CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EDEN
After last night’s wedding reception, Luca and I were driven to the airport by a Blackthorn soldier, where we boarded Blackchapel Inc.
’s private jet for a nine-hour flight. Thankfully, Luca let me sleep alone in the bedroom while he handled final preparations for both of us taking the next two weeks off from work.
Yes, the both of us.
I’m not sure how he’s going to smooth things over at the daycare when I’ve already used my PTO and sick days being cooped up at Blackchapel Manor. Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe he’s blackmailing my boss into not firing me. I guess I’ll find out when I eventually return to work.
Luca hasn’t mentioned keeping me sequestered at the manor after our marriage, so I assume it’s okay that I have a job.
Geez, more things I should probably discuss with my husband.
As if I don’t already have a ton of questions.
“What’s going to happen once you kill Enzo and Fabian? You’ll run the mafia?” I ask before sipping the iced toasted marshmallow latte the flight attendant, Kurie, brought out, along with a breakfast of fruit and pastries. According to her, we'll land soon.
For my honeymoon.
Because I'm freaking married!
The giant diamond ring on my finger is still a shock. The ceremony and reception are a chaotic blip I've shoved behind me in favor of worrying about this trip. An international honeymoon where I’ll be totally alone with my new husband.
My mom couldn't stop gushing about it in a vain attempt to seem calm after learning of the groom switch and flying off the handle. That had been an awkward and uncomfortable hour while donning my wedding gown at the church. My dad had maintained a wary but supportive facade once he’d eased Mom’s concerns.
Even if he disapproved of Luca, he'd never question the Don’s decision.
Luca scoffs. “Hell, no.”
A stricken expression courses over my features at his immediate denial. “You’ll abandon all of those families? My parents? Not everyone is like your father or Fabian.”
“They’ll be offered the option of joining Blackthorn or continuing on with their lives without a crime organization pulling the strings. We’ll provide a generous severance package,” he says with humor, like it’s a mere business acquisition versus the destruction of an entire way of life for people.
The Boston Family has been active for decades. They’re a staple of the Italian-American community.
“I see…”
The pilot’s voice crackles over the cabin’s intercom system to let us know we’re about to land, and I take the opportunity to look out the window.
Bright azure blinks up at me with every gentle wave of the Mediterranean Sea.
Rocky cliffs rise toward the sky. It’s blindingly beautiful, and a tingle of excitement kindles at the bottom of my spine.
I’ve only been out of the country once. My high school English class took a trip to London during spring break to learn about William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and dozens more British writers. It had been gray, rainy, and cold—the exact opposite of sunny Italy.
“Where exactly are we?” I ask, turning to meet Luca’s intense gaze.
“Sardinia. Torre delle Stelle. We’ll land at a private airstrip then have a thirty-minute drive to the villa. It’s right on the beach, so I hope you packed a swimsuit.” His eyes fall hungrily over my body, and instant heat flushes my cheeks.
Shrugging off the inconvenient attraction to my husband, I glance away, forcing myself to admire the gorgeous scenery below rather than Luca’s handsome features. “You’re better off asking Giulia. When I woke up yesterday, my suitcases were already packed.”
Giulia is one of several maids who clean and cook for the manor, and we literally met two days ago, but I guess that’s enough for her to pack for me—a total stranger.
I’d peeked into the new luggage set, but at the sight of expensive silks and cozy cottons, an array of unfamiliar clothing, I’d zipped it right back up.
More evidence of Luca’s stalking made my belly tumble, and the longer I looked at the new wardrobe that’s most likely tailored perfectly to my size, the crazier the belly-tumbling got.
My stupid romantic heart even tried to join in.
And that’s the last thing I need to do… Fall in love with my stalker husband .
***
The click of the door opening then closing interrupts the peaceful lullaby of waves crashing along the shore below the bedroom balcony. I don’t turn around to see who entered. There's only one person it could be.
Luca.
My husband must be eager to consummate our marriage after waiting a day and a half.
We spent the afternoon exploring the villa and beach before an elaborate dinner was served to us on the luxurious patio overlooking the sea.
Luca kept close with a hand on my lower back to guide me or a kiss to my temple every so often.
Each gentle caress heightened my awareness of him, and now I suppose it’s time for the payoff.
A furnace of heat warms my back before two strong arms wrap around my waist. “Enjoying the view, carissima ?” Luca’s low murmur vibrates along my spine.
“I might as well soak it in while I can.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll spend plenty of time exploring the island before returning home.”
Home.
He means Blackchapel Manor. Not the apartment I was so proud of. The one I barely got to enjoy.
His hands skim over my belly to rest beneath my breasts, cupping the heavy weights in his large palms, and causing my breath to hitch in my chest. The memory of our kiss from the other night storms to the forefront to remind me how skilled this man is when it comes to my body.
He drowns me in sensations I’ve never felt before.
Addictive, too-good-to-be-real sensations.
“I can’t wait to fuck these.” Luca squeezes my breasts and pushes them together to form a deep valley and illustrate his crude meaning. “Your tits will look so pretty covered in my cum, Butterfly. Reddened from the rough slide of my cock then extra creamy from my seed.”
This man is dirty.
Filthy.
Sexy.
No one has ever spoken to me like this, and frankly, I doubted anyone ever would. I’m not the type of woman to elicit raging passion or even a moderate interest. Men ignore wallflowers like me.
At least they did.
Until Luca.
One hand continues to massage my breast, a thumb circling my nipple before flicking the tip, as another hand slides lower to dip between my thighs.
Giulia packed an assortment of outfits I’d never seen before, including silky nightgowns like the lavender one a soft breeze from outdoors is currently molding to my curves.
The flimsy fabric immediately clings to my wet folds with the firm, possessive clasp Luca takes of my pussy.
“Mmm… Already soaking wet for your husband?” His lips rasp over my neck to my ear, his beard scratching the sensitive skin. “Such a good girl, my sweet little wife.”
“Luca…” I’m not sure what I want to say.
Don’t stop? We shouldn’t do this? My conflicting emotions threaten to give me a headache when all I really wish for is relief from the stress of the past few weeks.
After all, what’s done is done. Whatever my fears going into this marriage, they didn’t put a stop to it.
For better or worse, I’m married to Luca—my stalker, my protector.
Do I really want to keep fighting him and my attraction?
A resounding no echoes in my head. I hate conflict. I’ve avoided it for most of my life. Truthfully, I’ve been a bit of a pushover except for these last few months when I stood up to my parents and moved out on my own.
I don’t want to be a doormat for my husband, which is why I’ve railed against our union and chosen to ignore the kind things he’s done for me—not the least of which was caring for my injuries after Fabian’s ordered beating.
“Stop thinking, Eden.” There’s a sharp nip to my earlobe, and I jerk to attention. He’s right. Thinking has gotten me nowhere with him. With this whole situation.
So, I might as well give in, right? Accept the path my life has taken and revel in the pleasure of Luca’s desire. Because what other choice do I have?
“Make me,” I dare, desperate to forget about right or wrong and just feel for once in my life.
Luca growls, then I’m snatched into the air and tossed on the bed like a tiny ballerina flying across stage rather than the lumbering baby elephant I sometimes feel like. He strips off his shirt but leaves his pants unbuttoned to hint at the bulging arousal his happy trail leads to.
“You just waved a red flag in front of a raging bull, Butterfly. Let’s pray you don’t regret it.” One minute, Luca is standing beside the bed, outlined by a glow of moonlight, and the next, his shadowed face hovers over mine while his heavy body presses me deeper into the mattress.
The thin straps of my gown snap under his strength, cool air rushing over my flushed chest, before Luca’s hot mouth captures a pebbled nipple and laves it with his tongue.
“Oh, god!” I arch into him, staring up at the sheer curtains draped over the four-poster bed. My hands clench around his broad shoulders as they bunch and shift with each move of his head between my breasts.
“So rosy and sweet,” he murmurs, alternating between leisurely licks and powerful suction until I feel raw and over-sensitized and desperate for release.
“Luca… Stop teasing…”
“But it’s so much fun.” His dark chuckle wafts across my abdomen once he finally begins a trek lower. Instinctively, my legs widen to welcome him where I need him most, and I don’t care how wanton it makes me.
I’m a virgin who is now married to the hottest man I’ve ever met. A man obsessed with me, based on Allison’s comments and Luca’s own behavior. So, sue me if I’m ready to be fucked into oblivion on my Italian honeymoon.
“There she is.” Luca’s breath settles over my pussy, a whisper through the crop of curls there.
“My brave Butterfly opening up for me,” he groans and nuzzles a cheek into the crease of my thigh.
“I’ve dreamt of this moment. Jerked off to the thought of eating your hot little cunt until you screamed my name.
And now you’re going to give me what I want, aren’t you, sweet Eden? ”
“Y-Yes…” I stutter, wound too tightly to speak coherent sentences.
“Good girl.” He spreads me wider until the sound of my drenched pussy reaches my ears, and I moan at the obscenity.
The wet tip of a tongue edges around my clit before wedging beneath the tingling bundle of nerves to start an insistent pattern meant to make me whimper from pleasure overload.
L. U. C. A.
Is he spelling his name?
Two fingers tease the walls of my pussy, searching for that one special spot, and when Luca finds it, I almost buck him off the bed from the onslaught of sensation.
“That’s right, carissima . Fuck my face. Ride my fingers. You can bend and wiggle all you want, but I’m strong enough to withstand it.”
“Stop… talking,” I order, shoving his head back between my legs. I might worry about being too aggressive, except Luca releases another primal rumble from his chest and intensifies his efforts to get me off.
Adding a third finger to stretch my tight muscles.
Sucking my clit like it’s a damn popsicle.
He keeps me on the edge of bliss until I can’t stand the pressure anymore and every cell ignites in flame. Rather than dragging the orgasm out with his sinful mouth, Luca rises enough to free his cock from its restraints, notching it to my still-spasming channel.
Maybe I should’ve told him I’m a virgin.
Maybe he would’ve been gentler.
But then his thick cock buries deep in one powerful thrust, and should’ve, would’ve, could’ves are the furthest things from my mind.
There’s a slight burn from stretching around his wide girth, but it’s not as bad as I feared. Guess the few times I worked up the courage to use my neon pink dildo paid off because the edge of pain is bearable compared to the first time I ever stuffed something in there.
“Goddamn, you’re tight,” Luca huffs, his muscles straining to maintain a semblance of control. A drop of sweat gleams on his temple under the pale lighting, and my walls clench reflexively at the notion of licking it away. Of licking every part of my husband’s chiseled body.
“Fuck, do that again.”
I comply and enjoy the wash of pleasure-pain on his sharp features. I hold power over this man—a realization that I’m only now beginning to understand.
“Move, Luca. I need—”
“What do you need? Tell me.” The way he immediately cuts me off should be annoying, but it’s obvious how obsessed he is with pleasing me that I can’t even fault him for needing to know the answer now . Not able to wait the few seconds necessary for me to complete a sentence.
“I need you to fuck me,” I say, a blush blooming on my cheeks at what I’m about to voice.
I’m not a demonstrative or vocal person, but Luca’s unfiltered promises and fantasies encourage me to be just as brazen.
“Fuck me so hard that my pussy threatens to go on strike tomorrow because it’s so sore. Do you know that kind of fucking?”
“Be careful what you wish for, baby.” Luca’s hand anchors around my neck and gently squeezes. My breath hitches in my lungs. The vulnerable position doesn’t scare me; it only makes me hotter.
Rising slightly to increase the pressure of his hold, I lick my lips and swallow, shivering at the warm press of his palm along the fragile arc.
This is it.
I’m going all in.
Luca thrusts harder. Faster. Until the bed rocks against the wall, a banging melody that overpowers the ocean waves outside.
“Come for me, baby. Come for your husband.”
With another cry, my body tenses, then bright relief floods my veins, the tension breaking as Luca jerks and curses, following with his own orgasm.
Jets of cum slicken my thighs to mix with my arousal. It's sticky and warm, and I feel deliciously dirty.
Deliciously claimed .
My stalker husband's prized possession.