by J, Bella
My chest closed, every breath strained as I cradled my head in my hands. “The world’s best kept secret,” I mumbled to myself, repeating the words he said to me in the car. “Who is he?” I looked up. “Who is the Russo son I was supposed to marry?”
Saint cocked his head, the darkness that surrounded him now a volcanic obsidian. “Me.”
My heart came to a screeching halt, and I forgot how to breathe, my body numb and mind an empty void of black. The blood in my veins ran cold, ice spreading down my spine, cutting through my gut.
Saint stood straight, and he looked even more powerful, more ruthless than he had two seconds ago. He fastened the buttons of his suit jacket. “My name is Marcello Saint Russo. And you, dear Mila, are my future wife.”
10
Saint
The moment was even better than I expected. I’d had her for over twenty-four hours, and there were so many times I burned to drop this bomb on her. Especially when I had my hand inside her dress, feeling how her breast fit perfectly in my palm, touching what would soon be mine. The longer I had her so close, the more I found myself wanting her. And the more she fought me with every act of defiance, I imagined how it would feel to finally have her on her knees begging me to give her what she had been denying herself the entire time.
Those pretty forest green eyes of hers widened, the shock on her face a deadly pale. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t send a thrill down my spine, crashing against the head of my cock, which was already throbbing like a motherfucker. Just the sight of her fear, her uncertainty, was enough to send me into a frenzy of chains, whips, and screams of pleasure.
Those wild curls moved as she shook her head. “I’m not marrying you.”
Amused, I cocked a brow. “You don’t have a choice.”
“You can’t make me,” she bit out, her glare like poisoned arrows, aimed straight at my black heart.
“Why do you think you’re here, Mila? Why do you think I went through all this trouble to find you?”
“Why did you?” Those pretty greens narrowed. “What is it that you really want, Saint?”
I tightened my arms in front of my chest, feeling the fabric of my collar scratch the back of my neck. “What makes you think I want anything other than the bride that is owed to me?”
She got up, her demeanor every bit as challenging as the bold gleam in her eyes. “I know men like you. You don’t do anything you don’t want to do, and you can’t stand there and tell me a man like you actually wants to be married to a woman like me.”
I frowned. “A woman like you?”
“Look at me.” She waved her hands in front of her face. “I’m not your type, and you know it.”
Intrigued, I settled back. “And what exactly do you think is my type?”
It was easy to see her courage had momentarily left her, her pale cheeks gaining a sudden rush of pink. “Because. You’re you, and I’m…” She glanced down at her body. “I’m me.”
I chose not to respond. It was entertaining to see her squirm, watch how her little mind went into overdrive, desperate to piece the puzzle together.
She looked back at me. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Isn’t there always?” I walked over to the side table and poured bourbon in two crystal glasses and held one out to her. At first, she shook her head, but I gave her a knowing look, and she reluctantly took the glass from my hand. If eyes were truly the windows to one’s soul, hers was fucking terrified.
“Your real father died a little more than a year ago.”
For a fleeting second, hurt covered every contour of her flawless face. Of course, she wouldn’t feel grief. She didn’t know the man. But his death also meant a part of history, of her life, died with him—a part she would never uncover, no matter what happened from here on out.
I took a sip from the smooth, rich bourbon, savoring it on my tongue for a few seconds. “A few months before your father died, he was forced to sell some of his company’s shares.”
“Why?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is I was the one who bought those shares. Thirty-nine percent of it, to be exact.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, and what this has to do with us getting married.”
I placed my glass down on the table before crossing my arms, knowing we were nearing the part where this conversation could go either way. “Your brother—”
“Wait,” she interrupted. “I have a brother?”
“A younger brother.”
She looked past me, staring into space as she processed it all. “Who…what’s his name? How old is he?”
I frowned, reluctant to give her too much information. This wasn’t a goddamn family tree lesson. This was about getting what I wanted. But it made sense for her to want to know more about a brother she never knew. “His name is Raphael. He’s twenty years old. Turning twenty-one in a few weeks.”
Mila remained silent, her head downturned as she stared vacantly at the floor.
I tightened my arms. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.” For a few seconds, I let the heartless bastard in me take a step back and give her some time to let it all settle in. I could only imagine how confusing all of this had to be for her, but not even a sliver of compassion had the ability to stop me from pursuing my ultimate goal.
To my surprise, she lifted her head and looked right at me, no trace of sadness, and a complete lack of emotion. “What else?”
I smirked. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you?”
“What. Else?”
I inhaled deeply, becoming more intrigued by this woman with every passing second. “Your brother will receive his forty-six percent shares left to him in your father’s will when he turns twenty-one.”
She shrugged. “Makes sense. I still don’t understand what the hell all this has to do with us getting married.”
“It seems there’s a little loophole of sorts in your father’s will.”
“What loophole?”
I took another sip of bourbon and allowed it to rest on my tongue, savoring the smooth taste before swallowing. “There’s another beneficiary who inherits ten percent of the company’s shares.”
Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Who is this beneficiary?”
It was impossible not to smirk like a sly bastard. This next part would be the real curveball—not just to her, but to a lot of other people who thought that will and testament was as simple as black and white. I shot her a pensive look. “Your father’s firstborn child.”
It took a few moments of utter silence for that to sink in—for the true meaning of that statement to make sense to her. And I saw the exact moment the penny dropped, her green eyes going from narrow to wide—her expression from confused to clear realization.
“Me,” she whispered.
I didn’t respond. There was no need to. I kept my distance, studying her in silence while she slowly placed one and one together.
“Oh, my God, that’s it…isn’t it?” Wild curls fell over her shoulders as she tilted her head, and I could see realization dawned on her. “You want my ten percent?”
I clapped my hands in a mocking applause. “You’re a smart one, too.” I tossed back the last of my drink. “That didn’t take you very long.”
“I’m not marrying you, Saint.” The way she watched me with a glint of defiance in her eyes, how she pursed her plump lips, it amused me. It made me wonder how far I would have to go to break her. To make her lose her fight and submit. For me, the hunt was far more enticing than the kill, and something told me Mila would have made for an interesting and tempting hunt.
While we stared at each other, both refusing to look away, the air between us became thick with tension that could snap at any second. It was thrilling—for me.
Not once did she take her eyes off me, her strength beaming from those emerald irises. “Do you understand? I’m not. Marrying you,” she said without blinking.
I snorte
d, fully entertained by the dark-haired princess’s naivety. “You will,” I stated simply. “You will marry me.”
“There’s not a fucking chance in hell that’s happening.”
“Watch your goddamn mouth.”
“Fuck you!”
I launched forward, and with the flick of my wrist I had my hand around her throat, my fingers digging into her jaw, holding her in place. “Do not disrespect me. Ever. I’ve been lenient up until now, but no more,” I snarled, glaring down at her as I slowly forced her back. “You will marry me, and I will get what I want.”
Her nostrils flared and eyes narrowed with a deadly glare. “I won’t do it.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
Like the fighter she’d been since I took her, she lifted her chin, her expression fiery and fearless. “One thing I’ve learned on the streets is there’s always a choice.”
I tightened my grip, clenching my teeth. “Not this time, Mila. Not with me.”
“Screw you.”
With a hard shove, I slammed her back against the wall. “Fine. You want a choice? Here’s one for you.” I forced her to look up at me as I brought my face inches from hers. “Marry me and be my wife until I have what I want. After that, I’ll let you go, and you can pretend like nothing ever happened.” My thumb traced across her chin, and her whole body shuddered. “But if you refuse to marry me, I’ll keep you a prisoner here for the rest of your goddamn life, whoring you out to rich, fat, fucking bastards until you’re old and broken, until no man wants to touch you anymore, and the only thing you’re good for is cleaning piss stains off my bathroom floors. How’s that for a choice?” By gritting my teeth and keeping my face inches from her, I made sure there was no doubt in her mind about how fucking serious I was.
I turned her face to the side, glancing down at the pulsing vein in her neck. “What will it be, Milana? Will you live under my roof as my wife, or will you be a prisoner here…as my slave?”
Her bottom lip trembled, but she still reeked of resistance, every contour of her face hardened with derision. It fucking turned me on to see her so damn determined to fight me. To hate me.
I dragged a thumb down her bottom lip, loving the way she quivered in my hold. “Decide.”
She continued to glare at me from the side. “I can just sign the shares over to you, and you can let me go. There’s no need for us to get married.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
I was losing my patience with this woman. “Decide, Mila.”
“No! Please—”
“Decide!” The word spat out of my mouth, and I jerked her face in my hand. She closed her eyes, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Wife or whore? The choice is simple.”
I could see the tears well up in the corners of her eyes, yet her jaw was clenched, her gaze hard and filled with hate. There was no line I wouldn’t cross to get what I wanted, and I made sure that came across loud and clear as I glared at her.
“Okay,” she choked out, hardly audible.
I squeezed her jaw, forcing her chin up toward me. “I can’t hear you.”
“I said okay.”
“Okay what?”
Her eyes pinched closed. “I’ll marry you.” A blend of disdain and fear reverberated in her voice, and it was like heroin to my blood, inciting a strong current of euphoria that made me crave more. More of her fight. More of her strength. I wanted it all until there was nothing left.
“Good. Now that we agreed on that,” I smirked as victory sang in my blood, “you need to be taught a few lessons if you’re going to act the part of a perfect Russo wife.”
“What—”
The fabric of her shirt tore between my fingers before she had a chance to finish her sentence. A horrifying gasp slipped from her lips. “What are you—”
“You defied me by not cleaning up before you came walking in here demanding answers from me like you had the fucking right.” With every word, my anger grew stronger, and I grabbed her arms, stopping her from trying to cover herself up.
“Let go of me!” She fought against my hold. Her body twisted and thrashed as she struggled against me. “Stop!”
With a flick of her elbow, I lost my grip on her wrist, and she reached up, her arm coming down at me hard and fast, her fist aiming at my face. But she wasn’t fast enough, and I countered, grabbing her wrist again, this time twisting it behind her back as I swung her around, pulling her back against me. Her thrashing grew more panicked, stronger, her screams slamming against the roof as I wrapped an arm around her and dragged her toward my desk, forcing her down, chest-first on the mahogany wood.
Pinning both her arms behind her back, I held her wrists together as I bent over her, pressing my body hard against her.
“Let go of me!” She squirmed and wrestled, trying to break free. But all it did was make my dick harder than it already was, throbbing with a need to fuck submission into her.
“You feel that, Mila?” I flexed, thrusting my cock against her ass. “That’s all you’re going to get by fighting me. Your fight is doing nothing but tempt me.” I took both her wrists in one hand, leaning down, bringing my lips to the curve of her ear. “Now, think long and hard about that. Is that really what you want to do? Tempt a man like me?”
“It’s either that or make this easy for you, and I’m not particularly fond of the latter option.” She wriggled her wrists, but I merely tightened my fingers around them.
“Are you sure about that?” I flexed again, harder this time, pushing her body against the desk, only her toes now touching the ground. “You might be a strong woman, determined to fight me. But let me assure you,” I reached up and brushed her hair from her neck, dropping my lips to the flawless exposed skin, “you don’t have what it takes to survive me, to not break while being fucked by a man who craves your pain. Your fear. And like I said,” I dragged a hand down her side and over the curve of her hip, dipping between her legs, “refuse my offer of marriage, and I’ll whore this little body of yours. And trust me, there are some sick fuckers out there far worse than me.”
Like the switch of a light, she stilled instantly, her body like ice against mine. “I agreed to marry you. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to do as you’re fucking told. Defy me, and you will bear the consequences. There’s no room for error when you’re my wife, Mila. None.”
“I don’t want to be your wife.”
Like venom, her words dripped with repulsion, and I could almost smell her hate. Her rage. Her fear. It seeped through her pores, and it made her so much more enticing.
I yanked her up, her dark, wild curls brushing against the side of my face as I twisted her around, pinning her hands on the desk, crowding her between my arms. The way she glowered at me, fiery forest irises shooting blades of hate right at my forehead—it made me want to tear her clothes off and show her all the different ways she could use that hate for her pleasure…and mine.
A wicked grin started at the edge of my mouth. “You know, on my way to New York to find you, I thought to myself, what the fuck am I going to do with a wife? An arranged marriage was not an idea I was particularly fond of.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
I smirked. “But I have to admit, Mila, the thought of having you as my wife, owning you, I’m starting to like it.” She didn’t respond. Fuck, she didn’t even move. It had been a long while since I felt this entertained by a woman, this intrigued. I could easily have played with her all night, watched her fight me with all she had until she could no longer deny her most primal needs.
Without warning, I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up against me. A shriek ripped from her throat as I turned us around, slamming her back against the wall before I pinned her wrists above her head.
Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, sweat beading down the slit of her breasts.
“Who would have thought the poor,
little orphan girl would have it in her to intrigue a man like me?”
She lifted her chin. “Not one of my finest moments.”
Her well-aimed sarcasm had me smiling, and I allowed myself the pleasure of tracing a single finger down her chest, dragging the tattered fabric of her shirt to the side, revealing her naked breast. A soft whimper left her lips, and I looked her in the eye as I started to draw a lazy circle around the soft curve of flesh. With our eyes locked, it felt like a silent game of cat and mouse—the cat hungry for the mouse to come out and play a game it pretended to want no part in. Yet there was a wicked glint in the little mouse’s eye that made me wonder if she was secretly fighting the same depraved desires as I was.
Round and firm, the darkened flesh around her hard-pebbled nipple begged to be licked, my tongue so very eager to oblige. I was a powerful man, and the word impossible didn’t exist in my world. But while I held Mila, so utterly powerless against me with her half-naked body on display, it was impossible for me to resist what belonged to me by blood, and soon, by law.
The swell of her breast was the perfect shape, and as I leaned down, I made sure to keep my eyes on her face. I wanted to watch her while I played with her, tortured her body by letting her need something she didn’t want.
“Tell me, Mila, if I keep you, will you continue to fight me?”
“With every breath,” she vowed, the expression on her face pained, but there was something else, too. A sheen of jaded lust that painted her cheeks with a faint flush as she watched me bring her nipple to my mouth.
I didn’t wait for permission. I didn’t need it. Not from her. Not from the woman who was born mine. Whose fate had been engraved in our bloodlines.
I sucked her nipple into the heat of my mouth, greedy to taste her. The whimper that rolled from her lips had me sucking hard, the delicate noise leading to a craving that propelled me into a fucking frenzy that would ultimately end with me taking her right here, right now, without so much as a nod of permission from her. The tip of my tongue circled the pebbled peaks, lapping against her flesh while my palm squeezed with vigor. If I didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t stop until it was too late.
