With a kiss and the resulting communion, the deed is done. Elena is my wife.
We smile while facing our guests, who applaud as if having watched an elaborate stage play. In reality that’s exactly what they’ve witnessed.
Elena and I spend the rest of the day making our encore performance. There’s very little time for a break before we have to greet our guests in the ballroom; no time for me and Elena to be alone. We go on performing through the reception, raising our glasses for toasts, making small talk with our guests, and hitting the dance floor.
During our first dance, I lean in close to her ear. “You’re holding up well, gatita.”
She scoffs a dry laugh. “I’m wearing flats. If I was going to have to spend my day in petticoats, I was not going to force myself into heels.”
“Smart girl,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the side of her neck. She shivers, her hand tightening on my arm as I twirl her around the floor. “Are you going to let me help you out of those petticoats tonight?”
Tension starts winding through her like a spring, and that familiar heat flares between us. She turns her head to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “Only if, after you’re done, you get down on your knees and kiss my ass.”
With a chuckle, I nuzzle my nose against hers. “I’d do more than kiss it if given half the chance.”
She’s not so full of sarcasm now, her mouth falling open as she stares back at me. I stroke my fingertips down her spine, tracing what seems like an endless row of white buttons.
“You wouldn’t have to let me inside you if you don’t want. I won’t press the issue. But it’s your wedding day, and the bride deserves to be treasured. Let me treasure you, gatita … with my hands … my mouth …”
Elena’s breath hitches and she grows heavier in my arms, as if her knees have gone weak. “Goddamn you, Diego,” she hisses, her breath warm against my ear.
I’m shaking with laughter now, struggling to keep the timing of the music. “The offer stands, dear wife. All you have to do is say yes.”
The rest of the day seems to drag by, when all I can think about is getting Elena alone—getting my wife alone. Everyone wants to talk to the bride, dance with the bride, make toasts in her honor. I hold my jealous instincts at bay, knowing I’ll have all the time in the world with her after this day. My patience wears thinner by the minute, but I manage to wait until enough time as passed that it wouldn’t be rude for us to make our escape.
Elena looks anxious when I offer her my arm, but she lets me lead her from the ballroom. Her veil was removed hours ago, but her train rustles on the stairs. She still looks as perfect as she did this morning despite all the dancing, eating, and drinking.
Once we’re in our bedroom, I pace away from her and start loosening my tie. I need some distance between us until Elena indicates she wants that to change. I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. As I shrug out of my jacket, then sit on my side of the bed with my back to Elena, I can’t hear any movement. It doesn’t sound like she’s undressing or even sitting down after hours on her feet. My entire body is wound tight, so many urges pulling me in opposite directions I don’t know which to act on. I want to kiss her senseless. I want to tear her out of that dress and tie Elena to the bed so I can have my way with her. I want to fuck her until she screams.
Taking a few short breaths, I wait until I have a handle on myself before turning to face her. She’s standing as still as a statue with her head lowered. Worry pulls me to my feet, and I go to her. Is she having regrets? Has that mind of hers already started formulating a plan of escape? Something ugly and fierce twists my stomach in knots at the thought. If she left me, I don’t think anyone could stop me from leaving destruction in my wake in a quest to get her back. Having her where I can see and feel her makes me feel only slightly better. She might be physically here, but the rest of her could be hundreds of miles away.
I rest my hands on her shoulders and pull her back into me. “Are you all right, gatita? It’s been a long day. Maybe some sleep—”
“Will you help me out of my dress?” she asks, the words tumbling out so fast I almost miss them.
Going completely still, I tighten my hold on her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
I need to be certain before I make a move. I need her to willingly submit because she wants to, not because she feels she has to. Everything about our arrangement has changed, and her new place in my life affords her a level of respect not reserved for a prisoner.
She looks at me over her shoulder, and I don’t see a trace of doubt on her face. “Yes.”
Relief rushes through me, easing some of the suspense putting me on edge. My hands are steady as I slip the tiara free of her hair. Letting it fall to the floor, I go to work on the row of buttons going down her back. Inches of her skin appear with each unfastening, and I press my lips to the base of her neck to inhale her scent. Ever since I allowed her to retrieve personal items from her apartment, she’s started smelling like a mouth-watering perfume that makes me want to lick her from neck to toes. Her breath grows uneven when I let my lips travel across her bared shoulders and slip my hands into the opening of her dress. I trace the lacy fabric of a white bustier across her belly, then up over her breasts. The dress sags down to her waist and she slips her hands out of the delicate sleeves.
Urgency has me moving faster, pushing the dress to her feet, and attacking the strings of her petticoats. So many damned layers that I would see as a nuisance if they hadn’t served to make her look so stunning today. Still, I’m grateful petticoats aren’t an everyday occurrence, unable to imagine how the men of the past used to manage it without going insane.
Finally, I turn her to face me. Her eyelids are heavy, and her lips part on labored breaths as I look her over from head to toe. She’s still wearing her pearls, and I decide they’ll be the only things she keeps on once I get her into bed—that, and the diamond I slipped onto her finger at the altar. Only her bustier, stockings, shoes, and a pair of lacy white panties are left.
“So perfect,” I whisper, trailing my hands up and down her arms. “You made a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her mouth curving into a soft smile.
God, that smile is my kryptonite. I’m losing my mind, developing a serious soft spot for this woman. I had sworn to never let this happen and was certain I didn’t have any warm places left—except for the part of me that belongs to Marcella. But Elena is cracking me open and burrowing deep. I don’t know if I like the feeling but have come to see there’s no need to fight it. As long as she is mine this new, possessive part of me will be satisfied.
I go to my knees and help her out of her shoes, then kiss my way down both her legs while slipping off her stockings. By the time I’m finished, Elena is panting and whimpering, the scent of her arousal making my mouth water. I can’t take it anymore. I’m on my feet one second, then sweeping her off her feet the next and carrying her to bed. She gasps and clings to my neck, looking startled.
“What are you doing?”
“Being romantic,” I tease, kissing her forehead before dropping her on the bed. “I’ve never done it before, but the movies make it look easy. How am I doing so far, gatita?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes, but parts her legs when I climb over her. “Not bad for a rookie. But … it’s unnecessary. It’s not our first time, so you obviously know I’m not … you know, a bride in the traditional sense.”
And thank God for that. I don’t think I have it in me to initiate a virgin. Elena is coming to me ready for all I have to give, and she’s strong enough to meet me on equal ground. She proved that the night I lashed her delicious ass with my belt.
“It’s absolutely necessary,” I tell her while unbuttoning my shirt. “It should be this way on your wedding night. Let me give that to you.”
Elena’s face is creased with confusion, as if she still hasn’t quite figured me out. Not that she’s alone. This person I’m becoming—th
e things she makes me feel—none of it is familiar. It makes me unrecognizable even to myself.
No more thinking. This decision is final, and Elena is mine for life—for better or worse, no matter what.
I go to work on the fastenings of the bustier running down her front, then parting it to reveal her tits. Kissing my way down her neck, I cup her breasts and squeeze, then roll her nipples between my fingers. She responds with a soft moan and arches her back, offering herself up to me. I tongue one of her nipples, making her shiver and squirm beneath me. Elena parts her legs farther, letting me fall flush against her. The heat of her radiates through my pants, making my cock twitch and strain to get into her. Not yet. Not until she’s begging me for it.
Now that I’ve tasted her, I can’t seem to get enough. I let my lips and tongue explore every bare inch on my way down to where I most want to nibble and lick. I find parts of Elena that make her buck and moan and drag her fingers through my hair. By the time I get to the waistband of her panties, she’s raising her hips and making little pleading noises in the back of her throat.
I wrench her legs farther apart, splaying her wide for me. Elena watches me with desperate eyes, her breasts heaving and trembling with every breath. She’s tense with anticipation, her thighs trembling in my hands. I press my mouth to the fabric covering her pussy, groaning to find her wetness has soaked the fabric. She sighs and pushes against my mouth like the greedy little kitten she is, demanding her pleasure. I give it to her, sucking and licking at her through the lace, so impatient that I can’t tear my mouth away to remove her last bit of clothing. She’s just as impatient as I am, raising her hips and yanking the panties downward. I kiss my way up as they come down, lapping at smoothly waxed skin. Unable to wait for her to wiggle out of the panties, I grab at them and yank, ripping the lace to shreds. Then, I press my tongue into her slit and drag it up over her folds and the nub of her clit.
“Oh … fuck,” she cries out, her voice raspy.
Oh, fuck is right. Her skin is satin-soft against my tongue and the taste of her is driving me wild. My intention to go slow and be gentle slip out of my hands as I start to devour her. I suck at her tender flesh and circle my tongue against her clit in rapid circles, producing more of her juices and more of those sexy-as-hell moans from between her lips.
Elena clutches at my shoulders, her nails leaving trails of fire as she drags them over my skin. Her hips buck up off the bed, but I slip my hands under her hips, then grip her inner thighs to hold her down and open. Then I’m fucking her with my tongue and letting my teeth scrape against her most vulnerable places. She’s so wet now that my lips are slick, my tongue coated in her tangy sweetness. My dick has swollen to its limit, and I feel precum dampening my briefs as I press my hips into the bed, needing pressure, friction, something to keep me from losing control. I want Elena to come on my tongue until she can’t take anymore. I want her limp and spent and open when I finally lay on top of her and stuff her full of my cock.
I push her knees back and lap up her juices, then let my tongue wander lower. She makes a surprised sound when I tease the tight pucker of her back hole, trying to lower her knees. I growl and keep her where I want her, determined for her to learn that I will touch, lick, and fuck any part of her I want when she gives me access to her body. Nothing is off-limits.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers, slowly relaxing as she grows used to the new sensation.
I add a thumb against her clit to heighten her pleasure, circling and pressing until I sense she’s let go completely. I can’t help but wonder what kind of pansy-ass men she’s been with before me, and how much she’s missed out on. But then, I can’t ignore a surge of triumph knowing I’ll be the one to teach her—fulfill the filthiest and most twisted of her fantasies. The way she responded to her spanking and light choking with the belt, I know she has some hidden desires locked away. By slipping that ring onto her finger, I’ve taken hold of the key.
“Diego,” she moans. “I need to come … please … please …”
I raise my head and slip two fingers into her wet heat, keeping up the stroke of my thumb on her clit. “Come for me, gatita. Come as many times as you please. I want to feel it … all of it.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of relief, then starts moving her hips in time with my strokes. I curl my fingers to find her G-spot, watching her face twist in a mixture of agony and ecstasy as I work her toward climax.
“That’s it,” I whisper, almost unable to breathe from how badly I want to see her come. “You’re almost there, Elena.”
Her back bows off the bed and she comes so hard I can feel the pulses of it around my knuckles. Her cunt squeezes around me as she grabs at my wrist, urging me to thrust through her orgasms. Her screams fill the room, turning up the intensity of my own arousal until it’s nearly unbearable. I can only wait as long as it takes for her to go limp, panting and staring up at me as if hypnotized. My pants are open in seconds, my briefs pushed down just enough to free my cock. Then, I fall between her legs and give her every inch of me with one quick thrust.
Elena is out of her mind now, moaning and undulating beneath me to match my slow thrusts. I want to make it sweet for her, make love to her like a groom should on his wedding night. But, fuck she’s killing me, her nails digging into my back and one of her legs wrapping around my waist. She’s restless and hungry, wanting more … so I give in. My little kitten likes me rough and raw and ruthless, and I’m a slave to her needs. I take hold of the leg she holds me captive with and push it up until her knee touches her chest. Then I hammer into her, the way made smooth by how wet she is for me. Every stroke produces a drumbeat of flesh against flesh, and the sound of slick flesh around hardness.
“Is this what you want, gatita?” I murmur in her ear. “You want me hard and rough? My dirty little bride.”
“Yes!” she cries, holding me tighter, angling her hips to take me in farther … deeper. “Yes, Diego.”
Her name on my lips pushes me over the edge, and I pound her even harder, trying to reach every corner of her body—every place inside her she’s ever tried to deny me. It’s all mine—body, mind, and soul—and there’s no taking it back. Now that she’s given in to me, she’ll never be free.
When I sink my teeth into her neck, Elena comes again, her slick pussy clenching tight around my cock. I groan and growl as her climax throws me into my own. Instead of pulling out, I surge deeper and let go, spilling every drop inside of her. We lay tangled in each other, Elena accepting the final pulses of my hips as I wring myself dry inside her. I collapse on top of her once I’m spent, my limbs heavy and my head spinning with the euphoria of such a powerful finish.
Elena keeps one arm around me, her hand braced against my back. I nuzzle my face into the side of her neck, surprised to find that I’m content to stay with her. Usually, I can’t wait to be away from the women I fuck. Attachment isn’t my style, and she knows that as well as I do. Still, she hangs on to me, the metal of her wedding ring pressing into my skin in a stark reminder.
I have a wife … and I think I’m falling head over heels in love with her, even though I know she hates me.
I am so fucking screwed.
24
Elena
A month as Diego’s wife flips all my previous expectations on their heads. When coming into this forced marriage, I anticipated stepping into a new form of imprisonment. All his promises of new freedoms would come at a price—one I wasn’t certain I was willing to pay. It took me about two weeks to realize that Diego is a man of his word.
I think I realized that a while ago, but our married life has confirmed it.
It’s so strange, thinking of him as my husband. Even though there was a wedding and all the pomp and ceremony that goes along with it, I still couldn’t let myself think of it as real at first. Walking down that aisle was easier when I allowed myself to believe this was a temporary steppingstone to freedom. Every day, Diego pulverizes those assumptions into dust.
I won’t pretend he’s perfect, because he’s far from it. But then, I’m the batshit crazy chick who’s finding it easier and easier to succumb to Stockholm Syndrome.
Two days after our wedding—when Diego finally climbed from on top of me and let me leave the bedroom—I was allowed to resume my work at Belleza and have lunch with my sister before she left town to return to Boston. My staff were surprised and happy to see me, and didn’t question my long absence. After answering a ton of questions about the wedding and my ‘whirlwind romance,’ I was stoked to return to my office, where pages upon pages of designs for my planned swimsuit line were waiting for me.
For the past several weeks, my days have been filled with work—which has always given me joy and an outlet for my creativity. My sketching pencils felt odd in my hands, but after a few minutes of preliminary drawing, I fell back into it as if I’d never left. The satisfaction of a hard day’s works makes other aspects of my new life much easier … even enjoyable.
Diego travels with me into the city Monday through Friday, and we occupy a penthouse condo he owns near the Design District—making the drive to work quick and easy. As promised, a set of guards follows me everywhere I go, and Jovan drives me. It’s surprisingly easy to accustom my employees to their presence. The name Diego Pérez is well-known in this city, so none of them seem shocked to learn that he wants me to have security. The guys are now a fixture around the boutique, so much so that I’ve had to get onto my sales associates for flirting with them. They do their best to stay out of the way and focus on their job of protecting me—but I can’t ignore how useful they are to have around on days when new shipments come in.
Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless) Page 19
