45. Juliette #2
“Yes!” I cried out, my pussy throbbing. His fingers, still deep inside me, stroked my G-spot, while his tongue laved at me. I thrust my hips up, grinding against his face. Dante flicked his tongue over my clit hard, over and over again.
“Dante… Dante… oh, God.” My cries became screams. My moans louder and louder.
My hips bucked under his expert tongue. My muscles clenched around his fingers. The orgasm exploded through me, violent like a category-five hurricane.
As my body shuddered under his assault, Dante showered me with praise. “Good girl,” he murmured, kissing the inside of my thighs. “Such a good girl.”
I was throbbing. Pleasure just wracked my body and I was already greedy for more. As he came to rest his forearms by my head, his cock brushed against my throbbing pussy.
“Dante,” I whimpered, arching against him.
“Do you want my cock?”
“Yes, yes,” I moaned. “Please, Dante. Fuck me. Fuck, I need you so much.”
He pushed the tip of his cock, dripping with precum, into my pussy. “Please. Please .”
He slammed all the way into me, and we both moaned. My head fell back and my eyes rolled back in my head, my spine arching off the bed.
His hands grabbed my hips as he pulled out, only to slam back in again.
“Are you mine?” He thrust into me again. Hard . “Who does this pussy belong to?”
“Yours,” I moaned. “I’m all yours.”
He pulled almost all the way out, only to thrust back into me deeply. Roughly. Then he increased his pace and intensity, taking me fast and hard.
He was right. I screamed his name that night.
* * *
I woke up the next morning later than usual.
To an empty bed and not a husband in sight.
Glancing at the clock, nine a.m. stared back at me in glowing green.
It was later than usual. Dante kept me up until five a.m., running his hands and mouth all over my body.
He drew so many orgasms out of me that I had to beg him for a reprieve or risk passing out.
My lips curved into a smile as I thought of all the ways he’d made me come. This thing with him was raw and so intense and I feared it’d burn out.
I shook my head, chasing the thoughts away. I slid out of bed, my muscles achy.
“A shower will help,” I murmured to myself.
It helped. Ten minutes later, I was dressed in black leggings and a three-quarter-sleeved off-the-shoulder shirt, the color of the bluest skies. Not bothering with shoes or socks, I padded through the house in search of my husband.
I knew he wouldn’t have left the house without us having breakfast first. He insisted it would be our tradition. To have breakfast together every morning and dinner together every night. Unless he was traveling.
As I reached the bottom step of the ground floor, I heard his voice coming from the office. My feet were soundless against the white marble as I made my way through the foyer to the opposite side of the house.
Slick furniture and expensive framed paintings greeted me. That was one thing nobody could take away from this house—it was decorated to the nines with slick modern furniture mixed with a certain old elegance.
I was almost by Dante’s office when I heard multiple voices and my steps faltered. The tense words exchanged inside the office had my stomach twisting in knots.
“She’ll have your balls when she finds out,” Basilio stated, his voice coming through a speaker.
“We should tell Juliette,” Emory chimed in.
My heart picked up pace, each beat like a whip against my ribs. Something about her tone sent dread through me.
“No.” Dante’s voice was low. Dark. Deadly. “And none of you will ever mention it again.”
My brows furrowed, wondering what it was that Emory wanted to tell me. Maybe something happened? Worry shot through me and my hand reached for the door handle, pausing in midair when Priest’s words came through.
“If anyone finds out we drugged Juliette to marry you, there’ll be hell to pay. And war to wage. And we can’t afford it right now. Not with Sofia Volkov attacking us.”
“She’s bound to find out you slipped the drug into her drink,” Emory tried again.
I froze at hearing the words. Did he just say that Dante slipped a drug into my drink?
Drugged me? Dante drugged me. Oh my God, Dante drugged me.
Old ghosts came knocking. My throat squeezed. Images haunted.
“Technically it was Priest,” I thought I heard Basilio’s voice say; I couldn’t tell. My pulse thundered in my eardrums so loud, drowning out the rest of their conversation.
I blinked my eyes, the burning liquified and blurred my vision. My ears buzzed.
He lied to me. He betrayed me.
My chest cracked. The pressure on my heart built and an ache so deep it was hard to breathe spread through me. The rawness of it made it feel like I was bleeding out.
My gaze lowered and I expected to see my crimson blood on the pristine white marble beneath my feet. Yet, there was nothing. The white marble hid the black heart.
A hollowness formed in my chest. That ache grew dull and expanded over me, leaving a dark hole in my chest.
As a tear rolled down my cheek, I steeled my spine, shoving the pain somewhere deep. Glancing around, I spotted one of Dante’s easy-to-reach weapon spots. In a daze, I walked to it, then brushed my fingerprint over the code.
The safe opened and I studied its contents. Gun. Swiss knife. A blade.
I reached for the gun, but images of a dead Dante didn’t sit well with me, and I didn’t trust myself not to shoot him. Not right now.
My fingers wrapped around the blade.
As I made my way back to Dante’s office, blood roared in my ears. Fury surged through my veins. And red crept through my vision.
I let the anger take over. My heart pounded, shattering with each passing beat.
I shoved the door open and Dante’s eyes snapped my way.
“Let’s have a conversation, husband,” I said softly, calmly even. But emotion scratched at my throat and burned in my eyes.
Dante watched me with those eyes, the colors of midnight skies.
I grasped for the anger. For the rage that he deserved. I wanted to scream. I wanted to lash out. Instead, I let the coldness wash over me and steal some of the pain away.
Otherwise, I feared it’d tear me apart.
Dante had set me free, only to rip my heart out. Everything with him had been a lie.
I never took my eyes off him, letting the walls build higher and higher, and this time, nobody would penetrate them.
My husband didn’t care about me. He took what he wanted, had even resorted to drugging me. We’d been married for weeks, and he had had plenty of chances to come clean. He didn’t.
“Hang up, Dante,” I said calmly. “Or I’ll blow up this city’s network and leave it in the dark as I leave town.”
“Fuck.” Multiple voices came through the line. “Juliette—”
Dante ended the call, cutting off his brother.
Silence, heavy and damning, crept through the room like a venomous snake.
Dante stood up from his spot, circled his desk and leaned against it, casually slipping his hands into pockets.
His eyes that usually burned with heat were now cold and hard.
He ran his gaze over my face, then to my hand clutching the knife.
His eyes came back up, holding my stare.
“Let me explain, Wildling.” His voice was so fragile, as though all of him might break. But I couldn’t feel sorry for him. I wouldn’t. He broke me . He shattered my heart to pieces.
Anger, red hot, seared through me, and instantly the coldness was gone, leaving in its wake burning lava. Before I even realized I’d moved, I held the blade to my husband’s throat, the sharp piece grazing his skin.
“Shut the fuck up before I shove this knife up your ass,” I hissed, my voice shaking with anger. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. “Or down your throat. And don’t think I won’t. In fact, I’ll enjoy it very much.”
I remained still, anger urging me to slice his throat. To make him pay for making a fool out of me. For betraying me. For lying to me. And worst of all, for hurting me and making me believe any of it was real.
I didn’t dare move any further, the blade dangerously close to ending his life.