by Bianca Cole
“What are you waiting for, angel?”
I place my hand tentatively in his and allow him to help me out of the hot tub—not that I needed the help. His new chivalrous ways are weird. We walk toward the back of the boat to disembark onto the dock. My stomach drops when I gaze into the water surrounding the boat and see sharks swimming beneath the surface.
“Isn’t it dangerous to swim with sharks?”
Anita shrugs. “They can bite at times if you’re not careful. You don’t have to swim with them if you don’t want.”
Milo squeezes my hand. “What’s life without a bit of danger?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
Milo squeezes my hand so hard it hurts in warning, but I know he can’t force me.
“No problem, Aida, you can watch Milo.” Anita signals at his camera. “You can be the photographer instead.”
Milo looks angry as I reach for the camera in his other hand. “I wanted to experience this together, Aida.” There’s a threat in his tone that to most people’s ears wouldn’t be detectable.
I met Milo less than a week ago, but he has threatened me enough times for me to know. I set my hand on his muscular arm plastered with tattoos and meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, honey, this is something I can’t do.” The use of that word seems to enrage him more, but we’re supposed to be acting like a normal newlywed couple.
Milo passes the camera into my hand, lingering a moment. He finally walks away and joins the insane people getting into the water with the sharks. I notice a sign warning that occasionally, the sharks can bite and that you swim at your own risk. There’s no way Milo was getting me in that water.
I watch as my husband walks down the steps fearlessly. Most of the tourists here are getting into the water. Until this morning, I hadn’t seen Milo this naked as he’s wearing just a pair of swim shorts. The tattoos on his chest and arms give him a rougher appearance, as well as several nasty-looking scars. Even when he took my virginity on the plane last night, he was dressed, with only his cock through the zipper.
Anita approaches and leans on the railing, watching Milo. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
I shrug, wishing I could talk to someone about Milo and this sham of an arranged marriage.
Milo blocked my friend’s mobile numbers on my cell phone after he caught me talking to them. Besides sending messages on social media, which thankfully he hasn’t blocked, I’ve got no way of talking to them properly. I sigh. “I’m doing good. It’s so beautiful here.”
Anita nods. “Indeed, I’m blessed that this is my home.” Her brow furrows slightly. “From your accent, it sounds like you didn’t grow up in America?”
I shake my head. “No, I was born and raised in Sicily.”
“Ah, so you moved to marry Mr. Mazzeo?” she asks.
I nod, feeling a sadness pulling at my chest. “Yes, I miss the island life very much. Boston isn’t exactly special like The Bahamas or Sicily.”
“No, but if the man you love is in Boston, then that’s where your heart is.”
I swallow hard and nod in response, wishing that were true. Milo isn’t the man I love. He’s the man I hate. A vindictive man who believes a wife is for nothing more than breeding from. It’s archaic and barbaric.
Milo waves at me from the sea to get my attention as a shark swims past him.
I bring the camera up and take a photo, which is surprisingly good. It’s odd watching Milo smile and enjoy himself, but I wonder if it’s all an act for the camera. Milo has a stunning smile when he’s not smirking at me cruelly, but I’ve only seen it here on this island.
Milo swims for a short while before returning to the jetty and joining me. He places a hand on either side of me on the rails, closing me in so I can’t escape him. “You missed an exhilarating swim,” he murmurs into my ear.
I shrug. “I don’t like sharks.”
Milo forces me to turn around and face him. “They’re just misunderstood.” There’s something in his tone as if he’s talking about himself.
“What’s next on the itinerary?” I ask.
He smirks at me. “Not sure you can handle it, but we’re going to go and swim with the pigs.”
I stare at him in confusion, wondering if that’s a euphemism for something. “Swim with the pigs?”
He nods. “Yes, you’ll see when we get there.” Milo signals over Anita. “Can we head on over to Big Major Cay now?”
She nods. “Sure, hop aboard, and we’ll get going.” Her attention moves to me, and she smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be fine swimming with the pigs.”
Milo leads me back onto the deck of the yacht and sits down.
“Why would pigs be in the sea or swimming?”
He laughs, but it’s not that cruel laugh I usually hear. It’s easy and almost friendly. “No one knows why they are on the beach and why they swim there.” Milo wraps an arm around me and pulls me against him. “Some people believe they must have been on a ship that got wrecked, whereas others believe pirates owned them for food but never returned. It’s a mystery.”
I smile at the thought of pigs swimming. “It sounds like fun.”
Milo’s lips tease against my neck, and he kisses me there again. “It does,” he says quietly.
An easy silence falls between us as I allow Milo to hold me against him. It’s unusual how comfortable I feel in the arms of a beast.
After another thirty minutes of cruising through the ocean, the boat slows. Milo points to something in the sea. “There they are coming to greet us.”
I blink a couple of times to work out if what I’m seeing is real. Pigs are swimming to the boat in the shallow water as we come to a stop about twenty meters from the shore.
Anita joins us on the deck. “There’s no port here, so you’ll have to disembark directly into the water or the rowboat if you’re not a strong swimmer.”
“I’m a strong swimmer. This is so exciting.” I walk enthusiastically to the steps which lead down into the sea below. The pigs are quite a few meters up ahead in the shallow water.
Milo grabs my hand. “Let’s jump in together.”
I pout at him. “If I jump in, I’ll mess up my hair.”
He laughs. “Don’t be such a pussy.” He holds my hand tightly. “On three. One. Two. Three.” We both jump into the cool water, which is a relief from the humid heat.
Milo grabs me by the waist as we swim up to the surface. He kisses me the moment we come up for air, and it takes me by surprise until I see Anita taking photos of us. He planned the photo.
“Come on, let’s go and see those pigs,” he says, swimming away from me.
I follow him but feel uneasy about the disappointment rising inside of me. He planned the kiss and this entire day. His actions are all an act. I need to keep reminding myself of that before I fall into a trap far more deadly than the one I’m already entangled in.
14
Milo
As the day draws to a close, the boat pulls up at our private dock. The beach has been prepared with a dining table to have dinner together and watch the sunset.
It’s a romantic setting that doesn’t sit well with me. Although I know that our photo album wouldn’t be complete without a romantic dinner, I’d rather be punishing my wife for her constant disobedience throughout the day.
Anita is standing by the steps to disembark the boat.
“Thank you for a wonderful tour, Anita.”
She smiles widely. “Of course, if you want to charter the boat again during your stay, then you have my number. I hope you both have a wonderful evening.” There’s a glint of amusement in her eyes, as she knows what a typical honeymoon evening will consist of. What she doesn’t know is how dark and twisted my tastes are.
“Thanks, but I think we are just going to take it easy for the rest of our stay.”
Anita nods. “Look me up when you’re next back in The Exumas.”
“Will do. Thank you again.” I give her a wave an
d then grab Aida’s hip, pulling her into my side. “I should be taking you straight into the house and punishing you,” I growl into her ear.
She tenses, shivering. “But you’re not going to?”
I shake my head and point at the dining table. “No, because we’re going to watch the sunset over dinner, but then I’m going to punish you for your disobedience today.”
Her eyes flash with irritation, but there’s a hint of excitement too. Aida wants me to punish her. I feel my cock hardening in my pants at the thought. Her ass will be bruised today, and yet she wants more.
I clear my throat, breaking the overwhelming sexual tension between us. “The food will be getting cold, and it’s almost time for the sunset.” I grab hold of my camera and hold it up. “We need to make sure we get some convincing romantic photos.”
Aida looks disappointed as she bows her head. “Yes, sir.” She walks by my side toward the small table, which is lit by candles. The waitress who comes with the villa is standing dutifully to one side.
Once we are seated, she approaches. “What can I get you both to drink?”
I meet Aida’s gaze, which is conflicted as she looks at me. “Surely you will have an alcoholic drink tonight?” I raise a brow, remembering her comment when I asked for a whiskey at ten o’clock in the morning.
She looks at the waitress. “I’ll have a glass of prosecco.”
“Not champagne?” I ask.
Aida shakes her head. “I prefer prosecco. After all, I’m Italian.”
I smile at her, admiring the way she sticks to her heritage. “Fair enough. A bottle of your finest prosecco it is.”
Amelia, the waitress, bows her head. “I’ll bring it right away.” She grabs two small cocktail glasses and places one in front of each of us. “While you wait, this is a rum punch, a popular Bahamian drink.”
“Thank you,” Aida says, bringing it up to her lips and tasting a sip. “Wow, that is strong,” she says, eyes wide.
Amelia nods. “It’s got a lot of rum in it, so take it steady.” The waitress disappears toward the house to retrieve the prosecco. It dawns on me at that moment that I hardly know anything about my new wife.
I don’t know what her favorite drink is or food. If we were being quizzed about each other, we’d fail for sure. It’s not in my nature to want to know anything about another person.
“Tell me three facts about you, Aida.”
Aida looks up from her drink with her brow furrowed. “What?”
I clench my jaw. “I said, tell me three facts about you.” I scrub a hand across the back of my neck. “How are we supposed to be a convincing couple in public if we know nothing about each other?”
She sucks on the straw in her glass innocently, but it’s a sight that has me hard in seconds. “I don’t know, not talk to anyone?”
“While I do like that option, I would like to know three facts about you.”
Her brow furrows as she thinks. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what your favorite food is.”
“Easy, pasta,” she replies without hesitating.
“What about your favorite color?” I ask, watching as she plays with a strand of her dark brown hair nervously.
“Teal blue, like the sea in Sicily.”
I rub a hand over my beard, which feels rough and messy from swimming in the sea. “Your favorite place?”
“Palmero for sure.”
My brow furrows. “My father was from Sicily.” I meet her inquisitive chestnut gaze. “What do you miss most about Sicily?”
Aida thinks about this question more carefully, and there’s a sadness in her eyes. “My friends. I miss my friends the most.”
It’s an odd notion to me. All my life, I’ve made sure I depend on no one. Friends are a weakness that a don of a mafia can’t indulge in. The closest thing I have to a friend is Piero, and even he is scared of me. It’s the way my father brought me up.
Aida tilts her head. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
She sighs. “What are your answers to the questions?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “My favorite food is Pizza, my favorite color is grey, and my favorite place is Cape Cod as I used to go there as a kid with my mother.”
Aida looks intrigued at the mention of family. “Where is your mother now?”
I clench my jaw. “Dead.”
Her gaze turns wistful, and she nods. “So is mine.”
I’m glad she doesn’t apologize that’s she’s dead, as it’s a sentiment I never understood. Instead, she has the same experience as me, and that is far more powerful. “How old were you when your mother died?” I ask.
Aida’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “Eleven years old, you?”
I feel a knot in my throat as I think back to the day she died. It was my fault. My mother always told me not to play in my father’s office, no matter what. That day, she left me alone for a while, and like a dumb kid, I went into his office and broke a priceless vase.
When he returned, and my mother told him, the frenzy he broke into was unprecedented. He beat her harder than he’d ever beaten her before while I crouched down behind the sofa. She died of her injuries a day later after being rushed into hospital, but she had too much internal bleeding.
“I was seven years old,” I reply, feeling a small amount of weight lift from my shoulders telling someone. Ever since my mother’s death, I’ve not spoken about her to anyone.
Aida twirls her hair around her finger. “That must have been hard. I thought I was young.”
I’m not sure why I told Aida about my mother. Perhaps it’s because if she is to be my wife, she needs to know the intimate details of my family’s past. “That’s enough heavy talk on our honeymoon,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “Tell me about Sicily.”
Amelia finally returns with our prosecco and our first course. The entire meal is vegetarian for Aida as I don’t care too much what I eat. A small Bahamian salad is the first course.
I can’t help but watch my wife as she savors every bite of the delicious black bean salad. It’s refreshing after a hot day out in the sun. “How is it?”
She stops mid-bite and blushes. “It’s delicious. Sorry, I get so focused when I’m eating, I forget to talk.”
I laugh. Today I’ve laughed more than I have in too many years to count. “No need to apologize for that.”
She sips her prosecco, taking a break from the food. “It’s delicious, thank you.” I’m surprised by the sincerity in her tone. The defensive walls she erects around her have disappeared tonight.
Her eyes widen as all her attention is drawn to the sun setting behind the horizon. The reason for the dinner in the first place. I grab my camera and take a couple of photos before standing and taking one of Aida watching the sunset.
“That’s so beautiful,” she says.
I nod, staring at the woman in front of me. “It is indeed.”
Aida’s attention moves to me, and she flushes when she realizes I was staring at her instead of the sunset. I’ve seen enough sunsets in my lifetime.
I return to my seat and the evening goes more smoothly than I imagined. We eat and drink, talking about trivial things such as our favorite music and movies. I haven’t spoken to someone so easily in a long time.
As it gets later, I only have one thing on my mind. Aida holds my gaze as all my thoughts slide into the gutter. My cock is as hard as a rock in my tight pants, which I changed into on the yacht. We showered and got ready for dinner on route back to the villa.
I stand from my seat and walk slowly around the back of Aida’s, setting my hands on her tense shoulders. “Stand up.”
She obeys me without hesitation.
I grab hold of her hips and bend her over the table we’d been eating at. “It’s time for me to punish you, angel.”
“Milo,” she gasps my name in surprise. “What about the waitress?”
“Fuck the waitress,” I growl, spanki
ng her ass.
“Ouch,” she cries, trying to escape from me. “I’m too sore—”
I grab her throat, forcing her to arch her back. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you disobeyed me today.”
She whimpers and not in a good way.
I can’t understand why regret creeps into the back of my mind. We were having a nice dinner. I would go so far as to say we were enjoying each other’s company until I lost my shit and decided to bend Aida over the table. It’s what I do. I don’t know how to act differently with a woman.
I lift the hem of her dress, and my cock jumps in my tight boxer briefs at the sight of her bruised ass cheeks. I made my mark on her last night, which turns me on.
I gently run my hand across her ass, making her shiver. “Do these hurt?” I ask, gently pressing one of the bruises. I don’t sleep with the same woman twice, so I never see the aftermath despite knowing I’m heavy-handed with my implements.
Aida shrugs, glancing over her shoulder at me. “They’re sore.”
I rub my hand softly over the curve of her ass, making her shiver. Instead of spanking Aida, I continue to caress her sore skin. “Don’t worry, angel. I won’t spank you again tonight, but I am going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight.” I pull her by her hair, forcing her upright. “We’re alone now. The waitress left after dessert.”
Aida moans as I push aside her panties and slide my fingers between the slick lips of her pussy, groaning when I feel how wet she is.
“You’ve been sitting here all-night gagging for my cock, haven’t you?” I ask, thrusting a finger deep inside her tight pussy.
She moans, nodding. “Yes, daddy.”
Her instant submission makes my cock jump. Last night she held on and fought her needs, but now she’s ready to beg me for it. “You’re such a dirty little whore, Aida. My dirty little whore.” I yank her hair, clenching my teeth as I know I can’t spank her no matter how badly I want to.
It takes all my self-control not to hurt her the way a broken part of me wants to. Instead, I let go of Aida’s hair and spin her around to face me. There’s a mix of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes as she waits for me to make the next move. I kiss her passionately, taking out my frustrations on her mouth as my tongue plunders it.
