The Fall of Sin

by Bella J

  “Mila.” I breathed and stood, stalking closer as I admired every contour of her body. “Bellissima.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You approve?”

  “Oh, I more than approve.” I took her hand and let her twirl in front of me, the flare of the dress gently brushing against the fabric of my pants. With a subtle tug, I pulled her up to me. “You are a rare beauty, Mila.”

  “And you are a smooth talker.”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  She caressed my shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you like the dress, because I was hoping,” she bit her lip, “I was hoping I could wear it on Friday evening…when I accompany my husband to his charity ball.”

  Like water dousing a fire, her words ruined the moment, and I retreated, letting her go and stepping back. “No.” My answer was simple. Curt. Not up for discussion or debate.

  “Why not?”

  Or apparently it was.

  I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced everywhere except at her. “Because I said so.”

  “I’m not a child, Saint. Because I said so doesn’t apply to me.”

  “Whatever the fuck I say applies to you.”

  “Why?” She placed her hands on her hips, defiance beaming from her forest eyes. “Because I’m your wife.”

  “Exactly!” I spat out. “It took you awhile, but you eventually caught on, I see.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your fucking employees, or a damned salesclerk who annoys you.”

  “You challenging me every chance you get is what annoys me.”

  “Bullshit. You love the fact that I challenge you.” Her lips parted, her eyes sparkling with a glimmer of rebellion. “It turns you on.”

  I launched forward and grabbed her chin, digging my fingers into her cheeks, her lips all plump and puckered, perfect for me to devour. “It also makes my fucking blood boil.”

  “I guess that makes you the devil with a hard-on.”

  Air rushed through my teeth, and I bit my lower lip while my gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth and back up. “If you were any other woman, you’d feel the hard end of my wrath.”

  “You mean like the day I felt the hard edge of your belt, tied to your bed squirming like a whore because you refused to satisfy me as your wife?”

  I forced her back against the wall and tipped my head to the side as I brought my face inches from hers. “I should tear this dress off you right now and make your flesh burn for disrespecting me like this.”

  “Then do it,” she challenged. “Tear this dress off me and do your worst. I still won’t stop demanding my rights as your wife.”

  “You never even wanted to be my wife in the first place, and now you think you can demand shit?”

  She lifted her face, eyes dark and determined. “See it as a way to compensate for forcing me into this role. A way to make up for the inconvenience,” she sneered, yet her lips dripped with temptation that had me grabbing on to my last thread of control.

  Fuck. This woman knew exactly how to ignite a raging inferno in the devil’s belly. And right now, the fire was burning all the way down to my aching cock.

  I pressed my body hard against hers, my Italian leather shoes kissing her naked toes. All it took was one roll of my hips for her to feel how hard I was, and it earned me a subtle whimper from her parted lips. It would be so easy for me to bunch this dress up around her hips, spread her legs, and fuck her within an inch of her life. Nothing or no one would be able to stop me from making her scream while her cum gushed down my thighs. And judging by the hunger that reflected in her eyes, it was exactly the behavior she was anticipating—a savage who didn’t ask but simply took.

  I turned her face away from mine and pressed my lips on the skin below her ear and whispered, “You want to play, Mrs. Russo? Well, so can I.”

  A rush of air escaped her plump lips when I let go and stepped back, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

  I straightened my suit jacket. “You can join me at the charity ball as my wife. But you will do exactly as I say. Remain at my side at all times. Only speak when spoken to.” I drank in the sight of her. “And yes, you will be wearing that dress,” I smirked, “but nothing underneath.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Our gazes locked, neither of us willing to back down or show submission.

  Maria walked into the room with two other salesclerks, all carrying a fuckton of lingerie pieces. “This is all the red items we have in this range.” She started hanging each item on a gold rail to the left.

  Mila glanced from me to her. “I’ll take it all.”

  Maria balked, and I narrowed my eyes, but Mila merely shrugged as she trotted across the room. “Luckily, my husband here is hellbent on pleasing his wife, so he won’t mind paying for the entire collection. Would you, dear?” The smug look on her face was nothing short of a display of victory.

  “Of course not, dear. Nothing but the best for my beautiful wife.”

  Mila smiled warmly and twirled one last time in the red dress that was on the edge of being ruined mere seconds ago.

  She winked at me right before she pulled the curtain closed. I had to let out a half-hearted laugh. It was either that or tearing through those goddamn curtains and bending her sweet body over so I could have my way with her. One thing was for sure; time with Mila would never be dull or dreary.

  Amused to no end, I sat on the couch and noticed Maria stare at my untouched glass of champagne with a frown. Mila came walking out, and I narrowed my eyes.

  “Maria,” I started, “I’m afraid the champagne you served us was not to my wife’s liking.”

  Mila’s mouth dropped open as she balked, her bewildered expression priceless.

  “Of course,” Maria replied with forced politeness.

  I held my arm out to Mila and shot her a warning look, which she heeded by keeping her mouth shut and accepting I had just won that round.

  Reluctantly, she hooked her arm in mine, and I leaned closer. “See, I can play too.”

  13

  Mila

  I had to give it to him. He played that scenario pretty well, blaming the untouched champagne on me after I gave him a piece of my mind for being a prick to the salesclerk.

  On our drive to the hotel, Elena chatted away about the items she had bought herself, and how she couldn’t wait to see all the things Saint had bought me. The trunk of the SUV was stacked with boxes filled with designer bags, dresses, shoes, items that made for a sizable wardrobe most women could only dream about.

  We arrived at the hotel, and the second I stepped foot in the reception area, I was transported to a different world of Milan’s rich artistic heritage. It was nothing as I imagined it would be with its blend of past and present artistry. It was an oasis of elegance, the interior design warm with the friendly faces of staff standing at the ready as if they were to greet royalty at any moment.

  Elena grabbed my hand and snickered when she saw the expression on my face. “What did I tell you?”

  “Elena, this is…” I was at a loss for words as I admired every inch of the reception area. “I have no words.”

  “This hotel underwent millions of euros’ worth of refurbishment in 2009, but still kept some of its original Art Deco flair.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but in my language, this hotel is awesome.”

  Her laugh was melodic. “Oh, Mila. I do enjoy seeing you experience the grander luxuries in life.” She leaned closer as if we were two best friends engaging in gossip. “As a Russo wife should. Now, wait until you see the presidential suite. It is the epitome of luxury, and with its three bedrooms, it can accommodate all of us.”

  “Mila.” Saint grabbed my hand and clutched it tight. “The elevator is this way. Elena, I reserved a different suite for you.”

  “Oh.” Elena seemed surprised. “James and I won’t be joining you in the presidential suite?”

  “No.” His reply was clipped, and there was
a fleeting look of hurt on Elena’s features, but it passed just as quickly.

  I turned to Saint. “The suite has three bedrooms. I don’t see why James and Elena can’t join us.”

  “Not to worry,” Elena started with a dulcet tone. “It’s understandable that my nephew would like some privacy with his wife.” She leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes,” Saint said. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

  Elena seemed disappointed. “Can we not do some sightseeing while we’re here?”

  “I think we’ve done enough sightseeing.”

  I squeezed his hand. “We’ve only been to one boutique, Saint.”

  He ignored me and dismissed Elena with a courteous nod before leading me to the elevator.

  “Signor Saint,” the elevator operator greeted as we approached. “Bentornato in hotel.”

  “Grazie, Piero.”

  “Solita suite, signor Saint?”

  Saint glanced down at me as we stepped inside the elevator. “Yes. Same suite. Thank you, Piero.” He settled his hand against the hollow of my back. “You’ll start learning Italian when we get back to the Empress.”

  “I will?”

  “Sì.”

  The panel of buttons lit up as the elevator moved. A sickening feeling of nostalgia gripped my insides. I remembered the day Brad and I got into the elevator on our way up to deliver a package. Little did I know I was the package and Brad was living the last fifteen minutes of his life. Now, while I stood next to Saint dressed in designer clothes, tucked safely at his side, that night felt surreal. Like it never happened. As if it was just a nightmare. But the one thing I remembered so vividly, so clearly as if it happened yesterday, was the sight of Brad’s body, the bullet wound in his head bleeding out as the fibers of the plush carpet soaked it all in. I remembered the metallic smell, the pungent stench of fresh blood that propelled a violent surge of nausea up my throat. The urge to vomit was overwhelming, and I had to place my hand in front of my mouth and close my eyes, trying my best not to get sick on the marble floor of the elevator.

  “Mila, are you okay?”

  I held up my hand to stop Saint from getting too close in case I decided to ruin his Italian leather shoes. “I’m okay.” My words were choked. “I just…I feel a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

  “You haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I’m fine.” I swallowed hard and tried to choke down the nausea.

  The elevator doors opened, and Piero stepped out as Saint took my hand, ushering me out of the confined space and into a spacious foyer adorned with vintage Italian architecture and Renaissance design. Tall pillars stood in the archway that separated the foyer from the living room. I slowly twirled around, trying to take in every inch of the suite. There was only one word to describe it. Majestic…just like my husband.

  “I’ll order us some room service. You need to eat.”

  I wanted to object but realized my nausea was gone. Probably stunned by the lavish surroundings I was trying to take in all at once.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” Saint walked out in front. “Our bedroom is the one at the end of the hall, with the terrace.”

  I balked. “Our bedroom?”

  He turned to face me. “Yes, Mila. Our bedroom. Would you prefer to have your own?”

  “Well…um—”

  “Good.” He smirked. “Like I said, at the end of the hall.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks like I was a damn high school girl on prom night, about to share a room with a boy for the first time.

  “Fuck,” I muttered when Saint disappeared behind a pillar, out of sight.

  Aimlessly, I roamed through the suite, gently touching polished furniture and smooth surfaces. Two months ago, I was living in a crummy apartment with a drug addict roommate who didn’t even know I was there. And now, here I was, wandering the halls of a presidential suite only the world’s wealthiest people could afford.

  A double door led to the indoor swimming pool, and I sucked in a breath. More pillars stretched from the floor to the high ceiling, the temperature slightly more humid than the rest of the suite. My heels clicked loudly on the granite flooring, so I slipped them off and traipsed around the pool. The water was crystal, and two mosaic dolphins adorned the bottom of the pool as if made of precious gems. Exotic plants stood in all corners of the open space, an earthy scent masking the smell of chlorine.

  I bent at the knee and eased my fingers through the lukewarm water. It felt like silk against my skin, and even though I had been through hell to get here, for a single moment I relished the luxuries of my new life.

  “Go on. Take a swim.”

  I noticed Saint lean against a pillar as he watched me with devil eyes. “We bought dresses and lingerie. Not swimwear.” I straightened, but Saint remained still.

  “Swim naked.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Take off your clothes, Mila.”

  I let out a laugh and cast my eyes up to the ceiling. “You’re not serious.”

  “Take off. Your clothes.”

  He leveled me with a pointed stare, and there was nothing playful in the depths of his eyes. His features were stone, his irises dark and heavy—a drastic change from mere minutes ago.

  “Is this another stunt of yours, like the one where you watched me take a shower?”

  He crossed his arms and slanted a brow. “You are a lot of things, Mila, but obedient is not one of them.”

  “Are you only realizing this now?” I challenged, determined to not show weakness. But my belly was filled with equal parts fear and anticipation. Saint had shown me a less cruel side to him the last few weeks, but that didn’t mean I was no longer afraid of him. I knew the darkness that lurked within him. I’d been on the receiving end of that darkness more than once. Just thinking about it tied my insides with barbed wire, twisting and tightening.

  As he took a step toward me, I instinctively inched back. The emotions I felt the day he forced me to take a shower were creeping back in. It was suffocating the desire that bloomed within me, little by little.

  “Are you afraid of me, Mila?”

  “If I remember correctly, I’m the one supposed to ask the question.”

  His lips curved at the edge. “Answer my question, and I’ll grant you two.”

  “Two questions?” The prospects intrigued me.

  He nodded. “Two questions.”

  This time, I took a tiny step forward, the cold from the floor seeping through my bare feet. “Fine. Yes, you do scare me even though you’ve been less cruel to me lately.”

  His eyebrows dipped. “Cruel? Oh, Mila. I’ve never been cruel to you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He inched forward. “If I were cruel, you’d be wearing rags instead of designer labels. You’d get stale bread to eat, and not Italian cuisine.” I swallowed hard as I watched him come closer and closer. “If I were cruel, you’ll be tied and gagged in my motherfucking basement. Your body would be aching from incessant fucking. Your thighs would burn from being spread-eagled for long periods of time while you have no choice but to take my cock over and over again.” He tilted his head and narrowed eyes framed with dark eyebrows. “If I were cruel, Mila, there would be nothing left of you. Just an empty shell that existed solely because I allowed it.”

  The low tenor in his voice penetrated my spine with fear, and I had to shift from one leg to the other to stop myself from falling from weakened knees. After everything I’d been through with this man, I believed every word he had just spoken. The hidden warning in his words was that I had lost sight of who he really was—that I hadn’t seen the worst of him yet. The silent strength I had harbored vanished, replaced with uncertainty yet again. “Okay. So, according to you, you’ve been what? Lenient? Tolerant?”

  “Dominant,” he replied with a smug look on his face.

  “I won’t argue that.”
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  “Then do what I say. Take off your clothes.”

  My skin turned to heated flesh as if he had already touched it. My lips parted as if he were mere moments away from kissing them. There were at least seven feet between us, but my increasingly rapid breaths and clenching thighs were as if he had his body pressed against mine.

  “Will you be joining me?” It was hard to not stutter, his intimidating presence filling every empty space around me.

  “If that little shower scenario is any indication, you will know that I will not be joining you. But I will be spectating.”

  “Why? Why just stand in the shadows as an onlooker?”

  He studied me from under dark lashes, eyes radiant in the sharp lighting. “As a man with plenty of valuable assets, I like to sit back and admire those possessions I’ve worked so hard to come by.”

  “I’m not your possession, Saint.”

  The smug look on his face suggested he expected my reaction. “Of course you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what are you? My captive?”

  If it were a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. To say I was indeed his captive. But lately, it felt less and less like the truth.

  “Tell me, Mila. What are you?”

  I didn’t like how he was forcing me into a corner, shifting our conversation into a direction I wasn’t ready to go. “I don’t know.” It was an honest answer.

  “Okay. Then answer me this. If I had to tell you right here, right now, that you had your freedom. That you can decide whether you want to stay or leave, without any repercussions…what would your answer be?”

  This was exactly the direction of conversation I was trying to avoid. Saint had coerced me throughout this entire conversation, slowly and tactically cornering me. I wasn’t ready to have this conversation with him because I myself didn’t know what I’d do if he had to suddenly give me my freedom to choose.