Chapter 23 – Vincenzo
The snug, seaside bungalow was far away from town, so there was little risk of my wife leaving. I wasn’t sure if she planned on it or if she was too exhausted to formulate a revenge plot against me. Her wrath was something I counted on, and her vow had promised retribution.
But as she took the suitcase from me inside the living room of the cozy cottage, she seemed more likely to fall asleep than stab me over dinner.
I ignored the funny feeling in my chest. “I’ll have food ready in fifteen minutes.”
Amanda snorted softly. “Don’t bother. I won’t eat.”
I flexed my hand at my side to keep from grabbing her by the throat, pushing her against the wall, and growling in her face. The urge was resistible for five seconds, but the way she tipped her chin and stepped toward the stairs made me snap.
She let out a squeak as my fingers wrapped around her slim neck and my arm caged her ribs against my body.
“You will join me at the table,” I commanded her.
Amanda shook her head, but my grip tightened and cut off the movement.
“I said dinner will be ready in fifteen. If you’re not down before that, you’re late—and you don’t want to test me, Mandy.”
To my delight, she let out a strangled snarl, lips pulled back in defiance. Huh, maybe there was some fight left in her yet.
Good….
Angry Amanda was something I could play with. I wanted to break her like a filly. Tamed and penitent was the goal. There was no joy punishing her if she caved, wallowed, and fell into a ball of depression.
“Tick-tock, ragazza mia,” I mocked. “Get changed…or don’t. But I expect you back down here.”
“Fine,” she bit out.
Leaning down, I breathed in her scent. Exotic. Floral. Her. She stilled, breath hitching.
Mine.
A fire raced through my veins. I wanted her. Wanted her in every primal way. Not just her body, but her mind.
Her soul.
I released her with a gentle push, and she stumbled away, bounding up the stairs as if she could escape this.
Too cute.
My dick throbbed in response.
But if we didn’t do anything tonight, that was fine. This was about what she needed. I saved her from a terrible fate. She was no longer a pawn for her father. I would protect her.
And I’ll destroy him.
No, she needed space to rest. To heal. If a good orgasm triggered a cathartic release, I would serve her as many as she needed. But if tonight was only a hot, fresh meal and bed, then so be it. I could wait for my wedding night.
I would wait an eternity for this woman.
In the kitchen, I cranked the gas flames hot.
My list of supplies was already here, the host for the cottage providing everything I required, gladly for the extra price.
Butter crackled in the cast iron skillet, and the steaks, which had been left on the counter, were the perfect room temperature.
Two baking potatoes finishing in the microwave and long green beans sauteing in a back skillet, everything was nearly ready when Amanda came back down.
She was in a fitted, professional dress.
My fingers gripped the knife I was sharpening to cut the resting steaks.
Where were her pretty things? I knew from snooping in her closet that her wardrobe was professional, with a few sexy outfits she wore out to the clubs.
But the floral skirts? The vibrant colors?
Surely, she had purchased something that was truly her for the honeymoon!
Did she not think I was worthy of the laidback, flirty outfits?
She used to love colors and feminine styles.
Was this another layer of mockery jabbing directly at me? But a quick reminder that she was mine, and that it didn’t matter, relaxed the tightness around my lungs.
“I’m not hungry,” she stated.
I pointed the knife at her. “Sit your pretty little ass in that chair.”
Her eyes widened, but she took her time obeying. “Is there any wine?”
“Not tonight.” Wine was a pleasure she had to earn. “If you clean your plate, we’ll crack open a bottle.”
“Tyrant,” she muttered.
Oh, Mandy, you have no idea.
The first steak was a perfect medium rare, whereas mine was bloody and crimson red. I set the plated feast in front of her and took my seat.
“Tell me why?” Her tone was icy. Those blue eyes were slits of bone-chilling energy.
“Why what?” I stabbed a bite of food.
Her lips thinned. “Why would you marry me? And why now?”
So furious, I should have anticipated her frigid reception after the way she’d dismissed me two Christmases ago when I’d come back from prison.
“You’re mine, Amanda,” I said simply. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to go, but here we are.”
“But! You broke up with me! Ended our engagement,” she seethed. “Now you swoop in here and make some sick, twisted claim?”
That was what she thought happened? It couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I didn’t end our engagement.” I shoved the bite of food in my mouth, hating how bitter it tasted. “Your dad tried to break us.”
Maybe, on some level, he succeeded.
I dashed that thought away. She was still mine; she just needed to remember that.
Amanda shook her head, eyes crinkled in disgust. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t even know about us! You were arrested, and when I tried to contact you, I was given a message that we were done. My letters to you in prison were also returned.”
She didn’t know.
Huh. I sat back in my chair and studied her, spinning the fork in my hand. How much did I want to reveal? Would she even accept the truth? Or was this something I would have to slowly feed her until she looked at her father with open eyes?
“I never sent any messages.” She was going to need proof that her dad was behind the arrest and helped the prosecution send me away. “Your father did know about us. And it doesn’t matter that you don’t believe me. What is true now—as it was then—is that you are mine.”
I crawled back from the cell I’d been thrown into to rot. I was here. I was more powerful than Archibald Loring; he couldn’t stop us this time. Amanda was mine.
“Look, I know your pretty, calculating brain is reeling.” I leaned forward. “Eat. Sleep. And we’ll talk more later.”
Amanda didn’t move.
I popped a bite in my mouth, savoring the buttery goodness. When her gaze turned to the wall of windows and patio door, I swallowed. Breaking her would be so much fun.
The lightning-fast speed with which I pounced was honed from years of skirting dangers in the yard, the blocks, and even the cells.
I wrapped my hands around her waist and plucked her from her seat.
She yelped. Caught off balance, her struggling was useless.
I hauled her over my lap, locked a leg over hers, and delivered a swift, stinging swat to her backside.
“Enzo!” she railed. “Are you serious right now? Spanking me—Ow!”
A wicked smile spread across my lips. I slapped her ass once more, loving the feel of it against my palm.
Pulling her upright, I adjusted her body so that her arms were caged at her side and her legs locked in mine. She thrashed, but I only squeezed harder. Reaching for her plate, I stabbed a piece of her steak with my fork.
Amanda glared at it.
I pushed it against her lips, smearing the butter and juice in a tempting offer. Her jaw clenched in protest.
And her legs? They squeezed tightly together.
Interesting….
“We have all night,” I warned. “But I suggest eating this while it’s hot.”
Whether it was the smell, the hint of flavor so close to her tongue, or the realization that this battle wouldn’t be won, she submitted. Those pretty red lips parted, and I pushed the meat into her mouth. She tore it off the fork, twisting her head away from me.
“Brava,” I praised. Her hitched breath made me grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
A vicious mutter sounded at the back of her throat.
I put a piece of potato and green bean on the fork for the next bite. She took it under protest. But her body was giving way to her determination. Bite after bite, she ate.
“That’s enough, I’m full,” she said after half the food was done.
“No,” I warned. “You’re not.”
“Vincenzo, I don’t eat that much,” she protested.
“Exactly.” That was the problem. She denied herself. “You’re going to eat a bit more.”
She pressed her mouth closed, but I bounced her hard on my lap.
This time, her thighs rubbed against each other.
Heat pulsed through my shaft. I knew the ways of her body, knew the details and signs well enough. Amanda was turned on. Fighting it, yes. But her body couldn’t lie to me.
Alright, I’ll give you what you need.
Fiendish delight surged hot under my skin. I resisted the urge to drop my hand on her thigh, to begin to tease her.
She needed to eat more first.
Then…dessert.
I forced more dinner down her throat. Not only was it fun to make her bend to my will, knowing that she was wholly and completely under my care, lessened a knot of worry I didn’t know I had.
She was done starving and overworking herself.
The root of that problem was something only time would fix, and I had to proceed carefully to train her body to accept a healthy amount of calories.
If I had to hand feed her every meal, then that was exactly what I was going to do. I liked that dark thought.
This had the potential to become my new favorite addiction.
Only when I was satisfied that she’d eaten enough did I push her plate away. Mine wasn’t empty either, but I would finish it later. I didn’t waste food—especially good food.
Prison had a way of making me appreciate the small things.
“You ate well,” I murmured, grazing my knuckles down the column of her throat. “I think it’s time for dessert.”
She jerked against the arm caging her. “Vincenzo, no! I don’t want sugar. I don’t eat that stuff.”
“Who said anything about sugar?” This time, I pressed my lips against her pulse, enjoying the way it fluttered in response. So fucking sweet.
“You didn’t clean your plate, either.”