9. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Luca
T he applause is still echoing in the cathedral as I lead her through the back corridor, away from the guests, away from the prying eyes of criminals who smiled like saints while fantasizing about our downfall.
Bianca’s hand trembles in mine, but she's done well tonight. She played her part and smiled when she needed to, nodded and spoke when she was spoken to.
Now, as I drag her away, she doesn't look at me, doesn’t ask where we’re going.
Maybe she knows better. Or maybe she’s just too overwhelmed to fight.
Good. Let her be overwhelmed. Let her be consumed.
The heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor opens into my private quarters and I move down the corridor towards my bedroom. The only place where no one else dares to walk uninvited.
This isn’t the room she woke up in this morning. That was a stage.
This is the throne room.
The moment the door shuts behind us, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.
I shrug off my jacket, hang it with care. Unbutton each cuff, roll my sleeves.
"Why aren't we staying at the reception?" Bianca's voice breaks the silence, her eyes following my hands as I roll up each sleeve.
"Because I've shared you with those vultures long enough." I unbutton my collar, watching her gaze lock onto the movement. "Two days ago, you were cleaning hotel rooms. Tonight, you became my wife. And you did beautifully."
Her throat bobs as she swallows. "I didn't do anything."
"You stood there like a queen while they all stared."
I stalk toward her, close enough to catch the rose scent she bathed in. Slowly, piece by piece, every part of her will become my property. First my soap claiming her scent, then my sheets claiming her consciousness, then finally… my children claiming her soul.
"You didn't flinch when I kissed you."
"That wasn't a kiss." Her chin lifts. "That was a statement."
"Everything I do is a statement." I trace one finger down her jaw, remembering how she melted against me at the altar. "But you liked it anyway."
She doesn't deny it. She can't deny it.
Even now, her pupils are blown wide, tracking every shift of muscle beneath my rolled sleeves.
"So that’s all I am? A trophy?"
"No." I stop inches from her, letting the heat of my body bleed into her space. "You’re the prize."
She looks up at me, lashes thick and dark. “I still don’t belong to you. I am my own person. Just like your mother was.”
The mention of my mother hits like a blade between my ribs. My vision blurs red at the edges as I close the distance between us.
"You don't speak of her." My voice comes out loud. Too loud. "You know nothing about my mother or this family."
"They're my family now too." Bianca's eyes flash with that defiance that makes me want to break her. "You made sure of that when you put this ring on my finger."
The rage surges through my blood like poison.
In one sickening motion, control escapes me and I spin her around and shove her forward. She catches herself on the edge of my bed, palms flat against black silk sheets.
"You think wearing my ring makes you family?"
I fist the heavy fabric of her wedding gown, dragging it up over her thighs. The sight of black lace underneath sends fresh heat through my veins.
"You think standing in a church makes you worthy of her name?"
She tries to push up, but I press my palm between her shoulder blades, holding her in place. My hand hovers above the curve of her ass, trembling with barely contained violence.
The black lace of her underwear cuts across pale flesh like a promise. Like an invitation.
But she's not inviting me. She's challenging me.
Even bent over my bed, dress hiked up around her hips, she's not submitting. Her fingers curl into my sheets, but her spine remains steel-straight. Defiant.
"Do it." Her voice comes out raw. Like I could mistake it for a plea. "Hit me. Prove you're the monster everyone whispers about."
My hand shakes harder, caught between the urge to strike and... something else. Something that makes my chest ache when I look at the graceful line of her neck, exposed and vulnerable.
"I won't hit you. These hands might have blood on them, but I will never stroke a woman." The words scrape out of my throat. "But I will break you."
The black silk of her wedding dress pools around her waist, a dark frame for pale thighs and that damned lace that Teresa must have chosen. Of course Teresa would know exactly how to present my bride - like a gift wrapped in shadows.
Her laugh comes out bitter and I fucking swear to God, she shakes her ass at me. "You already tried that. In the cathedral. With that kiss."
My fingers twitch, remembering how she gave in against my mouth.
"That wasn't breaking." I lean down, letting my breath ghost across her ear. "That was claiming."
A shiver runs through her body, but she doesn't move. Doesn't try to escape.
"There's a difference?"
"Breaking is quick." I trace one finger down her spine, feeling each vertebra through thin silk. "Claiming takes time."
The curve of her spine draws my eye, the way she trembles beneath my hand despite her sharp tongue.
"You're not family." I lean close, letting my breath ghost across her neck. "You're mine. My possession. My prize. And it's time you learned the difference."
I grip her jaw, tilt her chin up and lift her off the edge of the bed. Her lips part before my eyes and I can't stop looking into the depths of her own.
She wants to spit fire—maybe even slap me—but her body betrays her. I see it. Feel it without laying a hand on her.
She’s wet.
She’s shaking with it.
“Say it,” I growl.
“Say what?” she hisses back at me.
“That you’re mine.”
"I might be yours." She shakes her head. “But you don’t own me.”
I smile. Dark. Cruel. “Then why are you trembling, little wife ?”
With a sharp movement, our bodies collide together and I press her against the wall behind us, the train of her gown crushed between us, silk whispering against silk.
Her breath rushes out, and I kiss her—hard. Punishing. I kiss her like it’s a war and I intend to win. And fuck, I do .
Her fists beat against my chest, but they quickly flatten and turn to weak little taps that go nowhere. Then she’s clutching me instead, nails raking down my shirt like she wants to tear it open and claw at my skin.
She might hate me. She might want me, too.
But she’ll never be free of me.
I shove the dress up over her hips, baring her thighs, her lace panties soaked through. I groan when I feel her heat against my fingers.
“No.” Her voice trembles as I drag the fabric down her legs. “You can’t—”
“Can’t what?” I hook her knee around my hip. “Claim what already belongs to me?”
“You forced me into this.”
I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “And yet you’re dripping for the devil.”
She gasps as I sink two fingers inside her. She’s tight, wet, clenching around me like she’s trying to stay in control. But she’s already lost that. The second she looked at me in that shitty hotel room, her body became mine to worship, to corrupt, to own .
I don’t stop fucking her cunt with my fingers until she’s gasping my name, clinging to me like she’s drowning. I dive into her with my fingers slow, relentless, watching her unravel and fall apart as I rub them against her wet walls until she's trembling right on the edge.
And then I pull back.
“Not yet,” I whisper against her lips. "You only get to come when I say."
I drag her to the bed and toss her down like a prize I’ve bled for. I rip open the buttons of my shirt, undo my belt, every movement watched carefully as my bride takes in every muscle laced with ink, every scar I've earned just to get to this moment.
Her eyes flick to my cock—hard, heavy, furious.
I step between her knees, grip her chin again, and tilt her face up until those defiant eyes meet mine. Her soft chapped lips are parted, her chest rising too fast that the flush in her cheeks gives her away immediately.
She’s trembling. Not from fear. From want. From the heat and lust pooling between her thighs, still slick with my fingers.
I glide my thumb across her lower lip. “You looked at me that night, little wife. In that hotel hallway. You didn’t run then.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I lean in, sliding a hand down her side. “You still don’t.”
She glares, but it’s soft around the edges now. Cracks are starting to spider through her resolve. She’s wet and breathless, and I haven’t even touched her with my cock yet.
“You think I’ll let you pretend this marriage is just politics?” I whisper.
Her throat works as she swallows.
I grab her wrist and drag her hand down my front. I let her touch every muscle before she reaches around the throbbing ache between my legs that's driving me fucking crazy.
I don't even need to help in the end. She grabs me— tight —so she can feel just how ready I am to fuck her into obedience.
“You’ll never belong to anyone else again.” My voice is razor-sharp as I feel her begin to stroke me. “Not now. Not after this.”
I guide her down to her knees—slow, dominant, deliberate, all while her hand remains locked with a grip so tight I groan at the sight beneath me.
“You want control?” I murmur, watching the defiance war with need behind her eyes. “Then you won't just take it. You will earn it. You think I am yours as much as you are mine? Prove it, little rabbit.”
She glares—sharp, venomous. But it’s all teeth and no escape. Her pride flickers like a dying flame, hot but weakening.
Then, like my good fucking wife, she opens her mouth and flattens her tongue.
"Good girl," I growl, fisting her hair with a hard grab at the back of her head as I push it toward my rock-solid erection.
My spine goes tight, breath catching in my throat.
That look on her face just then? That mixture of rebellion and submission , trembling on her tongue like a promise she swore never to make. A prayer she doesn’t want to say, but still falls to her knees to whisper.
It’s the single most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
I wrap one hand around the base of my cock, thick, pulsing, already fucking leaking for her… and guide it forward, dragging the swollen tip across her parted lips.
Her breath fans hot over the head, and my control fractures down the center like glass.
“That’s it,” I murmur, voice raw. I thread my fingers through the strands of her hair, curling them tight at the nape of her neck. “Let me break your mouth before I ruin that sweet cunt of yours.”
Her throat works around a swallowed noise—somewhere between a whimper and a curse. I feel the tension ripple through her body, down her spine, into the way her thighs press together.
Bianca takes me deeper, her lips stretching around my cock, and fuck—she’s not just submitting, she’s devouring every painful inch like a starved slut.
I grip her hair tighter, my hips jolting forward, fucking her mouth like it’s mine to take. Because it is. She is. Every gasp, every swallow, every fucking flick of her tongue—it’s all mine.
Her hands clutch at my thighs, nails digging in.
She’s not gentle either. Huh. Maybe we were made for each other.
“That’s it,” I growl, the words ripped from somewhere deep and primal. “Take it. Take me.”
Fuck. She’s a queen on her knees, taking her king’s cock like it’s her goddamn birthright.
She moans around my length, the vibration sending electric shocks up my spine. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t pull back. If anything, she takes me deeper, her throat convulsing around the head of my cock.
I’m claiming her mouth, fucking her throat, and she’s not just letting me—she’s enjoying it. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath coming in ragged gasps when I pull back enough to let her breathe. She’s not just enduring this. She’s getting off on it.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.
“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” I rasp, the words torn from some raw, honest place inside me. “On your knees. Taking my cock. Mine , Bianca. You’re fucking mine .”
I tighten my grip on her hair, holding her still as I thrust deeper, hitting the back of her throat. She gags, but she doesn’t fight it. She swallows around me, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You think I’m obsessed with control, little rabbit?” I rasp, rocking into her mouth. “No, amore mio … I’m obsessed with this. With you.”
She whimpers around me. Not fear. Not pain. But resistance buckling under arousal .
She’s not just taking me.
She’s submitting to the dark —and fucking glowing in it.
I rip my cock from her throat, a gasp echoing through the room as she's suddenly empty, lips swollen and slick. I lift her roughly, like she's a doll in my hands, and pull her up to press a brutal kiss to her mouth.
She tastes like fucking surrender and pure heaven, a mixture that's becoming my favorite flavor.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Bianca?" I growl against her lips, gripping her chin tight between my hands, forcing her eyes to mine. "Do you want to be my filthy little whore of a wife?"
She's silent, defiance still sparking in her eyes, even as her body betrays her. I see that flash of heat there, the way she reacts to my every command.
I reach between her legs, shoving her dress up, and find her hot pussy soaked. Fucking dripping for me.
A chuckle leaves my throat, dark and victorious.
"You're wet, little wife. So fucking wet." I drag my fingers through her folds, coating them in her arousal, then bring them to her mouth. I paint her lips with her own desire, making her taste what I do to her. "Say it. Say you want me to fuck you like the good little slut you will become."
She glares, but her body arches into mine, seeking more contact, more friction.
She's a mess of need and pride, and I want to bathe in her chaos.
"I’m cruel, Bianca. Dark. Dangerous in ways you can’t yet imagine." My fingers grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. "But I’m not the kind of monster who takes without hearing you say the word. I won’t fuck you until you beg me for it."
Her breath hitches, and she squirms in my hold, trying to find relief against my thigh.
I chuckle again. "That's not how this works, little rabbit. You know what I want."
I reach between her legs again, circling her clit with my thumb, making her whimper until she's almost coming all over herself again. Her hips jerk, chasing my touch more, but I pull back, denying her the release she craves.
"Say it, Bianca," I demand, voice harsh with need. "Say you want me to take you. Then, and only then, will you get to come."
Her eyes flash, but she grits out, "Yes. Take me. Please. "
And that's all I need.