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She could make me fall for her. She could draw feelings out of me that I’ve kept locked up, carefully, because I don’twantto feel them. For that to happen, as far as I’m concerned, is unacceptable.
I lost control with her at her home, that afternoon when her mother left her alone with me for a few minutes. I’d come far too close to pushing that boring dress she’d been wearing up her thighs and fucking her up against the wall, hand over her mouth to stifle the moans that I knew would have been dripping from her lips.
The same wayshewould have been dripping for me, if I’d done that.
It’s clear that she wants me, that she can’t help it, even when she tries. I shouldn’t find that as satisfying as I do. I shouldn’t bearousedthat I can manipulate her so thoroughly, that I can draw her to me easily, no matter how much I try to push her away in between.
I considered, for the rest of last night and all of today, trying to find a way out of the marriage. But ultimately, there’s no way out that I can see. The time for that passed when I signed the betrothal contract—breaking such a thing has far-reaching consequences. Our family has been through too much already for me to take that risk.
If I wanted to avoid marriage to Amalie Leone, I should have said no back in Chicago, and dealt with my father’s frustration at his attempt falling through. But I’d thought with my cock, as I had her pressed up against that wall and writhing against it, and now I’m going to have to deal with the consequences.
She’s breathtaking when she comes downstairs to meet me in the hotel lobby. For a moment, all I can do is stare at her. She pauses at the top of the stairs, her gaze catching mine. I’m instantly reminded of the moment I first saw her in that bar in Ibiza, that moment when I felt a jolt of something no other woman has ever made me feel.
I have to look away, in order to regain my composure, turning away as if I need to clear my throat. Tonight, of all nights, I need her to understand that she is not the one with the upper hand here. That here, in Boston, in my family’s home—everywhere from now on, for that matter—I am the one in control.
When I let myself turn back towards her, Amalie is nearly at the foot of the stairs. She’s wearing a floor-length cream gown spangled with silvery threads, the straps at the shoulders thin enough to snap with a finger, the front of the dress sharply cutting downwards to reveal the slightest bit of cleavage at each side. I catch a glimpse of her creamy thigh in the slit at one side of the dress, and her dark auburn hair is piled up atop her head, leaving her collarbones and shoulders beautifully bare. There are a few tendrils left artfully loose, and they make my fingers ache with the desire to push them back away from her face.
Allof her makes me feel that way. The ruby and diamond teardrops hanging from her ears make me want to trace the shape of them, and then the shell of her delicate ear on each side. The matching fine gold chain that drapes over her collarbones, ending in an egg-sized ruby surrounded by diamonds, makes me want to follow the line of it with my tongue. She looks like a present waiting to be unwrapped, a beautiful sculpture that only I’ll be allowed to defile from this moment on, and all thoughts of escaping the marriage flee the moment I see her. The feeling is replaced with a sudden, possessive desire that I’ve never felt for any woman, and that aloneshouldmake me want to flee even more.
Instead, it makes me want to grab her, kiss her, claim her in every way—and never let her go.
“David.” Her voice is soft and cool as she steps up next to me. “Are you ready to go?”
There’s the faintest, dripping thread of sarcasm in her voice, and I know she’s mimicking what I said before we left her home yesterday. I ignore it, slipping her hand through the crook of my arm as I lead her through the Art-Deco-styled lobby and out to the waiting car.
“My parents are very formal,” I warn her, as the car pulls out into traffic. “You’ll want to mind your tongue at dinner, and not say anything that might offend them.”
Amalie’s eyes narrow. She chose a burgundy lipstick for tonight that nearly matches the shade of her hair, and all I can think about is what her full lips would look like wrapped around my cock. “Or what?” she purrs, defiance coloring her tone, and that image only intensifies, until I feel my cock lengthening against my thigh with anticipation.
“Or I’ll have you on your knees on the drive home,” I tell her carelessly, and her eyes widen just a little. She glares at me, but I can tell from the small, quick hitch in her breath that she doesn’t hate the idea as much as she wants me to think that she does. “I might just do it anyway,” I add, unable to shake the desire to do exactly that, and Amalie sniffs.
“What’s the point in behaving, if you’re just going to do it anyway?” she asks archly, and I grin at her, a hint of a predatory smirk curving my lips.
“Because if you behave,” I murmur, lowering my voice until it’s a thick whisper in the air between us, “I might let you come too,cara mia.”
She looks away sharply. “I hate you,” she hisses, not meeting my gaze, and I laugh.
“You still want me to make you come.” I shrug. “Hate me all you want, but you can’t pretend that’s not true.”
The stubborn set of her mouth as she looks out of the window tells me that she’s going to try. I can think of a dozen things I’d like to do to her before the car makes it to my parents’ mansion, beginning with her on her knees and ending with her skirt pushed up and her legs around my head while I lick her to a screaming climax that the driver won’t be able to help but hear—but I leave it, for now.
I need to prove to myself, if nothing else, that I can avoid indulging my every whim with her. I control her desire—not the other way around.
Dinner at my parents’ mansion is set in the formal dining room—a little ridiculous, I think, for a meal that consists of five guests. The table stretches on for a good length beyond where we’re sitting—my father at the head, my mother at his right, and me at his left. Amalie gracefully takes her seat next to me, opposite my sister Bianca. She smiles at Amalie, her dark hair swinging around her face as she tosses her head back.
“You didn’t tell me my new sister-in-law was sopretty!” she exclaims, her smile only widening as Amalie flushes that particular shade of rosy pink that only redheads seem to manage. “Good for you, David.”
“Bianca,” my mother chides, shaking her head as she looks over at Amalie. “I’m sorry about my daughter. We keep trying to teach her manners, but it’s so hard these days.” Her grey-blue gaze slides over Amalie, and I know what she’s thinking. “I’m sure your mother and I could commiserate over that.”
“Well, you’ll get a chance at the wedding.” Amalie’s voice comes out a little more biting than I think she means for it to, and I touch her thigh warningly under the table. The way she twitches at just my touch sends a jolt of desire through me—the power that I seem to have over her is intoxicating.
I have to make sure I keep space between us, after the wedding. Separate bedrooms, maybe.Even as I think it, I can feel myself rebelling against the idea. I want to keep Amalie in my bed always, naked and ready for me whenever I please, and my cock twitches against my leg, wanting her all over again.
“Your mother is quite the formidable woman,” my father says to Amalie, jolting me out of my thoughts just as the soup course is brought in. I tear my gaze away from her, trying not to notice how the jewels at her ears and throat glitter under the light from the chandelier above the table, how she seems to glow in the dress she chose. She’s stunningly beautiful, and I can’t seem to think straight when I’m around her. “She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, in regards to this marriage.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Amalie says coolly. “I wasn’t consulted. Just told where to show up, where to stand, and where to sign.”
My fingers tighten against her thigh, another warning as I reach for the decanter of wine, half-filling my glass. I expect her to do the same, but she ignores it, and I glance curiously at it. Of all the times for her tonothave a drink, this particular choice surprises me.Maybe she just wants to avoid slipping up in front of my parents,I think, but even that doesn’t entirely make sense, given her sharp tongue so far.
