Jacob eyes the ring.
“Tell him Scarlett De La Cruz is Scarlett Grigori now.”
“When did that happen?”
“Arrange it on neutral territory. Miami. In the next three days.”
“Of course, Cristiano.”
“Oh, and if Rinaldi should disappear, let your son-in-law know I’ll take his head in the place of Rinaldi’s.”
He pales a little.
“And when I’m finished with Felix, I’ll come after you.” I finish my whiskey and put the glass down. “Let me know when you’ve talked to him.”
I’m fucking done here.
31
Cristiano
Alec greets me at the front door of the house. It’s a small house on a large piece of property rarely used but maintained all the same. Neither the deed to the land nor the house are linked to my family. At least not unless you do some significant digging. Only a handful of people know of its existence, my brother, Charlie, Lenore, and the few soldiers I use when I’m here. Even my uncle doesn’t know. It’s a safe house in so far as the secrecy of its existence. I’ve been here a few times on my own in the last couple of years. It would drive my uncle crazy not knowing where I disappeared to but it’s one of the things I’ve kept to myself, needing to.
As far as anyone knows, Scarlett and I went back to the island with everyone else.
“All quiet?” I ask Alec as I slip off my jacket and loosen my tie.
“For miles around.” Access to the house is via a single road which can be surveilled easily. We have men stationed at checkpoints for three miles out.
“Good. And Scarlett?”
“Also quiet.”
I nod, walk toward the large bedroom picking up the bottle of whiskey from the side table. The room takes up the back half of the house. Opening one of the double doors, I enter to find Scarlett standing at the window. Probably just figured out that it’s locked because she’s looking as irritated as ever.
My wife.
I smile. I like the sound of that. And I like her like this. Pissed off. It fits.
“It’s locked,” I say. Closing the door behind me, I set the bottle down and undo my tie.
“I figured that out.”
“Were you going to climb out and run away?”
“Is Noah okay?” she asks, not bothering to answer my question, probably realizing how ridiculous it would have been to try and run.
“He’s fine.” I toss my tie aside and undo my cuffs, then the buttons of my shirt. I watch her as I strip it off. I walk over to the table and am pleased to see she’s eaten. “Hunger strike over?”
“I wasn’t on a hunger strike. I told you that. Nice note by the way. Very romantic.”
I walk over to her, brush hair back from her face. “Is that what you want? Romance?”
“No.” She pushes my hand away and tucks her hair behind her ears. For all her attitude, what I see in her eyes isn’t quite fear. She’s anxious. “Not from you.”
“Who from then?” I feel myself tense.
“No one. Never mind.” She tries to walk past me, but I block her path.
“Who?”
“I said no one. Who would there be, Cristiano? I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to date.”
I step closer, backing her up to the wall. I set my forearms on either side of her head. Our bodies touching, chest to chest. I can see her pulse throb fast at her neck. She’s barefoot and has to crane her neck to look up at me.
“I like you in black. It fits your usual mood.” I lean my face down, kiss her. Just a quick kiss. A claiming of her lower lip.
Her teeth snap. “You make my mood black.”
“Be nice,” I say, wiping the drop of blood from my lip. “I’m about to make you come.” I kiss her again. She’s not kissing me back exactly, but her mouth is open. When I sweep my tongue across hers, she gasps. Her small hands curl around my shoulders before pushing me away as if she just remembered she should.
I draw back just a little, keeping her caged and our bodies pressed together, my cock rigid between us. “Speaking of, do you know you called me god when I ate your pussy last night?”
Her cheeks flush and she shoves me again. This time I let her slip past.
I pour myself a whiskey as I watch her open the door, see the men just outside our bedroom, and promptly close it again. I take a sip, give her a few minutes to wrap her brain around what comes next as her gaze bounces around the room. A trapped bird.
No, a trapped little kitten whose razor-sharp claws I need to look out for.
She finally stops, faces me.
“Strip, Scarlett.”
She narrows her eyes. “Make me, Cristiano.”
I swallow and set the glass aside. “Gladly.”
She yelps when I stalk toward her and I wonder what she expected. Me to back down? Or a war of words. She’s more than capable of that, I know, but that’s not what I want. Not tonight. Not on my wedding night.
I grasp her arms, sliding my hands to her wrists as I walk her back to the bed. Our bodies are touching, eyes never once leaving one another’s.
Switching my grip so both wrists are in one hand, I take hold of the zipper at the back of the dress and slide it down slowly. I let my fingers brush the bare skin of her back as they move, feeling imaginary sparks. I watch her pupils dilate and hear her breath hitch.
She doesn’t say a word as I release her wrists and push the dress off her shoulders. It slips to the floor so she’s standing in a black lace bra and panties. I draw back just a little to look at her before stepping backward. I cross the room to pour another whiskey and take a seat on the armchair setting one ankle over the opposite knee.
“Take off the rest.”
She swallows, glances around again. There’s no escape. She knows that.
For a long moment I just watch her as she battles herself, see an array of emotions pass through her. The most prominent being rage. Eventually she reaches back and unhooks her bra, no slow strip tease for me. Nothing erotic at all as she strips off the rest of her things, stumbling as she tries to step out of her panties before walking toward me, standing just inches from me.
“Is this what you want?” She glances down at my crotch then drags her gaze back up to mine. “You hard for it, Cristiano?”
I let my gaze slide over her naked body, take in the lines of slender, toned muscle, small breasts barely a handful, the neat little triangle of dark hair. I’m slow to return my gaze to hers.
“I am, Little Kitten. I’ve never been this hard for a woman before.”
“I’m flattered,” she deadpans.
I finish my drink, setting the glass down and standing before her. I don’t even have to touch her to walk her back to the bed, my chest brushing hers.
When the backs of her knees hit the bed, her legs bend but she rights herself, standing tall, nipples poking against my chest.
“Now turn around, bend over and spread your legs wide so I can decide which hole I’m fucking first.”
Her hands slap my chest. “Fuck you!”
“That’s my girl.” I grab hold of her wrists and spin her around, breathe in her scent at her neck where her pulse throbs.
“You’ll bend to me, Little Kitten.” I bite the curve of her neck.
“You’ll have to make me.”
“With pleasure.”
I lean over her, pushing her torso down. Keeping her wrists at her lower back, I straighten and use my knee to widen her stance.
She goes still as I take her in, her beautiful ass open to me. My dick is a fucking steel rod.
When I touch her hip, she jumps like she wasn’t expecting it. She’s up on tiptoe, lean calf and hamstring muscles tensing.
“Stay,” I tell her. I let go of her wrists. She remarkably does as she’s told.
Hands on her cheeks, I splay her open, look at her. At her tiny asshole, the open lips of her pussy.
She tries to clench her cheeks, but I keep her open.
“You’
re so fucking beautiful like this. Your pussy open and wet for me. Your asshole so tempting.” I touch my thumb to her asshole and she clenches.
“Cristiano—”
But her breath catches as I crouch down and extend the tip of my tongue to her clit and lick all the way up through her wet folds to her other hole, laying the flat of my tongue on her as I repeat downward then back again, tasting her, wanting her. Wanting every fucking part of her.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, and I draw back to watch a slow trickle of arousal slide down her inner thigh.
“Fucking perfect,” I tell her, standing. “Stay.”
She does and turns just her head to watch me strip off the rest of my clothes. She licks her lips when I take my cock into my hand and run it through her folds. Her eyes close as I smear her wetness over myself.
“So fucking perfect.” I lean down for one more taste before tugging her to stand, spinning her to face me and kissing her hard.
She doesn’t bite but I wouldn’t care if she did right now. I want this. And she wants this. And neither of us can deny it.
I lay her on the bed, holding my weight on my elbows as I draw back to look at her. My cock is nestled against her wet cunt.
Her eyes have gone dark. I kiss her again, put my hands on her inner thighs to open her wider and when I draw back to look at her, I see a tear.
It sobers me.
She’s probably scared. Doesn’t quite know what to expect.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Scarlett.”
“It’s not…I just don’t understand why I want this,” she admits, another tear sliding down her temple.
I smile to her, kiss her. She kisses me back.
Drawing back, I place a hand on her chest to keep her lying back, using the other to keep one leg spread wide. She doesn’t try to close her legs, however. From here, I can see she’s slick and in spite of her fear, I smell her arousal.
I need to make her come before I take her. It’ll be easier for her.
I dip my head and hear her gasp when I close my mouth over her. Twirling my tongue in a circle around the hard little nub before sucking, I open my mouth wide to take the whole of her, tickling her other hole before returning my attention to her clit.
She gasps my name, her hands to my head, fingers pulling my hair.
“Come, Scarlett. Let me feel you come.”
It doesn’t take long for her to come and I drink it in, the taste of her intoxicating as she calls out my name in a long string. She’s just repeating, repeating, repeating, making my dick throb as if it’s confused why it’s not inside her. Only when her legs relax do I straighten and meet her eyes, a soft caramel now.
She’s so fucking beautiful. So perfect.
I lift her higher on the bed, settle between her legs, my cock at her entrance. I kiss her again, realizing she’s kissing me back, and I don’t think I can get enough of her.
When she feels me at her entrance she tenses.
“I won’t hurt you,” I mutter against her mouth but I’m not sure I’ll be able to help it. Her first time will hurt.
I take her hands in mine, weave my fingers with hers and I push in a little farther. The effort of holding back is taking every ounce of energy I have. I need to take care with her, though. I move slowly, in and out, inch by inch when the animal inside me wants to thrust hard, wants to feel her resistance and rip through it, feel the warm rush of virgin blood.
She’s tight. I swear she’s tighter than any woman I’ve been with, but it’s been a long time, so what do I know. And when she begins panting again, her passage slick, I know she’s ready.
I hold onto her, want to give her something to hold on to. I push deeper, still controlled, expecting resistance, expecting blood.
There’s a moment suspended. Something not right.
Because it doesn’t come.
The fact registers slowly. I pump in and out twice more then stop.
She makes a sound when I do and opens her eyes to meet mine, forehead wrinkled in disappointment.
“You’re not a virgin.”
I can hardly process the silence.
“You’re not—”
“I never said I was.”
I think back and she’s right. She didn’t. I assumed it.
I blink, pull out. I’m still hard. I look down at myself, still searching for evidence to the contrary of what I know is true. But there’s nothing there. No blood.
“You let me believe it.”
I walk away, run a hand through my hair not sure why I care. Why it matters.
No. I know why.
She’s right. She never said she was. But she didn’t correct me either. And it feels like a betrayal. Because after everything, I was still counting on her. On one person I could trust.
“You let me believe it,” I say again, turning to find her sitting up on the bed. “You fucking let me believe it.” Let me believe in you.
“I didn’t lie to you. You assumed—”
“Omission is a lie. You’re a liar.”
She pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them, her face falling. “I’m not—”
“Just like your brothers,” I add, distaste marking my words.
“What?” Her forehead wrinkles and I register hurt in her eyes.
“I don’t know why I thought you were different.” I pull on my briefs, my pants.
“I—”
“You shook your ass, and I was just hard up enough to notice.” I grab my shirt.
“I didn’t. I never—”
I spin to face her, my arm poised to slap her.
She gasps, shielding herself as she cowers, and I realize what I was about to do.
I make a fist. It’s all I can do with the rage I feel, but let it drop to my side while she watches me, eyes wide, face partially hidden by her arms.
Muttering a curse, I walk away.
“Cristiano, I—”
I look at her again but keep my distance. “You’re a liar, Scarlett! A fucking liar!”
“I…” She looks stunned and afraid, her cheeks wet with tears. But I won’t let those fool me. I remember how just hours ago, she told me in no uncertain terms that we are enemies. When I confided in her and told her I needed a friend. Just one. When I asked her to be that friend, she refused me.
And I was a fucking idiot not to take that at face value. This is my fault. I brought this on myself.
“Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.” I button up my shirt and tuck it into my pants.
“I didn’t lie to you! I never lied to you!”
“Were you having a good laugh? Huh? A good laugh at my expense? You fucked him, didn’t you? You fucked Marcus Rinaldi?”
“No. God. Never.” She’s outright crying now, hugging herself tightly, shivering.
“Did you like it? Did you come for him? Call out his name like you do mine?”
She just shakes her head, the skin around her eyes puffy and pink, tears streaming.
“And I felt sorry for you when I found out what your brothers had done to you. How they’d humiliated you. But you probably liked it.”
She just stares at me with those damn tears coming like a fucking waterfall, big eyes looking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.
She’s been caught. That’s what’s happening.
I pick up the bottle of whiskey, drink a swallow.
I gave her my mother’s ring. Like a fucking idiot, I put my mother’s ring on this whore’s finger.
Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rage like nothing I’ve felt before consumes me. With a roar, I throw the bottle across the room and watch it smash against the wall.
Scarlett screams and leaps off the bed to run toward the bathroom.
I stalk her and before she can get there, catch her by her hair and tug her backward, tossing her face-down on the bed. She’s up in an instant, scrambling on her hands and knees across the bed, but I grab an ankle and tug her back to me.
She drops onto her stomach. I pull her toward me smacking her ass hard enough to make her scream again.
“I didn’t lie—”
I flip her onto her back, straddle her. She’s still crying.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore.”
“Cris—”
I grip her jaw, cutting off her words. I squeeze but it only makes her cry harder. She tries to pull her arms free, but I’ve got them trapped at her sides. I can only look down at her, at my fingers bruising her jaw, at her eyes big as saucers.
“I can break you. Snap your neck. Do you know how easy it would be?”
She whimpers, tears streaming from the corners of both eyes onto the bed.
“I should. If I were smart, I would.”
“Please,” she manages.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” I let go of her jaw, drag her left arm free, look at the ring. I betrayed my family for her. For this woman who made me remember and somehow gave me hope. Fucking hope.
This woman, who I have to remember is my enemy.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she says.
I shift my gaze to her eyes, and I see fear.
“That was before. I warned you what would happen if you betrayed me.”
I return my attention to her hand, drag both rings off her finger, pocket the engagement ring and leave the other one on the bed. I slide off of her, look at her lying there, looking into her eyes again. As she rubs her finger where the rings were, the tears keep streaming down her cheeks.
“You wanted an enemy, Scarlett. I’ll remember it from now on.”
32
Scarlett
I hear the lock turn a moment after he’s gone.
My heart is racing and I’m shivering. He was so angry. But I never lied to him. There just wasn’t any way I could tell him.
Whore.
The word rings like an accusation. It’s not the first time I’ve been called one but this time, hearing it from him, it hurts.
He accused me of fucking Marcus Rinaldi. If I had, it wouldn’t have been consensual. Doesn’t he know that? I’m not a whore.
And I don’t know why I’m sitting here crying. I should be pissed. Offended.
With This Ring Page 20
