2. Ottavia
TWO
Ottavia
“ I do.”
The words fall from my lips like a death sentence. Not because I fear them, but because I know Vincenzo hates them. I see it in the set of his jaw, the barely restrained loathing in his blue eyes as he slips the ring on my finger.
He hates me.
He hates that he’s bound to me, just as I’m bound to him. From the very first discussion of an arranged marriage between our two families, Vincenzo has made it crystal clear that he’d sooner walk into a nest of vipers than marry me. But family duty reigned supreme.
So here we are, trapped in a gilded cage of expectation and obligation.
I stand beside him, wearing the dress chosen for me, in the role I was born to play. I was raised for this—trained to smile, to carry my family’s name with grace, to be the perfect, obedient wife.
But the weight of his disdain is unbearable, because…
I love him.
I’ve loved Vincenzo Del Rossa since we were children—since I was young enough to believe in fairy tales, before I understood the sharp, cutting edges of the world we were raised in.
I know who he is. I know the reputation he carries, the sins he bathes in. I know about the women who worship him at Club Myth—the empire he helped built to satisfy his insatiable hunger. My brothers frequent the sex club, and I hear the stories they tell when they think I’m not listening.
Stories of women. Sex. Stories steeped in lust and indulgence.
And yet, here I stand, his wife—a woman who vowed before God to be faithful to a man I know will not show me the same courtesy.
Why? Because my duty to my family comes above all else, and now, my duty is him. Vincenzo Del Rossa.
The day unfolds flawlessly—smiles exchanged, hands clasped, bodies swaying in perfect harmony beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers. We go through the motions like seasoned performers. To the world, we are a picture of love, but beneath the surface, we are nothing more than prisoners—pawns in a game of power.
The drive to our new home is suffocating, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. I steal glances at him, at the sharp angles of his face, the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my presence beyond the necessary motions of this arrangement.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
I know what I am to him—a duty, an obligation, a burden he never wanted. And yet, I feel the heat of attraction curling in my stomach every time his hand brushes too close, every time his voice drops into that low, commanding timbre. I am bound to a man who despises me, and my body is betraying me in ways I can’t control.
I’ve never quite understood why my heart feels the way it does whenever he’s close. Vincenzo’s never given me any reason to love him.
Except one.
When we arrive, he doesn’t offer his hand, doesn’t even slow his pace as he walks ahead. Movement catches my eye, a flock of birds bursting from the trees, their dark, glossy wings shifting in perfect unison before scattering into the sky.
I pause, watching them disappear beyond the estate walls, free in a way I will never be.
“Starlings,” I murmur, the sight stirring my most precious memory. When my gaze finds Vincenzo’s, he’s watching me with a depthless stare, his expression unreadable.
The stables. The crate. The promise.
But then his lips curl in indifference. “They’re pests,” he says. “Noisy, invasive, overrunning places that don’t belong to them.”
My stomach twists, his cruel words confirming what I already know. The boy I once knew is gone.
I follow him, every step I take toward the house—or rather, the monument of opulence—is a step away from freedom.
Under normal circumstances, I’d marvel at the grandeur, the vaulted ceilings and spiraling columns that run along the entrance. The chandeliers glisten above, casting prismatic splashes of light across the lacquered floors.
But these are not normal circumstances, and this is not a home. It’s a prison.
“I was told to let you pick your own staff.” Vincenzo breaks the silence with a nonchalant comment, not even bothering to look back at me as he strides up the stairs, forcing me to follow. “I’ve arranged for three private chefs to come and do tastings tomorrow. Choose one.”
“Are there certain culinary styles you lean toward?”
We enter a large bedroom, classically adorned with mahogany furniture and a canopied bed that occupies most of the center space. I swallow hard, nerves prickling inside my veins, knowing what’s expected of me…as his new wife.
Vincenzo stops abruptly, and I almost knock into him. “I don’t give a fuck who cooks my meals, Ottavia. I don’t give a fuck about any of this, playing house with a wife I don’t need…or want.”
Those words slice through the air, not just cutting but maiming. Cold and detached, like the rest of my new life.
Silence hovers between us as I stare up at him. At over six feet, he’s a tall man, broad shoulders and a lithe muscularity that commands attention. His dark hair hangs perfectly against the strong angles of his face, framing cold eyes of icy blue I find myself avoiding whenever I get the chance. They’re too mesmerizing, like two exquisite orbs of magic that suck me into the dream where there’s a slight chance he might be a good husband.
Vincenzo Del Rossa is a beautiful man, but a monster’s heart beats inside his chest.
“Whoever you choose, whatever you do around this house, I have the final say.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“In everything.”
The warning’s loud and clear, making my heart clench in my chest, reminding me of my place. And it’s clear that, to him, I have no place here. No voice. No purpose but to be his wife on paper.
Seconds pass before he turns away from me, dismissive and cold.
“Vincenzo,” I call, my voice stronger than the shrinking violet inside me.
“What is it, wife?” he sneers as he turns to face me.
I square my shoulders as I saunter closer. “I’ve been raised to be subservient to my husband?—”
“Lucky me.”
“—but I’ve been taught that cowardice is not a trait to be worn proudly. To obey my husband, to be supportive and silent, doesn’t mean I won’t demand respect.”
A flicker of something passes through his icy eyes, perhaps surprise, or maybe annoyance. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone.
He tilts his head slightly, studying me, perhaps reassessing the woman he was forced to marry.
“Respect,” he repeats, weighing the word like a gold coin in his palm. “Respect is earned, not given simply because you now wear my name as a crown.”
“And how does a wife earn the respect of a husband that sees her as nothing more than a contractual obligation?”
Vincenzo is silent for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. His stare is penetrating, calculating and yet…curiously intrigued.
I hate the way it affects me, the way he studies me, how having his eyes on me burns a path from my skin to the deepest recesses of my soul—a place where all my filthy fantasies about him reside in secret.
A place where I crave him.
A place where I love him in silence.
I tell myself it’s foolish, that wanting him makes me weak. That his hatred should snuff out any lingering affection, any remnant of the girl who once believed in love. But when he steps closer, when his earthy scent wraps around me, I feel something dangerous coil inside me.
Something wild. Something…unpredictable.
He grabs my wrist, twists me around, and pulls my back against his chest, my breath bursting out in a startled gasp. His grip is unyielding, his body an immovable fortress I’m pinned against, and every nerve in my body lights up as his lips brush against the shell of my ear.
“Is it true?”
I lick my lips, my heart racing impossibly fast. “Is what true?”
His hands fall to my waist. “That you’ve never been fucked before.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not while I’m fighting to keep my breath steady and my body still.
“I was told my wife’s cunt will be intact…for me to break.” His fingers bite into my hip. “Is it true, Ottavia? Did I marry a virgin?” His voice is velvet and steel, curling into my core.
“Yes,” I murmur, unable to stop myself from trembling.
“You’re nervous,” he rasps, pulling me close, his hard cock pressing into my lower back. “Afraid?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Heat radiates from his body. His presence looms, curling around me like invisible bindings. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him. But my breath comes faster, my pulse unsteady, and all I can think about is what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine, his weight pressing me into the bed.
My nipples pebble against the lace of my dress, my thighs clenching involuntarily as heat pools low in my belly. I should recoil. I should shove him away, remind him that I’m more than a body for his cruelty.
But when his fingers brush against the side of my breast, teasing the curve, a strangled gasp escapes my lips.
He hears it. He feels it.
“You like this, don’t you? My touch. Feeling how hard my cock is right now.” Suddenly, he whips me around, grips my chin and tilts my head back so I’m forced to look at him. “Even knowing that I fought endlessly against being forced to take you as my wife, you still want my hands on you.”
Shame burns hot. He’s right. My body betrays me with every touch, every filthy word that drips from his lips like poison I can’t resist.
Vincenzo moves, spinning me around so my back presses against the wall, his hands caging me in on either side of my head. His knee presses between my legs, parting them just enough to make my breath stutter.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you want me. Say you want my cock to break you in. To wreck your intact pussy so you can feel what it’s like to be stretched and so full of me you won’t know where you end and I begin.”
I hate him. I love him. I want him.
But I say nothing, my lips pressed together in stubborn defiance.
His smirk is wicked. “Fine. If you won’t say it, I’ll make you beg.”
He moves swiftly, gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head. My breath falters as he leans in, his mouth a hair’s breadth from mine, teasing me, taunting me with a closeness that burns hotter than I can bear.
“According to our families, the priest, and God, you’re my wife now, which means I get to fuck you whenever I want, however I want.” His lips brush lightly over mine. “And the best part is, you don’t get to say…no.”
He kisses me, claims my mouth like he’s starved for it. The rough stubble on his jaw grazes my cheek, igniting a jolt of need that shocks me down to my core. Every harsh, hateful word melts into nothing when his tongue slides against mine, silencing all thoughts but the feel of him.
Every bone in my body melts as his hand slides lower, ghosting over my waist before gripping my thigh and yanking it up, hitching my leg around his hip. His cock presses hard and thick against me, and even through the layers of fabric between us, I feel him—hot, pulsing, a promise of sin.
His fingers brush the inside of my thigh, trailing higher, teasing the edge of my panties. He doesn’t push them aside. Doesn’t touch me where I need him most. Instead, he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes a storm of cruel amusement and something darker.
“You’re dripping,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers along the soaked fabric, pressing just enough to make me whimper. “You want me to touch you?”
I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my voice.
“Take off your dress.”
My pulse quickens. I hesitate, trapped between desire and pride. But Vincenzo watches with simmering patience, a predator waiting for his prey to break.
“Take it off,” he repeats.
With trembling hands, I reach for the zipper, the silk pooling around my feet—my breasts bare, a thin scrap of lace covering my sex.
His expression gives nothing away. “On the bed.”
Shame and desire war inside me.
“Now, Ottavia. Unless you’d rather I tell your father how disobedient you were on your wedding night.”
It’s the largest, most destructible weapon he has in his arsenal against me. My father, and my duty.
I hate him.
But I move, crawling onto the bed, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as I watch him unbutton his shirt, fabric slipping off broad shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his body.He’s all raw strength and precision, a man who knows exactly how much power he holds.
The bed dips as he climbs on, predatory and confident. My gaze drops to his cock, hard, thick, glistening with precum, my body responding with equal parts desire and fear.
When he reaches between my legs, my back arches as fingertips brush against me, and a whimper licks across my lips the moment he tears through my panties, sliding a finger through my wetness before easing it inside me.
“Oh, God,” I moan, biting my bottom lip.
“You’re going to be so tight for me,” he murmurs, his finger sliding in and out. “I bet you can’t wait to find out what it feels like to come around my cock.”
He pulls away, and silk glides over my skin. That’s when I realize—too late—what he’s doing.
Tying me. Restraining me.
I yank at the restraints but they hold firm, securing my wrists to the headboard.
“Vincenzo—”
“I have specific tastes, wife.” He yanks my thighs apart and cocks his head to the side, glancing down at my pussy spread wide for him while easing a finger through my slit, up…and down. “I like to fuck hard.” His finger enters me. “And deep. I love watching a woman’s tits bounce for me while I pound into her. How her face contorts with pleasure and pain…mostly pain because my cock is wrecking her cunt with every thrust.”
“Vincenzo…” My breath hitches as his gaze locks onto mine. The hunger there is raw, animalistic. Powerful. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good.” He grabs my waist, pulling my hips off the mattress, and he shifts closer, his cock pressing against my soaked slit. “Now beg me.”
Dread chills my veins, a stark contrast to the heated flush of desire that still lingers in the pit of my belly.
For a second, I consider denying him. This isn’t how I anticipated our first time would be. But his threat still echoes loud and clear in my head, the nuclear destruction he can cause.
“Please.” My voice shakes.
“Please what?”
I swallow. “Please…take me.”
“Fuck, Ottavia. Beg me to fuck you.” His thumb presses against my clit, sending a shockwave through my core.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please fuck me, Vincenzo.”
Pure satisfaction slithers across his face, blue eyes beaming with cruel delight. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he rasps, reaching between us, taking his cock in his hand, pressing the tip at my entrance.
I close my eyes, bracing myself, anticipating what’s about to happen. Countless nights I’ve fantasized about being with him, having him claim me, giving me so much pleasure I’d break, just for him.
There is no resistance from me as I lightly flex my hips in search of him. But he inches back, just out of reach as he leans close, pressing his cheek against mine.
“I will…never…fuck you. Wife.”
My eyes snap open, my body going still as his words slice through the haze of lust. So cruel. So final.
The darkness in his eyes steals my breath. Pools of cold-blooded spite. “You think I don’t know your father had you taken off birth control?”
Ice splinters through my veins.
“That he wants you pregnant with my child as soon as fucking possible to secure the Del Rossa-Savelli bloodline?” He fists his length, pumping slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on mine.
“Vincenzo—”
“What I can’t figure out is why a virgin needs to be on birth control in the first place. Unless…” With the head of his cock, he spreads my pussy lips, coating his length with my arousal. “Unless Daddy has trust issues, not quite confident that his little girl will behave.”
“Please stop.”
“Shut up and watch me. Watch how I make myself come.”
My stomach twists as he strokes himself faster, his breathing ragged, muscles tensing. His icy gaze never leaves mine, daring me to look away, challenging me to deny the desire still smoldering in my core.
His pleasured sounds fill the room, ricocheting off the walls like an erotic sermon solely dedicated to my undoing.
“You want my cock inside that needy cunt, don’t you? Want me to fill you up?”
“Stop…” Tears trail down my cheeks.
“You want my cum, don’t you, wife? You want my baby inside your belly.”
“Vin—”
“Jesus, fuck!” His groan is guttural, and he slams his palm against the headboard, his body tense as he jerks his cock inches from my face. Hot streaks spill across my cheeks, my mouth, and I can smell his cum as my tears burn hot.
His hand slows, squeezing the last drops out as he gasps for air, chest rising and falling, and I’m barely able to stop the sobs from welling up in my throat.
Unable to look at him, I turn away, only to have him jerk my face back to meet his gaze.
“My sweet, sweet wife.” He traces a finger along my lips, smearing his cum down my chin. “You will never carry my child.” I choke on a whimper as he forces a finger into my mouth, his taste flooding my tongue. “This is the only place my cum will ever go.”