingme. I don’t know why I like it so much, or what that says about me, but I can’t deny how it makes me feel.
David pulls me forward against his chest, his lips at my ear as his hips roll relentlessly up into me. “Just think,bellisima,” he murmurs. “Once we’re married, there will be no more condoms. Nothing between us. I’ll fill you full of my cum every day, just like this. Do you like the sound of that,cara mia? Dripping with my cum all day, that pretty pussy stuffed full?”
I refuse to answer him, but I don’t have to. He laughs as I tighten around him, my body betrayingexactlythe way that makes me feel, the shivering desire that ripples through me as I press my lips to his shoulder in an effort to stifle another moan. He’s taken his fingers away from my clit, deliberately teasing me, but I don’t think it matters. I’m going to come anyway, just from the feeling of having him inside of me like this, fucking me out in the open. I can feel that tight pressure inside of me starting to unfurl, my body tensing and shuddering as my back arches. I hear him groan deep in his throat as I squeeze around him, rippling down the length of his cock.
“Ohfuck—goddamnit, Amalie—” he moans my name, sending another shudder of pleasure through me as he thrusts into me one final time. Even through the condom, I can feel the hot throbbing of his cock, the way he hardens and twitches inside as he spills his cum inside of it instead of me, and for one insane moment, I wish itwasinside of me instead. I hate him, and I want him, and for just one moment, I wish there was nothing in between us.
He holds me against his chest, and briefly, I think there’s almost tenderness in the way he touches me, his fingers brushing against the back of my neck. I can feel myself still fluttering around him, the last aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through my body, and I have that brief feeling of longing again, of wanting to stay like this.
And then he moves, lifting me off of his lap so that I’m standing, weak-kneed and nearly bare from the waist down, forced to fumble for my pants on the floor as David pinches the condom and slides it off of his softening cock.
Hurt and embarrassment fill me at the same time, and I yank my pants back on, fumbling numbly at the button as I turn away. I hate that he made me come, that I want him even when he treats me like this, that I know I’ll fall for it again. He doesn’t speak to me as he tucks himself away and gets up to dispose of the condom, and I know he’s finished with me for the night.
This will be the rest of my life, at his beck and call.
And there’s nothing I can do to escape it.
14
DAVID
The night before the wedding, I introduce Amalie to my family.
We spent the preceding night in separate hotel rooms, hers well-guarded by security—both for her own safety and to ensure she didn’t get any ideas about trying to run off. I know her penchant for trying to wriggle her way out of things—I met her when she was doing just that in Ibiza, after all—and I’m well aware of the sort of eye that needs to be kept on her. It’s my plan to keep so much security on her at all times that there won’t be the slightest chance of her running away.
I’d considered sharing a bed with her, for that same reason, but I needed space. I needed to remind myself that things are different now—that how we were in Ibiza isn’t how we can be here, as husband and wife.
Amalie for a week, was intoxicating. For the rest of my life—
