Chapter 22
22
GIANNA
My jaw drops.
I glance at Gracie, expecting some reaction, but she just keeps clearing the plates like she can’t see or hear what’s going on right in front of her. Frustration flares as I glare back at Michael and start walking away.
He follows, his grip on my arm not slacking one bit.
I storm up the stairs, fury bubbling hotter when I try to shake him off—once, twice—but he doesn’t budge. We climb the stairs together, go down the hallway and into his room. The second we’re inside, I try to wrench my arm free again, and he finally lets go.
I slam the door shut and turn the key, locking it.
Then I whirl on him. “What the hell is your problem? How do you expect Gracie to feel hearing you say stuff like that?” I snap, crossing my arms across my chest, rage boiling over.
“Nothing. It’s her job, and I’m paying her well for it. She wouldn’t feel anything.” His voice is flat. Unapologetic. Then it turns razor-sharp. “And don’t ever try that again, Gianna. Your role as my wife is to be by my side when we have company, warm my bed when we’re alone—” His gaze drops to my stomach, lingering. “And carry my child.”
Something hot settles in my belly, my veins sizzling at the possession in his stare. Fuck, I must be going crazy from spending so much time with him. Insanity by close proximity.
I toss my head back and let out a maniacal laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. Now I get why they call you the Mad Hatter. I see no difference between you and the character in the movie. You’re certifiable!”
Michael’s face becomes hard as granite, his eyes darkening dangerously.
Then— Jesus Christ —in a blink, he’s in my space, pressing me against the door, his hot palm curling around my throat.
My body betrays me instantly.
I can practically feel my blood sizzle in my veins as he surrounds my senses, and I shiver, going lightheaded and dizzy from how close he is.
“I might be crazy, but I’m your crazy husband. What does that say about you?”
“That I’d do anything to get out of my uncle’s clutches and escape marrying Carlo,” I gasp breathlessly. “I’d go round and round any circus to escape their clutches and get to the top.” At this point, I’m not even sure what I’m saying.
I’m babbling, desperate to cling onto my diminishing anger—anything to distract myself from my growing desire, the slickness between my thighs, my relentless pounding heart. Focus!
His jaw ticks—the only warning before his grip tightens, cutting off my air supply. But I’m not scared of him. I don’t think I ever was. I lean into his grip, challenging him even as my lungs burn with the need for air.
“Fucking hell,” he growls.
Then his lips crash onto mine.
It’s not a kiss. It’s something more feral than that. A claim, a punishment, maybe both. Then he lets up on my throat just enough for air to slip in, and I suck in a desperate breath, nearly swallowing his tongue in the process. His groan vibrates through my body as he uses his hold to tilt my head back, deepening the kiss.
I melt into him, matching his intensity, my hands wrapping around his inked skull, fingertips slipping into the hair at the top of his head.
“ Fuckk .” The curse ghosts across my lips as he breaks the kiss.
Dazed, I blink up at him, but he’s already grabbing my wrists, spinning me around until my cheek slams against the door. “You need to be taught a lesson on how to keep your tart tongue in your mouth,” he says huskily as he shifts his stance behind me and captures both my wrists in one hand. “And I’m just the teacher you need.”
When he moves again, I feel it.
His hardness grazing against my ass.
Oh God. A soft, broken moan slips from my lips before I can stop it. He chuckles behind me and taps my ass lightly, then— smack— his palm comes down hard on my cheeks.
This time, the noise that tears out of me is something between a squeal, a scream, and a whimper as I jolt forward, shuddering when my nipples and clit press harder against the unyielding wood.
“What does it say about you, love, that you’re getting aroused by this crazy bastard spanking you?” Another slap punctuates the question, and all I can do is moan like some sex-crazed freak as sensations rail through me.
He gathers the skirt of my dress, grunting as he tries to bunch it up in one hand, but the fabric is too full, slipping through his fingers. Growling in frustration, he abandons the effort and simply lifts me instead, carrying me in powerful strides to his massive bed like I weigh less than nothing.
I barely register the feeling of the plush mattress before he’s rolling to the side and I hear the telltale sound of a drawer sliding open. When I glance over, I catch a glimpse of what’s inside—almost the exact same contents as the nightstand in his Seattle house.
Handcuffs, a pair of keys, a silky blindfold, and a fancy keycard.
What is he, a sexual deviant?
But then he takes the handcuffs, tosses them onto the bed, and turns to face me. I inhale sharply at the intense look on his face.
“Now, where were we?” he asks darkly as he crawls towards me.
I scramble backwards, crawling up the bed until my head thunks against the headboard. He smirks at me. The kind that screams satisfaction. Wetness drips out of my core, and my mouth waters as I watch him. God, this is so hot.
He ’s so smoking hot, it’s almost unreal that he’s my husband. Mine .
I’m still caught in that dazed thought when he takes my left hand and lifts it up. I don’t realize what he’s doing until?—
Click .
I glance up in shock. He cuffed my hand to his bed. “Michael—” I start, but he’s already lifting my right hand.
“ Shhh, ” he murmurs sexily, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of my wrist as he clicks the cuff into place. “Now, I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”
A shiver runs through me. I should be resisting or something—but all I can do is watch him, waiting, wanting…
Then his fingers are gripping my chin, his thumb pressing into my jaw. “Give me your tongue.” The words are barely out of his mouth before I’m parting my lips, poking my tongue out for him.
My brain cells have officially departed the room. I’m a complete goner for him. He could order me to waltz through hellfire, and I’d probably thank him for the privilege.
But he doesn’t ask me to do that. No, his ideas are far more deliciously wicked. He leans down and sucks the sensitive organ into his mouth, and I swear I short-circuit right there on the spot. I jerk against the cuffs like I’ve been hit with a live wire as acute pleasure slings through me and his grip tightens even more on my chin.
The exquisite cocktail of pain and pleasure is so intense my eyes roll back, my body writhing beneath him, entirely at his mercy.
He lets go of my face, and my head drops back to the pillow with a soft thud. Then his mouth is everywhere—nipping at my brows, my nose, my chin—trailing lower, down to my throat. I groan his name, my head digging into the pillow with the force of my pleasure.
He’s mastered the art of my body.
His hands find my tits through my dress, squeezing just enough to make me whimper. Not enough. More. I arch higher, silently begging.
He curses and adjusts my body to the left. The position tugs at my arms, making my wrists sting a little, but I barely register it when he grabs the zipper and finally drags it down.
Then he turns me onto my back again—and stills.
A beat passes. Then another.
He lets out another curse, a deep, frustrated sound, and I realize what the issue is at the same time he does.
He can’t take the dress off. Not with my hands cuffed to the damn headboard.
His jaw tenses, but instead of unlocking the cuffs, he presses a lingering kiss to my throat, and I don’t miss how he inhales deeply before pulling back from me.
I watch, chest heaving, as he gets off the bed, crosses to the other nightstand, and takes out?—
A knife. A wickedly curved knife.
My breath hitches when he walks back to me, knife in hand, the blade glinting.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, arresting my gaze with those pale blue eyes.
I’m nodding before I even process the question. And I realize I do . At least with this—my body and the sexual things.
“Good.” Then, he presses the knife against my throat.
I go completely still.
The steel barely tickles my skin, but my heart slams against my ribs, wild and frantic. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he watches me, studying every flicker of my reaction, before he carefully lifts the knife away. “Good wife. You do trust me.”
Then he turns the blade to the neckline of my dress, and with a loud, crinkling tear, he slices it open from neck to hem, the fabric splitting like a shirt to reveal my lace bra and panties.
He smirks as he drinks me in. “Pretty,” he hums, before getting to work tearing through the armholes until every bit of the ragged material is peeled away from my body.
Satisfaction darkens his features as he takes in his handiwork. Without ever breaking eye contact, he tosses the knife to the floor behind him, the metallic clatter barely registering through the thundering of my heartbeat.
Leaning down, he wraps his hot mouth around my nipple through the lace, drawing a sharp cry from my lips as his teeth clamp down mercilessly on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Once, twice he scrapes against the tender flesh before sucking my hardened nipple back into the hot, wet heat of his mouth.
“Fuck, Michael!” I scream to the ceiling, my neck hurting from how hard I push it back into the pillow, my head hitting the headboard with a distinct crack. But I don’t feel the pain right now.
I’m too busy being lost in pleasure.
Michael switches to my other nipple, alternating between them—sucking, biting, tormenting me until the fabric of my bra is soaked through with his saliva.
Then he slowly drags his mouth down my body.
A warm breath fans over my belly, making me shudder, goosebumps erupting all over my skin.
He goes lower, dipping his tongue into my belly button. Another shudder rips through me, and I moan, yanking at my restraints like I’ll magically break free. But the cold steel bites into my wrists, a sharp reminder of just how trapped I am. Groaning in frustration, I close my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.
His fingers graze my hips, then curl into the waistband of my panties. With agonizing slowness, he drags them down my legs, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until I’m practically vibrating beneath him.
“Michael,” I whine, and the bastard has the nerve to wink up at me before lifting the crotch of my panties to his nostrils.
His eyes go dark, heavy-lidded. Then they flutter shut entirely, his shoulders shaking as a deep, satisfied rumble leaves him.
Holy shit.
I stare, spellbound, my lips parting. Heat flares between my legs, and I instinctively press my thighs together, rubbing against my needy clit for some relief.
His eyes snap open. “Oh no, you don’t,” he warns as he pockets my panties like some kind of filthy prize. Crawling up my body, he spreads open my legs and skims a hand over my cunt. “So pretty.” He parts my slick folds. “So mine.” A single finger teases at my entrance.
I buck against him, aching to have him inside me.
But he doesn’t give me what I want.
Instead, he drags that finger up to my clit, and I stiffen with anticipation—only for him to circle around the bud without any real pressure, taunting me cruelly. “ Michael .” Frustrated tears leak out of my eyes, and he frowns at them, leaning forward to lick them off my face. It’s so intimate, so unexpected, my heart stutters at how close he is.
I want to run my thumb over his piercings. God, I need to. “Let me out of these handcuffs,” I groan, voice deep and guttural.
“Not yet,” he answers and crawls back down my body.
“Fucking hell, Michael. Are you trying to punish me for some— aghhhh !” I buck so hard, my back leaves the bed, my wrists digging into my cuffs as he suddenly French kisses my cunt, tongue swirling around my hole, teeth grazing my clit.
And then he goes in, devouring me with a hunger that sets my nerves on fire. My breath stutters and a long string of incoherent words leave my mouth as my entire being is filled with pleasure, so much pleasure I can barely stand it.
Then—fuck—he eases back a bit, just enough to wrap his lips around my clit, right as two fingers plunge into me.
My brain short-circuits, my vision darkening, while my throat grows hoarse from how loud and long I scream.
Sweat dribbles down my back, cum dripping from me as I ride out the waves of my orgasm. But Michael doesn’t let a single drop go to waste. He laps it all up, drawing out my climax, making me feel every pulse, every exquisite second of it.
I think I pass out for a moment because when I come to, he’s kneeling between my legs, his pants magically gone as he plays with his cock, the metal of his piercing glistening temptingly.
I lick my lips.
Even after coming so hard, it’s not enough. It’s never enough with him. I want more. I want him .
I part my thighs invitingly, and his breath hitches. He inches closer, the hot flesh of his cock grazing my thighs sending me into a spiral.
Then he presses it against my clit, slapping the tip against the sensitive nub, once, twice.
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” I chant his name, shifting my hips, rotating them as I try to get his cock right where I want it.
But then he stills.
“No condom, love. Are you going to deny me again?” His eyes are dark and daring as he stares at me.
Condom?
Somewhere in the haze of my lust-clouded brain, I know what he just mentioned is something important and the reason we didn’t have sex last time. But right now, I can’t figure out why it matters, and honestly, I don’t give a single fuck.
So what if he comes inside me? I want it. I want to feel it so bad. Consequences be damned.
I yank against the handcuffs so harshly, Michael has to lean forward to grab my wrists. “Careful. You’ll hurt yourself,” he says, but his cock drags over my belly, leaving a trail of hot precum, and any remaining logical thought disintegrates.
“Release me, release me. Now !”
Michael doesn’t hesitate this time. He moves towards the nightstand, takes out the keys, and quickly unlocks both cuffs. He tries to massage my wrists, but I slap his hands away?—
And grab his cock.
He stiffens instantly. A guttural groan rips from his throat as he shudders under my touch, but he doesn't stop me as I guide him exactly where I want him. I drag his cock through my slick folds, notch it right at my entrance, and spread my legs wide.
He gnashes his teeth as he watches me, muscles cording in his neck as he grips my hand around his cock. “You want me to fuck you? Beg for it.”
“What?” I blink at him uncomprehendingly. Is he seriously going to tease me again? Now?! When I’m this desperate? I’m so hungry for him, so needy, I can almost feel his hard cock inside me already, my core contracting helplessly around the emptiness.
This is not the time to play with me!
“Beg, Gianna. Beg your husband for his cock. Beg me for my cum.”
“Fucking hell, Michael!” My frustration erupts. “Please, just give it to me already! Give me your fucking cock and your cum and your— yessssss !!”
My entire body curls up as he thrusts into me, the metal of his piercing rolling over my walls so sweetly, so pleasingly, as he sinks in, deep, all in one powerful stroke.
Drool pools at the corner of my mouth as he pulls back slowly, only to slam back in again, forcing a raw, helpless scream from my throat.
He groans my name, his hands clamping onto my hips like he owns me. Then he shifts inside me—and holy fuck, I see stars. I swear, his cock hits so deep, I feel the tip kiss my womb, the cold metal piercing grazing my most sensitive spot.
My hands fly to my hair, clutching mindlessly at the strands, my head thrashing left and right against the pillow as I come again.
His name is the only thing I can say, so I chant it as my brain fucking seems to reset.
And then he’s there with me, yelling my name as he spills inside me—hot, thick ropes of cum filling me up, claiming me completely.