Chapter 9 #2
“Listen, I know she’s your daughter, but I’ve waited all fucking day to strip her out of this wedding dress,” I began, keeping my tone stoic and not letting on just how much I did actually want to strip her out of her dress.
“So how about you do what Rafe says and fuck off back to the party so I can do what I’ve been waiting to do. ”
Georgio held my gaze, the cogs whirring in his head until eventually he allowed a triumphant grin to spread across his face. “In that case, don’t let me stop you. I’ll get my men to escort you-”
“I think we can manage on our own,” I interrupted, gripping Sofia tightly against me and dragging her past her father, her feet barely touching the floor. “I don’t expect us to be disturbed, am I clear?”
Rafe subtly snarled at me, and if it wasn’t for Bianchi watching me intently, he would have earned a punch to the face. He wanted me to make sure his father didn’t know Sofia was drunk, tough shit if that meant playing up to Bianchi’s dirty scheming.
I shouldn’t have known the way to Sofia’s bedroom, having never been there before, but she didn’t question how I knew where it was in the enormous mansion as I dragged her through the halls, ignoring her slurred and random observations.
If she had asked, I would have made up some bullshit about it being a lucky guess rather than admitting the truth; I’d spent far too many hours hacking into the security feed inside the house to watch her.
Reaching her room, I shoved the door open, slamming it behind me before releasing her from my grasp. She swayed on unsteady feet as my gaze darted around, taking everything in, and doing my damned hardest to ignore the overpowering scent of cinnamon crashing into me like a tsunami.
As much as I’d seen her bedroom countless times on the camera feed, it looked different now that I was inside it. The pink walls were lighter than they appeared, and it was bigger than what it seemed through the view of a screen.
One side of her room was taken up by an enormous walk-in wardrobe, no doubt filled with a ridiculous amount of designer clothes Princess Sofia would only ever wear once.
An ornate dressing table covered in expensive perfumes and makeup was near the wardrobe, and a silver velvet couch stood in front of a Juliet balcony, overlooking the fountain in the grounds of the garden.
A huge four-poster bed dominated the other half of the room, and at some point in the evening, someone had scattered red rose petals over the neatly-made sheets.
On either side of the bed were small tables with candles lightly flickering, and a bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice with two glass flutes waiting to be filled.
“Oh, yay. More champagne,” Sofia slurred when she saw what I was staring at.
Before she could make a beeline for it, I grabbed her arm. “You’ve had enough.”
“You can’t-” hiccup “- tell me what to do.”
“Wanna fucking bet?”
An annoying giggle fell from her lips as she lifted a finger and jabbed it against my chest. “You’re soooo serious all the time, Milo. You know, if you relaxed a little, you’d be a lot more fun.”
She hiccuped again, and before I could snap at her for calling me Milo, her knees buckled; the only reason she didn’t hit the floor was because I was still gripping her arm.
Cursing internally, I dragged her over to the couch and shoved her down, dropping to my knees and rummaging through the layers of her dress to find her feet.
“Oooh, is this the part where you strip me out of my dress like you told Papa you wanted to?” she giggled, wiggling her leg as I attempted to unbuckle her shoe.
“No. This is the part where you get your ass into bed and go the fuck to sleep.” Managing to remove one shoe, I moved to the other, making quick work to slide it off her foot before standing again. “Now, Jailbait. I haven’t got the patience to be dealing with you tonight.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” she slurred, fighting against her dress to stand. “Guess you’ll have to learn some patience. You’ve got to put up with me for the rest of your life.”
She prodded me in the chest again, giggling to herself. I snatched her hand, pulling her against my chest, and now she wasn’t wearing her shoes, I remembered how small she was against my frame. “I plan to have as little as possible to do with you after tonight. Now. Get. The fuck. To. Bed.”
A smirk crossed her lips, and I knew the next words to come from her would piss me off. “I need help getting out of my dress.”
Yep, guessed it.
She turned, showing me the back of her dress.
Gritting my teeth, I tugged at the knot at the bottom of the corset, my cock getting the wrong memo and growing thicker.
I wasn’t undressing her to fuck her. I was undressing her so the two of us could get some fucking sleep, and this damn night would be over with.
Pulling the never-ending ribbon out of the loops and loosening her dress, I managed to resist the urge to run my fingertips along the length of her spine, her soft skin tempting me, and testing my resolve.
When the final loop was free, I stepped back like I’d just been electrocuted, and turned so she wouldn’t see the painful erection I was now sporting.
“Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly serious.
As she brushed past me, heading to the bathroom, I presumed, I caught the way her cheeks were now flaming. When the door shut behind her, the tension I’d been holding in my body unfurled.
This night was going to kill me.
Stripping out of my jacket, followed by my gun holster and bow tie, I threw them onto the couch, debating whether I’d be better off sleeping on it.
My cock was showing no signs of deflating, and there was a strong possibility that if I slept next to Sofia, I wouldn’t get any sleep until I blew my load.
It was fucking typical. My cock hadn’t shown any signs of life since Theo was murdered. I hadn’t even so much as fucked my own hand, yet the one woman I couldn’t allow myself to have, my cock evidently had different ideas.
I sat my ass on the couch, about to lean down to undo my shoes, when the bathroom door opened, and Sofia appeared.
I froze.
She’d changed out of her wedding dress and now stood before me in nothing but a white corset that pushed her rounded breasts together, her pert nipples pushing through the lace cups.
Clipped to the corset were suspender straps holding onto white stockings, and covering her cunt were sheer white panties, letting me see a thin sliver of hair.
There was absolutely no chance of my cock deflating now.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” I growled, unable to move from the blood thumping in my cock.
Fuck, she looked goddamn edible.
She stumbled as she stepped away from the door, reminding me of her intoxication, and a flash of hesitance passed over her face. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s our wedding night,” she paused, hiccupping. “We’ve got to con…con…consummate the marriage.”
Fists clenched, it took every ounce of willpower to stand and slowly prowl toward her, giving me time to calm my racing heart. When I reached her, I roughly grabbed her chin between my thumb and finger.
“Is that what you want?” I said, my voice low. “You want me to throw you on that bed and rip your little pussy apart, huh?”
Her pupils widened, lust filling her eyes. “Yes,” she replied softly, the uncertainty in her tone betraying her answer.
Because I was masochistic and obviously liked to torture myself, I dropped her chin and clutched her hips instead, pulling them forward so my erection stabbed her belly, and letting her know the effect she was having on me.
“You sure, Jailbait? Because you’ve seen how I fuck, and it isn’t gentle.
I won’t spend time licking and nibbling every inch of your body until your cunt is dripping wet for me.
I’ll hurt you. Bruise you. I’ll fuck you so damn hard that every time you move for the next week, you’ll be reminded of who ruined your pussy.
” I paused, enjoying the way her breath came out in short spurts.
“So I’ll ask again. Is that what you want? ”
She blinked, and this time when she spoke, there wasn’t a hint of uncertainty. “Yes.”
Fuck.
Not only had she called my bluff, but now my cock was leaking with pre-cum, and I could smell her arousal in the air.
With resolve I didn’t think I had, I moved my mouth to hers, our lips an inch apart. “Too bad for you, Jailbait. I don’t fuck drunk women, and I certainly don’t fuck liars.” I released her and took a step back, ignoring the sting of rejection in her eyes.
Her lip quivered. “You…you’re an asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I snapped back. “Now get back in that bathroom, and change into something that doesn’t make you look like a slut so we can get some fucking sleep.”
The first tear slid down her cheek as she turned and rushed back into the bathroom. I paced the length of the room, feeling like the asshole she’d accused me of being, and reminding myself of the mantra I’d been repeating throughout the day.
When the bathroom door opened a second time, she stormed across the room, wearing a nightshirt that went to her knees, and blew out the candles on either side of the bed.
Shoving the rose petals off, she ripped the covers back and got into bed, pulling them all the way over her head like she’d done previously.
Sighing and hating myself even more, I stripped out of my clothes, leaving my boxers on, and turned the light off before lying down next to her, but not getting under the covers.
From next to me, sniffles reached my ears, and I closed my eyes, regretting ever making this fucked up deal with Bianchi.