Fraya turned to Emilio. “Does everyone already know?” she said under her breath.
He shrugged. “I had to inform my family of the happy turn of events.”
Fraya flushed. What his family had to be thinking about Emilio’s hasty mating...
Maria urged them forward into the big reception hall. “Did you have lunch in the plane, Mr. Larraín?”
“No, Maria. Mrs. Larraín,” he emphasized the last name, “didn’t eat breakfast either.”
“You must be hungry,” Maria said. “Will you first take a drink in the lounge?” She motioned to another set of carved wooden doors at the end of the hall.
“We’ll have a drink first, thank you,” Emilio said.
Fraya wanted to object. All she wanted was her bed. She stopped dead as a thought hit her. Her bed? Where will she sleep? Will she have her own room, or will she be forced to share Emilio’s bed? Thoughts of a previous time she shared his bed made her flush anew. The memory also had the unwelcome effect of conjuring images that caused an untimely arousal to attack her body. Oh no. The mating heat she remembered from their very first encounter was kicking in. Soon it would be unbearable. She put a clammy hand on her hot neck.
Emilio paused. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she said, too quickly. “I think I can do with a drink.”
No, she thought, everything is not alright. If she didn’t get relief from her physical symptoms, she was going to die. She focused on her breathing. She had vowed never to give Emilio the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. Admitting to her need would be admitting defeat. She could do this. Maybe drinking would help. She’d never actually tried it.
He only gave her a smile that didn’t seem so reassuring now and opened the door she assumed led to his lounge. He took her arm to guide her over the step, and when they stood inside the elegant room, they both jerked as a crowd of people appeared from nowhere and shouted, “Surprise!”
Chapter Twelve
Fraya retreated instinctively as a mass of people descended on her. She looked at Emilio in confusion, but he only shrugged apologetically. A second later she was swamped by the crowd. A beautiful, elderly lady got to her first, pulling her into an embrace that left her breathless.
“I’m so glad I finally have a daughter,” she said, releasing Fraya to hold her at arm’s length. “Let me get a good look at you.” She turned to Emilio. “She’s a beauty!” Her hand smoothed over Fraya’s cheek. “I’m Isabella, Emilio’s mother.”
Fraya managed, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Larraín,” weakly before a pretty brunette with wavy hair and long legs interrupted their hug to have her turn. She threw her arms around Fraya’s neck. “And I’m Ana, Emilio’s cousin.”
“Please, call me Isabella,” Emilio’s mom interjected. “I’m so happy you’re home. We prepared a meal to welcome you.”
“We can go shopping together. I’ll show you all the best places to buy fashion brands and shoes,” Ana said.
“We’ll first go out for a decent Pisco in town,” another tall girl said. She, too, wrapped her arms around Fraya. “I’m Sofia, Emilio’s other cousin.”
Isabella took Fraya’s hand and pulled her into the suffocating group. “This is Tony, my brother, Sofia’s dad. We’re Italian. And this is Delfina, his wife, and my sister-in-law. Needless to say, she’s Chilean. Over here is Juan, Romero’s brother. He’s Ana’s father. Romero is my husband.” She waved at an attractive, grey man who was handing Emilio a whiskey. “Romero! Romero! Come over here. Come meet your daughter-in-law.”
Isabella pushed Fraya in the men’s direction. “Isn’t she a beauty, Romero?”
Romero kissed Fraya’s hand. “Welcome to the family.” He smiled conspiringly. “You look like you need a drink. What can I offer you?”
Fraya glanced at Emilio, feeling bewildered. She had never been good with parties, or crowds. Nervousness obviously didn’t go well with her addiction to her new mate. It seemed to add fuel to her already burning need. She felt a flaming arrow hit her right between her legs. Cold perspiration broke out over her body and her hand involuntarily went to her stomach as spasms hit her in consecutive waves. She couldn’t speak, for the fear that if she opened her mouth, what would come out would be a howling moan. Instead she hoped that Emilio would decide on her behalf.
Emilio took her arm. “She’ll have a glass of red wine.” He looked for her approval and when she nodded, he bent down to whisper in her ear, “You look terrible. Need me, yet?” in a provocative tone.
“No,” she bit out.
He pursed his lips. “Are you sure? It’s not a sin to admit that you need me.”
She took a deep breath and when the contracting pain released her womb, she said, “I’m not used to such a crowd. It’s overwhelming, that’s all. I didn’t expect such a welcome.”
His expression changed to one of concern.
“I do apologize,” he said, looking like he meant it. “Neither did I. But they mean well.”
“Of course.”
She freed her arm. She needed to get away from him, or she was going to beg him to take her, and that her pride would never survive.
“I need some air. I feel suffocated,” she said, looking at the veranda doors.
She had expected Emilio to let her escape, not to see through her plan, but he turned to Romero who returned with a glass of wine and said, “Excuse us for a minute. I need to see Fraya about something in my study.”
Emilio led her back into the entrance, and down the hallway to the right, opening the door of a room looking over the front veranda. He moved her inside with his hand on her back and closed the door behind them.
The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with even colored, numeric volumes. She wondered what they were, as no one besides collectors owned books any longer. The dark wood furniture gave the room a cozy ambience. Burgundy carpets with Mapuche designs covered the floors. If it hadn’t been for her agony she would have taken in more details, skimmed the book titles, but all she could do was focus on breathing and wipe a hand over her face. It was too hot inside.
She turned to ask Emilio if they could step onto the veranda, but found him standing flush against her. With a flick of her head she could brush her lips over the discs of his nipples. He looked good in a light suit and linen shirt. Disturbed by the way her trail of thoughts intensified her need, her head jerked up from his impressive chest. When she saw his darkened eyes, his expression one of pure, male lust, blood gushed to her ears from wanting and alarm.
He ran a thumb over her cheek. She stared up at him, fighting not to lean into the touch, and then, before she could contemplate it, his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. Her need for him tripled instantly. She felt her body react in an amplified response, her nipples hard and her womb contracting, but before the fire could reach that part of her that craved it most, he released her abruptly and said, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
She did, she honestly wanted him, but she wasn’t ready to admit it. Why couldn’t he just tie her up and gag her? Why did he want to punish her by forcing her to say what was embarrassing to her?
Upon her silence, he said, “Then tell me you need me. For how long will you let yourself suffer because you’re too pigheaded to admit what has happened between us? Ask me to take you.”
Her pride would never allow her such honesty. No, she wouldn’t beg. She would never again beg like she had that first night. She was ashamed of herself for what she had done and she wouldn’t repeat the humiliation. Besides, this wasn’t the kind of conversation they should be having now.
“We should get back to your family.”
“Alright. Until you’re honest with yourself, and with me, we’ll do it my way.”
Fraya watched Emilio warily as he walked to the window and plucked the curtains close.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“Take off your panties.”
“What?”
&n
bsp; She stared at him in disbelief, already defying him with her eyes, but her breasts puckered to rock hard pebbles under the silk of her camisole. He strode back to her, slowly, his eyes all over her body. He hadn’t missed the physical change, the flesh straining against her bra, because his fingers found the tips that were aching for attention.
He pinched them lightly. “I said take them off.”
She took a shaky breath and glanced at the door. “Now? Your family ... they’re waiting...”
The reality of what she had agreed to dawned on her for the first time. Yesterday it seemed plausible. Sleep with the man when he wanted her to. But her mental image had been one of being in his bed, not standing in his study with a room full of people waiting on them down the hall.
“When I want, where I want, and how I want. Remember? Since you’re not showing signs of participation I’m assuming you want me to treat you like that sex slave you accused me of making you. Just ask and we’ll do it any way you want. Until then, I believe I asked you to remove your panties.”
She swallowed.
“Better get a move on before someone gets impatient and comes looking for us,” he said. “The door isn’t locked.”
Why could he not give her his reassuring smile now? His lips were tilted in a pure demonic curve, and like it or not, it did turn her on.
“I’ll say it one more time, Fraya. Take them off, or if you prefer, I’ll tear them off.”
This was it. The prize she had agreed to pay for saving face and for securing her job.
When she bent and moved shaky fingers to the ankle clasps of her shoes, Emilio shook his head. “Leave the shoes.”
Oh, God. He was kinky. But she couldn’t really say it was something she didn’t already know. The things he had done to her on that night... She felt for the elastic of her French style panties, and with trembling hands she lowered the white, lacy underwear over her hips, down to her ankles.
He watched her kick each high-heeled foot free, and only when her honeymoon briefs lay discarded by his feet, did he say, “Bend over the desk.”
Her eyes widened as a part of her clenched deliciously. “Emilio...”
“You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?” His blue eyes darkened dangerously. “I won’t ask you again.”
She turned slowly, hesitantly obeying his command. She grabbed the edge of the desk, anticipation simultaneously exciting and frightening her.
“Pull up your skirt.”
She found the hem and fumbled the fabric in her fists, lifting it to her thighs. Despite her body’s reaction, she felt shy and prayed for mercy, that he wouldn’t ask her for more, but she already knew it was a futile wish even before he spoke again.
“Higher.”
Her fingers took more of the chiffon and its underlying silk, pulling it slowly over her hips. She was terribly aware of her exposed stance and suddenly wished he would tie her up, like the first time, allowing her to belief that she had no choice but to do the naughty things she wanted to. She stared back at him, her eyes wider now.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Eyes in front.”
She looked forward, biting her lip.
“Spread your legs.”
Oh no.
“I said, spread your legs.”
She moved her feet slightly apart, feeling her body begging for him.
“Wider,” he said relentlessly.
Blood rushed to her face when she obliged. Alright, he wanted her spread, so she’ll give him something to look at then, she thought obstinately as she pushed her butt out. Two of them could play this game.
He gave a low laugh. “Stop teasing.”
When she tried to look over her shoulder, he tapped the cheek of her ass playfully. “Eyes ahead, or you’ll only make this harder on yourself.”
Then his hand was gone, and another second later she heard the zipper of his pants. She didn’t expect the delay that came, him doing nothing, saying nothing. Anticipation alone nearly drove her insane. Her memory drifted back to the first time, when he had paused to reach for a foil packet, when she had watched him stroking himself, letting her taste him before he had slipped on a condom. This time she couldn’t watch him to contemplate his intentions.
When he finally did move, he took her by surprise. Her mind still in the past, with the memory of Emilio naked, posed over her, he now was already inside her with a powerful shove. She gasped, but before a sound could escape her lips he was moving back and with the next thrust he was buried inside her to the hilt. She bit her lip not to scream with pleasure. When she arched her back, lifting her chest off the desk, his hand pressed down on her shoulders in silent instruction. She stilled to feel his hands moving to her hips, grinding down, and pulling her hard to him.
“I told you, baby...” He moved again, ever so slowly, giving her so little. She groaned. “I will have you...” More torturous movement, this time hard and fast. “Again...” She gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself. “And again...” She was faintly aware of crumbling some papers in her fist as he pushed her body backward and forward over the hard surface of the bureau. Her nipples scraped on the wood. The sensation was too much to bear. She grinded back, desperate for more, but was rewarded with a slap on her rear.
“Keep still. I’ll do the moving.”
She needed faster. She wanted harder. She felt that magic thing starting to happen, that thing she had only felt once in her life, a spontaneous orgasm starting to build in the depths of her body. She went onto her tiptoes, feeling her muscles tighten. Before she could tumble over the edge of her release, he stilled, arched into her and groaned. She could feel him spilling inside of her, jerking her to him fiercely, her burning agony slowly diminishing and then his body and his contact were gone.
What? No. She trembled. “Emilio...”
He bent over her, wiping the hair away that had fallen over her face.
“You can’t ... stop now,” she said, her voice coming in gulps.
“You don’t get to come. That was my revenge fuck, baby,” he said in her ear. “Maybe next time, when you’re honest, we’ll play it your way.”
She tensed in disbelief. He was just going to leave her hanging? Bringing her so close, and then leave her like this?
She felt him lift his body from hers and heard his zipper. Fraya straightened awkwardly, panting, and pulled down her skirt. She turned to face him and opened her mouth, but a loud knock on the door stilled her.
“Emilio? Fraya?” Isabella’s voice drifted through the door. “We’re waiting for you. We’re going to bring out the cake.”
“We’ll be right there, Mom,” Emilio called as he tugged his shirt back into his pants. He pointed at a side door. “You can use that bathroom. I’ll meet you back in the lounge.”
She could only stare at him, disillusioned and confused. When she finally managed to recompose herself and bent to collect her discarded underwear, he snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket.
“You won’t need these,” he said, shooting her a perfect, not so reassuring smile before he turned and left her cold in his study.
Chapter Thirteen
If Emilio thought he had unnerved her, he had another thing coming. Now that the pain didn’t bite into her flesh, nibbling at her insides, Fraya felt renewed courage. It felt like she had lived with the unease forever, instead of only for a year. For the first time since their passionate night, discomfort, spasms or a need didn’t plague her. His sperm had stilled her pains, but her body still screamed for release.
She lifted her chin, staring at the closed door through which Emilio had disappeared. It took more than withholding her from an orgasm to upset her. In fact, she had been living without climaxing for years. With Gene she hardly ever thought about it. That was until last year, until that fatal night in an eleventh-century hotel in Domfront. Since then it played on her mind every now and then. Alright, maybe she thought about it a lot. But she didn’t need it. She didn’t want it. If that was t
rue, then why were her legs trembling, and every nerve between them clenching in need?
Fraya gritted her teeth, left the study, walked down the hallway and stepped back into the busy lounge just in time to see a huge cake being wheeled in. It was a three-layered traditional white wedding cake with the happy, plastic couple on top.
In an instant, Isabella appeared at her side. “I know it’s cheesy,” she said, her voice low enough for only Fraya to hear, “but since we had no part in the ceremony, I thought we’d do something to give your welcoming party a bit of a mating feel.”
Guilt washed over Fraya. She had taken an immediate liking to Isabella and she felt bad for the lie Emilio and she were concocting for the sake of ... sex.
“It’s a beautiful idea, Isabella. Thank you,” Fraya said, glancing in Emilio’s direction, wondering what he was going to make of the gesture. And when she caught his eye, she was sorry she ever raised hers, because he gave her his knowing grin before letting his gaze travel down her body and coming to rest on the part that was naked underneath her skirt.
Her muscles contracted, not doing anything to calm the throbbing need still tormenting her. Son of a bitch.
“Where’s the knife?” Isabella looked around. “Ana, go get us a knife for the cake, will you?”
Fraya turned to her mother-in-law. “Excuse me, I just need to visit the ladies. I’ll be back in a flash.”
Isabella patted her hand. “There’s a guest restroom in the entrance, dear. First door to the left.”
Fraya found the powder room and closed the door behind her in awe. It looked like the ladies room she had seen at the Country Club where her aunt had been a member. A lover’s sofa stood against the wall, facing a mirror with make-up lights suspended on cables from the ceiling. The floor was the same beautiful black and white marble squares as in the entrance, but here a wine-red Persian carpet lent a feeling of warmth. Lingering only to smell the selection of lime and coconut body products, Fraya faced the mirror, glanced back at the door, and swiftly removed her lace bra without removing her blouse, a trick she had perfected when she had been too shy to undress in front of the other girls in the communal dorm bathroom. She bundled the measly piece of clothing into her fist before giving herself an evil grin for a measure of confidence.
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