CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Serafina
One month later
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients spread across the marble countertop with a mixture of determination and trepidation.
Cooking had never been my forte. I’d mastered eggs, certainly, but beyond that, my culinary skills were embarrassingly limited. Yet here I was, determined to prepare something that wouldn’t end in disaster.
Elena had looked at me with such surprise when I’d told her to tell the Chef to take the day off. “But Mrs. Salvatore, who will prepare dinner?” she’d asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I will,” I had replied with too much confidence. “It’s just one meal.”
Now, I wondered if I had been too hasty.
Arabella’s recipe for lasagna stared back at me from my phone screen, her bubbly text messages filled with exclamation points and emojis.
She had assured me that her recipe was foolproof and there was no way I could mess this up.
I wasn’t so sure.
The meat sauce simmered on the stove, releasing a rich aroma that made my stomach growl. I stirred it carefully, adding a little bit of red wine, though I doubted Arabella would approve of my modifications.
I’d always been one to put my own spin on things, even when following instructions.
“Patience,” I murmured to myself, covering the pot and turning down the heat.
I glanced at the clock. Adrian wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. Perfect timing to finish cooking and perhaps work on my writing.
My laptop sat open on the kitchen island, the cursor in the middle of my screen, on my unfinished chapter.
My few readers had been waiting for weeks, the comments section filled with increasingly desperate pleas for an update.
Guilt gnawed at me for my prolonged absence.
Unfortunately, being trapped in a marriage with Adrian Salvatore hadn’t exactly inspired creative flow.
Until now…
I felt like I could write again.
I settled onto the barstool and scanned the last few paragraphs I had written. I had been struggling with it for days, unable to capture the raw emotion I wanted to convey.
But now as I began typing, the words flowed more easily than they had in a long time.
The scene was coming together flawlessly.
And perhaps I was projecting, but writing had always been my escape, my way of processing the chaos around me.
I lost track of time, the kitchen filling with the scent of simmering sauce as my fingers flew across the keyboard. When I finally paused to check the meat, it was perfect—thick and fragrant, exactly as Arabella had described.
“Okay,” I whispered, wiping my hands on my apron. “Time to assemble.”
I set the laptop aside, leaving the chapter open as I moved to the counter where I had laid out the lasagna noodles, ricotta mixture, and fresh mozzarella.
Carefully, I spread a thin layer of sauce on the bottom of the baking dish, then arranged the lasagna noodles in a single layer. I repeated the layers with the ricotta and mozzarella.
When I finally placed the last layer of cheese on top, I felt a small surge of pride. It looked beautiful and if it tasted half as good as it looked, I’d consider it a success.
Maybe the flavors would come together in the oven. I hoped.
I turned to place the dish in the oven, and my heart nearly stopped.
Adrian leaned against the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on my laptop screen. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, his hair slightly disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it.
Thud.
My stomach dipped with panic, horror washing over me as I realized what he was looking at. What he was reading.
How long had he been standing there? How much had he read?
Oh my God.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, rushing forward to slam the laptop closed. Heat flooded my face as mortification washed over me.
“Reading,” he replied casually, his lips curving into an amused smile. “My wife is a writer.”
“No...” My voice came out as a strangled whisper. The denial was weak, pathetic even to my own ears.
This was my secret, my escape from the suffocating reality of our world.
I didn’t want anyone to know, especially not my husband.
I didn’t trust him enough for that yet.
“There’s nothing shameful in being a writer,” Adrian said, moving closer. “It’s an intelligent hobby. Or career, if you’re serious about it.”
I bit my lip, staying silent.
What could I say?
He had seen a part of me I had tried so hard to hide. To keep to myself.
Adrian has slowly uncovered so many layers of me and I was starting to hate how much he knew about me and how little I knew about him.
I refused to respond as I turned back to the oven, the lasagna dish still in my hands. I slid it into the preheated oven, setting the timer with unnecessary force, hoping the task would hide my embarrassment.
The kitchen fell silent except for the ticking of the timer. I could feel Adrian’s presence behind me, his eyes boring into my back as I busied myself with cleaning the counter, wiping away nonexistent spills.
Perhaps if I ignored him, he would leave.
But Adrian had never been one to respect boundaries.
“I didn’t expect to find you in the kitchen,” Adrian’s voice filled the space, a deep cadence I had grown used to hearing.
“I gave them the day off,” I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. “I thought I’d try cooking something.”
“Hmm,” he said in response.
I felt his presence behind me before I heard him move, the warmth of his body, the subtle shift in the air. He crowded against my back, his chest pressing lightly against my shoulders as he leaned over me.
“You’re avoiding me,” he observed, his breath fanning against the back of my neck.
I didn’t turn around. “I’m cleaning.”
His hands settled on my hips, and I froze, my breath hitching in my throat.
“It looks like you were trying to write a scene without some... experience,” he murmured in my ear.
I swallowed hard, my eyes fluttering closed as embarrassment coursed through me. My cheeks burned, and I knew he could feel the heat radiating from my skin.
So, he had read that part.
“Maybe I can help you with that,” Adrian continued, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice dropping to a dangerous, raspy whisper.
I should have pulled away. I should have reminded him of our understanding, of the boundaries we had established.
Instead, I remained rooted in place, my body betraying me once again.
“Do you want to know how it feels to have a cock in your mouth?”
I gasped at his words, my knees weakening at his crude directness.
My pulse fluttered.
Blood roared between my ears.
Desire pooled in my stomach, my body tingling with a needy feeling.
“Tell me,” He asserted, his hand sliding to my shoulder, turning me to face him. “Aren’t you curious?”
A nervous excitement pulsed through my bloodstream, impossible to ignore.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I faced him. His eyes were dark with desire, his expression holding the kind of wicked promise that made my knees weaken, my body trembling.
“Get on your knees, Princess,” my husband rasped.
I should have refused. I should have maintained what little dignity I had left.
But something in his gaze held me captive and I was incapable of denying him.
Slowly, I sank to my knees, my eyes never leaving his.
The cold tile pressed against my skin through the thin fabric of my skirt. Adrian looked down at me, his eyes dark with desire, his hand moving to the waistband of his jeans.
“Good girl,” he purred as I looked up at him, uncertain but willing. The praise washed over me like warm poison, sinking beneath my flesh. A dangerous, reckless desire unfurled inside me.
His praise was a forbidden drug, addictive and impossible to resist.
Adrian reached out, his fingers tangling in my hair as he was undoing his jeans with his other hand, freeing his massive and quite impressive length.
He was delightfully hard.
My eyes widened at the sight and he chuckled.
My core started to throb at the sight, knowing that I made him this way. The harder I pressed my thighs together, the ache instead of alleviating, became only more prominent and intense.
“Take me in your hands,” he instructed, guiding me through it, his instructions explicit and unapologetic. “Touch me slowly, take your time to explore.”
I slowly took his hardness in my hand, giving him a small warning squeeze. I gently traced his length with my nails, watching in utter amazement when he jerked in my palms.
I slowly rubbed my fingers over his shaft and I heard a hiss.
Then a groan.
His fingers tightened in my hair, fingers digging into my scalp. “Use your tongue. Lick me.”
I knew what I had to do…
I was inexperienced, sure. But I read about this act. I had written about it.
I slowly leaned forward, running my tongue in a circle on the tip of his cock.
His hardness pulsed in my hand and I heard him hiss again. “Fuck.”
I could feel the pleasure jolting through him. Could feel the way his body tightened.
His hot length jerked as I continued to run my tongue over him and every time I circled his tip teasingly, I could hear the shift in his breathing, becoming harsher.
“Fuck,” he groaned and I looked up to see his head tossed back, his eyes squeezed shut. “Take me in your mouth. Open your mouth wide and suck me, Serafina.”
That almost sounded like a plea.
My lips twitched with a grin, pride blossoming in my chest. It felt powerful, in control, despite my vulnerable position.
I opened my mouth wide, following his instructions, slipping my lips over the top of his dick and then slid down slowly as far as I could go without gagging.
Adrian sucked in a breath, his stomach caving in and his hips arched slightly toward me. He was long and thick and it was a little hard to take all of him in my mouth.
My cheeks hollowed as I sucked him. My core pulsated, throbbing with a ravenous craving, savage desire. Carnal and twisted.
He groaned appreciatively while I pushed further down onto his length until I felt him touching the back of my throat and then I gagged, choking a little. Tears welled up in my eyes.
His heavy breathing gave me all the confidence I needed.
When my teeth slightly grazed the top of his dick, he groaned, his body clenching. “Ah fuck. This…feels good.”
My tongue traced the vein snaking along the length of his blood-darkened cock and I felt his pulse in my mouth.
When he shuddered, I couldn’t help but grin slightly around him.
I made him feel good.
I had the control to make him feel good.
He was at my mercy.
I intensified my effort, taking him deeper into my mouth and sucking him, choking on him and I knew he liked the sound of it… me choking, because every time I did, he tensed and cursed.
He twisted my hair around his fists, knuckles digging into my scalp until it hurt, his hold almost brutal now.
His hips jerked and bucked upward, forcing me to take all of him even when I no longer could. My jaw hurt, a soreness that slid down to my cheeks and then my throat.
Yet I continued to work his hard length eagerly, pleased that I could make him lose the slightest bit of control.
Adrian’s thighs tensed and his breathing grew heavier. “Serafina,” he groaned my name and my heart thudded at the raspiness in his voice, the way my name rolled off his tongue. “I’m going to come. Shit. Fuuuckkk.”
His heat exploded in my mouth and I quickly try to swallow him down but I couldn’t. It was too much. I choked, his cock slipping from my mouth as his release dripped down my chin with my drool.
I looked up at my husband, feeling slightly dazed as I took in his feral yet pleased expression. I had been surprised by my own eagerness, by the power I felt in making him groan, in watching his composure crack.
My pulse continued to flutter wildly.
My own arousal coated the inside of my thighs.
He opened his eyes, gazing down at me with a pleased look in his eyes. Pride and something possessive flickering across his face as he looked at me.
I remained kneeling before him, my mind hazy and unsteady. Breathless and slightly overwhelmed by the dark satisfaction in his gaze.
Adrian crouched down, his thumb gently wiping the corner of my mouth.
“There you go,” he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “I think that’s going to help you plenty.” He pressed a kiss in the corner of my mouth, his lips lingering there for a second longer. “Happy writing, wife.”
Then he stood up, shoved himself back in his jeans, zipping it up. He grinned, full of mischief and amusement before he walked away, leaving me still kneeling on the kitchen floor.
The timer beeped, breaking the spell.
My chest shuddered with a gasp.
The rich aroma of lasagna filled the kitchen but when…
I inhaled, the smell of him still lingering even as he was gone. His muskiness. His warmth. His dangerous, masculine scent. Sinful and so intoxicating.
Thud.
I had been writing about power, about control.
Now I understood those concepts in ways I never had before.