Esme.
My family holds the historical ties to the village, the loyalty that comes from time, the kind that can’t be bought.
Vincent has the kind that comes with gold bars.
Having already learned everything I can from my father, Vincent is now teaching me his ways. Newer ways that keep our dealings more secure. I’ll have the old ways behind me, the new ways before me, bringing our families power and wealth like we’ve never known.
And for Vincent, this union has brought peace to his men. Esme is the little darling of the Russo clan. No one would want to harm her. He says now that they have no enemies in the village, his men are more focused on dangers outside the village, providing better protection for all of us.
The old-school villagers held animosity toward Vincent for being a young man who came and claimed the town’s castle. Now they drink his bourbon, toast his name, having forgotten the hatred they had for him. No longer feeling they have to choose between the Romanos, or the Russos, there’s been more peace in the village.
Which makes Vincent feel at ease.
I wish I felt that same peace.
But I don’t.
The danger I sense is right around me, coming from my own home.
My own…brother.
Rocco left in a rage, two weeks after the wedding. He’s not been seen since. We have the Bachman family’s eyes and ears out in the states for him. My own men watching for him here.
Rocco’s a live wire and I fear he’s up to some sort of revenge.
I’m on edge, working double-time to find him, to surveil the perimeter of our land.
To keep Esme safe.
I’ve been preoccupied with work.
I’m not sure if she’s noticed. I try to keep these things from her. She’s been extra sweet lately, baking for me, slipping notes in my pocket as I head off to work.
If I’m not mistaken, she’s been dressing sexier.
To get my attention? I’m not sure.
But I’ve put a stop to it.
With a house full of men and she the only young lady, I’ve implored her to dress modestly. I’ve even threatened her with my belt if she keeps up with those sexy little dresses of hers.
I don’t share well.
And no one gets to look at my wife’s body but me.
But I swear, the skirts keep getting shorter.
I’m taking a break from work, running to the kitchen to grab an apple and a kiss. When I enter the back of the house, I hear the sound of the piano. I follow the sound.
She sits behind the piano, playing a little song she and Lance are writing together. She sings under her breath, trying to remember the words.
Fucking adorable.
I rest my shoulder on the frame of the doorway, watching, listening.
She’s so beautiful it hurts just gazing at her.
I can’t believe she’s mine.
All mine.
Sensing my presence, she looks up, smiling. “Oh, hi there. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Weren’t you? I come in just about every time this day looking for you. Come, give me my kiss.”
A naughty glint shines in her eyes, a little smirk resting on her face. She slides along the bench, out from behind the piano. When she stands, my breath catches in my throat, my shoulders tightening.
What the hell is she wearing?
Has she been wearing this all day? Prancing around the property, for all my men to see?
Her black t-shirt is skintight, the outline of her peaked nipples clearly visible beneath the thin material. You can see a sliver of her belly peeking out below the hem, her perfect navel winking at me.
And the black skirt—if you could even call it that—a scrap of fabric that only comes a hand length below her sex, clinging to her curves like a second skin.
She may as well be wearing nothing.
Infuriating. I cross my arms over my chest, my biceps rising over my forearms. “What the hell have you got on?”
She sashays towards me, her hips rolling side to side as she moves. “Oh, this old thing? Just felt like going casual.”
“Casual?” If she was any more casual, she’d be in nothing but bra and panties. If she even is wearing a bra, which, judging but those beautiful nipples I see under her shirt, she’s not. “What have I told you about wearing outfits like this, wife?”
She comes to a stop just out of my reach, putting a sassy little hand on her jutted out hip. “Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean you get to tell me what I can and can’t wear.”
“You’re mistaken, princess. Because I’m your husband, I will tell you what you can and can’t wear. Did I not make myself clear yesterday, when I told you if I caught you in another skimpy outfit, you’d feel my belt across your ass?”
Losing a little of her bravado at the mention of my leather belt, she gives a huff. “It’s not that short.” Her hands go to the hem and she wiggles her hips, attempting to tug it down.
Too little, too late.
One step toward her and I’ve got her arm in my hand. “Come with me, little girl.”
“Where are we going?” She’s tripping to keep up as I pull her from the great room.
“To the throne room. So I can properly punish my naughty little princess.”
Her eyes go wide. “The throne room? What’s that?”
I bring her down the long hall, to the massive mahogany door of the throne room. I pull it open, bringing her into the first room my ancestors decorated when they moved into this convent, making it their home in the seventeenth century. The walls and the floor are made of stone. Huge stain glass windows depicting kings and queens ruling over the land hang at either side of the wall. The floor rises in three wide steps to form a platform.
Where two red velvet, gold-gilded thrones sit, facing us.
One for a king.
And one for his naughty queen. And my queen’s been especially naughty. Though I still like to call her my princess.
I close the door behind us, locking it.
“I don’t want you dressing provocatively for all the men in this household to see.”
She gives a breathy whisper. “No one cares.”
“I care. No one but me should see this—” I stroke one hand over her breast, thumbing her tight nipple. My other hand slides down her ass, cupping it in my palm. “Or this.”
She gives a little shrug. “But I’m covered up…mostly.”
“Bend over and let’s see.”
Her hands go to the back of her skirt, feeling its shortness. She knows exactly what will happen if she bends over. She gives a little shake of her head. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me? Try again.”
“I just, I don’t really think there’s a need to bend over and—”
I grab her shoulders, guiding her to her throne. Flattening my palm against her lower back, I bend her over the gold arm.
“Oomph.” She grabs at the other arm of the throne to hold her balance as I inspect her ass.
Just as I thought. The lace band of her white panties peeks out below the tiny skirt.
My blood boils at the thought of anyone else seeing my wife’s panties.
Trying to calm my temper, I speak somewhere between a growl and a dull roar. “How long have you been wearing this?”
Her voice comes out in a purr, as if she’s loving this. “All day.”
I hold her down with one hand, the other goes to my waist, my fingers flicking the metal clasp of my belt open. One tug and the leather is flying through the loops of my trousers. “This will not happen again.”
She wiggles under my hold but she’s so small, I can keep her in place with my one hand on her back. My belt in the other, I tug that skirt up, it only takes one tug to get it over her ass. It’s so, damn, short.
The curves of her ass are covered in white lace panties. The fabric is sheer and between the curling pattern, I can see the cleft of her ass. I raise my belt, brining it down over th
e fullest curve of her bottom.
She gives a moan, jumping a little as the belt strikes her. “Oh! Luca. It’s only an outfit.”
Does she not understand?
That when she said her vows, she said them to me.
I don’t do ‘it’s only’s.’
“I said, no more sexy clothes.” I bring the belt down again, making her squeal. “You want to wear something sexy? You’ll wear it for your husband in the privacy of our bedroom.”
I slide the leather over her curves.
She moans.
I hook my thumb in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down over her ass.
I give myself the gift of a moment to take in my beautiful princess. Her blonde hair falls over her face, down her back, her pretty fingers clutching at the arm of her throne. The black skirt is hitched up around her waist, two pink stripes are rising over her exposed ass. Her little white lace panties are cupped under her cheeks.
Fucking gorgeous.
A whine rises up in her throat. “Luca, you’re overreacting.”
“Am I?” I bring my belt down again, over her now bare skin. The snap sound of the leather echoes through the room, making my cock grow hard in my trousers. “I don’t think so. And my opinion seems to be the only one that matters, seeing as I’m the one holding the belt.”
She gives a little whimper. “I was just trying to get your attention.”
“By breaking my rules? By disobeying me?”
Her voice is soft, making my hand hover over her, holding the belt back. “Yes.”
But if I don’t have her obedience, I can’t protect her.
“It doesn’t matter why you choose to disobey. Only that you do.”
I bring the belt down, one last time, another stripe rising on her flesh. She stands on the tips of her toes, hissing between her teeth.
“Stay there. Just like that.”
She does as I say, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her ass no doubt stinging like hell. I put my belt back on around my waist, pulling the leather through the loops, latching the metal buckle. I can’t tear my gaze from her beautiful ass. Her punished flesh.
I move to her, hooking my fingers in the band of her panties. I slide them down her legs. “Step out of them.”
Hands still clutching the arm, staying bent over her throne, she does as I say, stepping out of the panties one leg at a time. I take them, tucking them safely into my pocket. “Now I want you to sit on your throne, on your bare, whipped ass, and think about your husband, and how you’re going to obey him.”
On shaky legs, she rights herself, pulling her skirt down to cover her sex. She tugs at the hem at the back and I grab her hand to stop her.
“I said, your bare ass.”
Shooting me a disbelieving look, I raise one brow to let her know there’s plenty more trouble if she’s looking for it.
She turns, taking her seat on the throne, the back of her skirt still hitched up around her waist. She tries to sit primly, like a little lady, tugging at the front of her skirt in hopes of hiding her pussy from my view.
Her pretty pussy that I know is wet for my touches.
Her nipples strain against her thin shirt, twice as prominent as they were before I spanked her.
Her cheeks are pink, almost red, her lids heavy with lust, though her full bottom lip sticks out.
Pouting.
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Luca. You’ve been so wrapped up with work, I only wanted to get your attention.”
That’s only half the truth. I feel my brow raise. “You meant to test me.”
She gives a heavy sigh. “I guess.” Her big brown eyes turn up to meet mine.
And I want to gather her in my arms. Carry her to bed. Show her how much I love her.
But that’s not where we are right now.
I lean over her, keeping my tone even, but ruthless.
I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, demanding she hold my gaze.
“Don’t test me. Don’t play games. You want something from me? You ask.” I move my face to hers, my lips hovering just a beat away from hers. “And I’ll give it to. Anything you want.”
I close the space between us and punctuate my words with a harsh kiss, my message clear.
She is mine.
And mine alone.
And she is to obey me.
When I pull away, she’s breathless, her lips parted, wanting more.
“Now sit here on your throne and wait for me. And when I return, I’ll give you all the attention you’ve been craving.”
And I leave the room. Locking the door behind me.
The vision of my punished princess on her throne is for my eyes.
My eyes only.
13
Esme
The lock clicks behind him.
The sound brings some relief, knowing no one will stumble in here and find me this way.
My ass is burning. I shift my weight from my right cheek to my left, hoping to ease the sting. The room is chilly and I’m not dressed for the cool air. Every hair on my body seems to be standing on end.
Is it from the temperature?
Or the naughty feeling I have in the pit of my stomach?
Sitting here on the throne I’ve been punished on. Waiting for him to return, so he can give me the attention I’ve been craving.
What will he do to me? Does he mean to further punish me? Or will he make good on his promise, and give me what I want?
What I want is his hands on me.
I shift my weight again, pressing my thighs together.
I ache, I throb for him.
I can’t tear my gaze from the door. I long to hear footsteps, to hear that lock click. For him to come in here and touch me. To relieve me of this empty feeling between my thighs.
How long will he be gone?
Is he waiting for me to think over what he said?
My ass was burning so much I can’t really remember what he wanted me to sit here and think about—the only thing I think about is his cock.
Sit on your throne, on your bare, whipped ass, and think about your husband, and how you’re going to obey me.
He lost me at the bare, whipped ass part because those words made the aching worse.
Okay, Esme. For once, can you just do what you’re supposed to?
I try to focus on the idea of obeying him, but let’s be honest, I’m a work in progress. Instead, my mind ping pongs between scenarios. All the things he might have planned for me.
Anticipation grows in my belly and my thighs press together tighter.
After what feels like ages, I finally hear the steps of heavy boots. The twist of a key in a lock.
Blue eyes on mine.
He closes the door behind him, locking it once more.
He crosses the room and with each of his steps, I feel my heart beat harder in my chest.
“Luca.”
But before I can say anymore, he’s down on the ground, kneeling before me, his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine. Kissing the apologies from my lips. His hands glide down to my breasts, palming and caressing them.
They slide further down.
One open palm on the top of each of my thighs. He pushes my legs apart. Spreads them wide, his tongue dipping into my mouth.
Fuck. Me.
The way he touches me, the way he makes me feel.
I’d do anything for him in this moment.
Anything to keep him doing this.
He slides his hands around my hips. “You wanted my attention? You got it.”
One brutal tug and he’s got my ass on the edge of the seat, my legs parted further, my bare pussy pressed against his waist, the cold leather of his belt buckle rubs at my clit.
He leaves me with a smile.
Disappearing between my thighs.
“Luca. What are you doing? You can’t do that in here—”
My words lodge in my throat, my nails digging into the wood at the
first tiny flick of his tongue against my swollen bud.
He can do this here, in the throne room.
He can do this…anywhere.
“Oh my God.” My hands go to his hair, my fingers gliding through his thick locks as he tastes me.
His mouth is hot against me as he kisses me, licking his tongue up and down me, stopping to swirl around my clit each time he reaches it. One hand clutches at my waist, his other slides to where his mouth is.
He teases my opening with the tip of his finger as he devours me, making my hips rock further toward him. “Luca. Luca. Luca.”
I swear he does these things to me just to hear his name roll off my tongue.
He plunges a finger inside me, fucking me as he kisses.
And it’s my undoing.
I can’t hold back.
I can’t hold it in.
“Oh my fuck, Luca. Oh my fucking…oh fuck!” The orgasm wraps around me tighter and tighter until like a spring loosed, I fucking explode. My head falls back, my spine arching, the tips of my toes pressing against the stone ground as I come in a racking shudder.
I lose control, begging him to stop, “Please, Luca, I can’t take any more.”
I push at his shoulders, but it’s no use, he so much stronger than me. He adds a second finger to the first, thrusting deeper, harder, his tongue sending tremors of lightning from my clit straight to my core.
And I come again.
In a hard burst.
He kisses his way down my inner thigh.
And I try to breathe.
He rises on his knees, his mouth finds mine and he kisses me deeply, pressing his tongue against mine, making me taste my own sex. He likes that. I know he likes that.
His hands are in my hair, gathering it at the nape of my neck as he kisses me. Tingles run down my spine, my legs still stretched apart, my pussy clenching as he kisses me, the fabric below me damp.
Have we ruined this ancestral upholstery?
Do I care?
Apparently, he doesn’t.
As he kisses me, he tugs my hair, now wrapped around his hand, making me stand on my feet. He breaks our kiss, but doesn’t release my hair. Instead, he tugs it back, using it to turn me until I’m once again over the arm of my throne.
My hands go to the gold arm once more to steady myself.
He’s holding my hair, tugging me down until I’m bent all the way over the throne, my toes pressing in the ground, my fingernails digging into the soft wood. Will the gold gilt be under my nails tomorrow? Will anyone wonder why?
Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals) Page 13
