16. Gianna
CHAPTER 16
“Did you just say you love me?” Niko asks with a frantic light in his eyes.
“You heard me.” It’s so true it burns in every part of me, passion and shame and far too much for me to admit again so soon. Here in the church I attended with my parents, where he and I married one another.
I’m overwhelmed by the intensity, terrified he’s about to get a knife plunged in his back, and I’m serving as the distraction. I try to pull away from him, but he won’t let me move an inch.
“Niko, please.” My nerves skyrocket. What if my uncle were going to kill him? Now would be the time.
“Please what, Gi? You know how many times I thought about fucking you while I was supposed to be thinking about God? Trying to look up your skirts and waiting until I could get a second alone with you.”
“Priest,” I manage to get out before his lips are back on mine, but he laughs and releases me enough to let me see we’re alone.
“He could come back any time.” My skin itches. I’ve never felt so paranoid. Even when I was left alone in my apartment for so long, I started talking to myself just to combat all the noises I thought I heard.
“Not a problem.”
Niko moves around the room, locking the doors with wooden planks and deadbolts that can’t be turned with a key. We’re alone, and with my uncle no longer in the room, what I saw feels even less real. Did my uncle just marry us, or did I actually go crazy inside my apartment? Is any of this real? He’s back at my side, and his hands on my skin prove this is happening. His lips touch my shoulder, and I base everything else on that.
I love Niko in a senseless, consuming way, but will it be enough when this all shakes out? His hands burn through the fabric of my dress as he teases my skin and touches the curled length of my brown hair.
“I’ve always loved this.”
He tugs, emphasizing his point and tipping my head back to kiss along my neck before dropping to his knees. He lifts my skirt until he’s exposed my panties.
“This pretty cunt is mine.” He presses his face to me, inhaling and groaning. “All fucking mine.”
He stands, catching me by surprise when he grabs my thighs and lifts me into his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, even more so than when we were kids, and the breadth of my husband's shoulders alone has me wet. And the way my legs spread around him? I don’t know when the guilt and shame became a kink, maybe right here in this church, but that agony fuels this in the most intense way.
He massages my ass as he walks us a few feet and then gently places me on top of the altar. The cold stone touches my ass, and I immediately try to hop down, horrified by the prospect of what he’s suggesting, but he holds me in place.
“You're my wife now, Gianna, and I’m going to do what I want with you.”
“You can’t.”
“But I can.”
It would be so much easier if I didn’t also want it. He pushes me down by my throat, gentle but dominating. My back hitting the stone is a final tap out. I can’t keep fighting him. The cold sinks through my dress and raises chills all over my body.
His one hand remains around my throat, squeezing until the buzzing faintness of lightheadedness rushes through me. His hands burn as my head swims, and they slip over me, groping and squeezing like he can’t touch enough of me fast enough. I feel like an offering to the devil when he pulls my tits out of the top of my dress.
They're cold for only a moment before his hot mouth is on them, sucking, kissing, lavishing my nipples the way he does my pussy. I’m of two minds, desperate to have his bare skin pressed against mine but relieved when he makes no further moves to strip me naked.
His hand is still around my throat, blocking the blood to my brain rather than my breath. I’m equally relieved when he pulls his hard cock out of his pants but doesn't drop them. I should be wearing stockings and a fancy garter for him to take off, but so much is wrong with this day that it’s best I not keep track.
“You’re so beautiful, Mrs. Bouchard. Every single thing I’ve wanted.”
I gasp at the raw intensity of his gaze, dragging air through my constricted throat. The truth in his words is the blood missing from my brain, and he becomes everything. Niko has never lied to me, but I can’t say the same. That shame burns through me again as I decide not to speak up about my uncle, but it fades into the back of my head as the pressure on my throat gives me a weightless buzz.
Niko slides my panties to the side and lines the thick head of his cock up with my wet pussy, and I expect a slow tease, a stroke to my clit, like he usually does. Apparently, he’s as desperate as I am, and neither of us needs it. He’s inside me a moment later, stretching me as far as possible. My pussy is so tight around him it aches and ripples to adjust, but I’m so wet he finds no resistance. I moan much louder than I intend, overwhelmed by him. He squeezes my throat harder, trapping the sound inside.
He pumps into me, closing his eyes and grunting. His eyes twitch behind the lids, and his unconscious pleasure practically undoes me. He recovers, picking up the pace of his hips, savagely kissing and biting my lips, controlling where my lips land with the hand at my throat.
“Finally. Fucking. Mine,” he grits as his other hand digs into the soft flesh of my hips, and I whine, partially because it feels good but also because I’m his. “No one is ever going to take you from me.”
“Yours,” I agree. The word comes out quiet and half strangled, but I only say it out loud because I’m afraid of what might happen in the face of all that unmet intensity.
“Fucking love you, would die for you, kill anyone before I let them touch you.”
He’s telling the truth, and no matter how much it hurts me, that assurance sinks deep into my soul where it plans to stay. His hand stays in place, serving as the collar around my throat in the absence of the leather he’s grown so fond of. Before I come, I look up at the crucifix hanging on the wall and wonder if my faith will be enough to keep my soul intact. Spots of color dance in my vision, painting Jesus in technicolor.
I married my parents' killer, but Niko’s my savior from a cold and lonely existence. Will God judge me for making the best out of an awful situation? Probably not, but He might judge me for enjoying it so much, and I really do.
I come moments later, and Niko’s right behind me. The franticness between us and the location are more than enough to speed his thrusts. The hot rush of his cum fills me, and he forces himself to fuck through the orgasm, thrusting into me slowly. He pulls out when he’s empty and soft. His hand remains around my throat as he watches my pussy leak onto the stone altar. Behind it dribbles a trail of my shame and joy, both of them too intense to contain within a single person without bursting.
He lifts me into his arms, wraps my thighs around his back, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me back to the car, leaking cum onto his suit.
After the wedding, we go back to his winery and shower together. It’s different this time than the first one. For one, we fuck in a different position, and for another, he doesn’t force me. I come twice more before he’s done with me, and the feel-good chemicals have me high off my ass.
We dry off and lay naked in bed together, holding one another until we wind up screwing again. He eats my pussy twice. The whole time, I’m totally blissed out, but in the back of my mind, I can’t help thinking, should I have told him about Marco? Should I tell him right now? Should I have done this at all? Am I going to wind up burning in hell?
I’ve decided to accept that my parents were going to die either way and this was the only way to save me, but part of that old family loyalty won’t die. And even though I love Niko, even though he’s my husband now, part of me wants to see the Gemellis come out on top. I can’t quell the hope that I may have other options for a family. The guilt of that is the worst of all because it’s not just a betrayal to Niko but my heart as well. My heart wants him as my family.