Chapter 4
Isabella
No matter how great I know sex with Antonio will be, it can’t fix what’s wrong between us. Too much has happened, and we weren’t close to begin with. We never had a chance to get to know each other. We didn’t share our thoughts and feelings the way I imagine other couples do. In the brief time we were together, we didn’t sit down and talk about our day. We didn’t make plans for the future. Now that I think about it, we barely had a marriage at all.
The one thing we had going for us was mutual lust. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Antonio would come home at night and fuck me senseless. If it was late, he’d come to bed and wake me. Sometimes he was buried to the hilt inside me before I was fully awake.
At other times, he’d grab me wherever he found me. He’d kiss me breathless and then fuck me against the wall or over the nearest available surface. Afterward, we’d sleep, and in the morning, he’d be gone before I woke. There was little chance to talk. Although I hated that, I can’t say I didn’t love the way he mastered my body. Antonio showed me greater pleasure than I ever thought possible.
In the time we’ve been apart, the gulf between us has widened so much I doubt it can be bridged. Antonio thinks I aided an assassination attempt on him when I was just trying to protect someone close to him. I want to explain that, to assure Antonio I would never hurt him, but that would mean betraying someone else. Until I do, Antonio won’t forgive me. It’s a colossal mess, yet it’s been so long since I last experienced his intimate caresses, I can’t seem to care about the emotional consequences of giving myself to him.
I strip off the t-shirt and drop it on the floor. Despite not seeing my husband for almost a year, I don’t experience any shyness, as his eyes rake over me. He’s seen every part of me before. Besides, he just spanked my bare ass. After that, nudity isn’t such a big deal.
As I lie back, propping myself up on my elbows, I watch Antonio slowly unbuttoning his shirt. There’s a gleam of hunger in his eyes that says he wants to devour me, yet he takes his time undressing. It’s proof he’s in complete control. When he finally slips the shirt off his shoulders, I stifle a gasp. His body is mouth-wateringly magnificent. Though he’s lost some of the bulk he once had from lifting weights, his torso is still strong and muscular. This leaner look suits him better. While his brothers, Leo and Matteo, wear their muscles well, Antonio never did. He always looked a little top-heavy, not that I was complaining. Now, he’s absolute perfection.
At least he is apart from the scar on his shoulder, a glaring reminder of my stupidity in trusting Joey Gallo. Although Antonio can afford the best plastic surgeons in the country, the scar is a mess. It’s larger than I’d have expected and still an angry red color, even though it’s been a year. The skin around it is wrinkled and discolored. Why hasn’t he had it fixed? Can the damage be repaired? I have no idea.
As I stare at the scar, a strange urge comes over me to kiss it better. That impulse is immediately banished by a horrible thought. Have other women been tempted to do the same thing? Have they seen the hideous blemish and sympathized with him about his treacherous wife? Antonio has always had a healthy sex drive. I can’t imagine him abstaining for a week, never mind an entire year.
“I haven’t betrayed my vows,” he tells me, as if he heard my thoughts.
Though I’m shocked by that declaration, I believe him. He has no reason to lie. Men in our world cheat on their wives unapologetically. In fact, it’s frowned upon by some if a man doesn’t sleep around. Wives may hate it, but nobody speaks up. It wouldn’t make any difference if they did. Infidelity is ingrained in the culture.
That’s not the only thing that tells me he’s being honest with me. Since he believes I broke my oath to love, honor, and obey him, he’d probably relish the chance to describe any affair he’d had in great detail. He would enjoy hurting me with it. In his mind, my actions are justification for him to fuck around. So why hasn’t he?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to analyze his motivations. Hearing he hasn’t been with another woman is more of a relief than I ever imagined it would be. Tears prick my eyes, but I’m not going to shed them in case Antonio misunderstands and thinks I don’t want this. I do. There’s an ache of longing deep inside me that I need him to purge. More than that, I want to erase that asshole’s touch from my memory. Recalling Rico’s hands pawing at me makes me shudder.
“You’re thinking too much, Bella.”
Antonio drops to his knees and pulls my legs over his shoulders. Immediately I go from thinking too much to my mind being completely blank. Rational thought flees. There’s nothing but Antonio’s actions, the sensation of him swiping his tongue along the length of my pussy in a single firm stroke. That’s all that exists for me right now.
It’s been so long since I felt pleasure like this, I almost come on the spot. My hips lift of their own accord, but Antonio splays a hand across my stomach to pin me to the bed.
While I’m gripped with nervous anticipation, there’s nothing tentative about the way my husband dives right in to feast on my flesh. He’s savage, like a man brought to the brink of madness by hunger. His lips caress me, his tongue lashes my clit, making it pulse and swell. He isn’t gentle as he thrusts two fingers inside me, but I wouldn’t want him to be. I need every ounce of his brutality.
Clutching the sheets, I revel in his roughness, his impatience. His obvious desire is like a drug to me. I crave his touch more than my next breath. He sucks my clit into his mouth as he plunges his fingers deep, getting me good and wet, preparing me to take his cock.
I’ve missed this. In the time we’ve been apart, I’ve touched myself, but I never came close to achieving the sort of ecstasy Antonio wrings from my body. My head thrashes from side to side as he teases me with his tongue.
“I’m close,” I pant as he curls his fingers inside me, finding my g-spot.
It was a mistake to let him know I’m about to climax. Pulling away, Antonio gets to his feet and grins wickedly at me. I should have known this would happen. That orgasm would have come too easily. My husband wants me to suffer for it, to have me writhing and pleading beneath him. He needs me oblivious to everything but his mastery of my body.
“If you want to come, it’ll be with me inside you.”
He unzips his pants and pulls them down, along with his black boxer briefs. He doesn’t remove them completely. As his cock springs free from his clothing I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. There’s something mesmerizing about his erection. His shaft is long and thick with a prominent blue vein running along the underside. It’s a thing of beauty.
“Hands and knees.” Antonio’s tone is curt.
I desperately want to watch the expression on his face as he reclaims my body to try to work out what he feels. He’s at his least guarded when he’s fucking me. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but it’s easier to read him in those intimate moments.
I know better than to argue, however. Doing what he asked, I scramble onto all fours. Antonio puts a hand at the back of my head and shoves me onto the mattress so I’m face down, ass in the air. He could have just asked me to assume this position in the first place, but he wanted to assert his authority. He holds me down just long enough for the message to sink in that I’m not to move.
When he’s satisfied I’ll stay put, he removes his hand from my head and grabs my hip. The sudden contact in a ticklish spot makes me yelp, but I calm immediately as he gives me a warning squeeze.
Positioning himself behind me, he buries his cock to the hilt inside me. I shudder at the brutal invasion. It’s been almost a year since I felt this fullness, the sense of connection it brings. I’m so overwhelmed, tears form in my eyes.
“Does that feel good?” Antonio’s tone oozes confidence. He knows how incredible this is for me. “Did you miss being stuffed full of my cock?”
The crudeness of his words sends a ripple of desire straight to my core. I never thought I’d be so turned on by his bluntness. Before Antonio made his interest in me clear, I always imagined I’d end up married to a nice guy, the sort of man who’d make thoughtful gestures and shower me with affection.
My father’s a low-ranking member of the Volante organization, a mechanic who runs one of their repair shops. He’s beneath most people’s notice unless they need their car fixed. An arranged marriage didn’t seem to be in my future because having me as a wife brings no benefits to someone seeking more power and status. Antonio needed neither of those things. All that concerned him was having a pretty woman by his side.
If my father hadn’t taken advantage of a generous scholarship offered by the Volantes’ legitimate organization, I wouldn’t have been able to attend private school and I’d never have met Matteo. If our friendship hadn’t formed over a mutual love of history and a hatred of all things math related, I’d never have come to his oldest brother’s attention.
I’d have dated a couple of guys, found someone I clicked with and enjoyed a regular courtship with nights at the movies and dinners in pizzerias and burger joints. I’d have picked someone who shared my hopes and dreams, or at least gave a shit about them. He’d have wanted me as a partner. Instead, I got a husband who knows nothing about me as a person and everything about how to make my body sing.
Antonio tangles his fist in my hair and pulls my head back. “I asked you a question, Bella. Did you miss being stuffed full of your husband’s cock?”
It’s pointless to deny it since my entire body is thrumming with desire, but I’m not ready to admit how much he affects me. “No.”
“No?” Antonio’s lip curls in disgust. He lets go of my hair and I drop back onto the bed. “Liar.”
Pulling out of me, he thrusts back in, going even deeper. He fucks me hard and fast, giving me no chance to catch my breath or match his rhythm. I push my hips back to meet his, but he slaps my already punished ass, a warning to stay still. He doesn’t require my active participation. He just wants me to lie there and take what he has to give.
“Aren’t you the perfect little wife?” he taunts. “Taking my cock so well.”
He reaches between my legs and gathers some of the fluids, smearing them over my ass before pushing a finger inside. I moan as pain and pleasure mingle to create a whirlpool of sensation. Thanks to Antonio, I’m not an anal virgin, but I still find it strange having something in my ass.
“So tight, Bella. Looks like I’ll have to retrain you before I fuck this tight little hole again.”
That elicits a whimper from me. Antonio made me use a butt plug when he prepared my ass for him the last time, and it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience. I mean, it didn’t hurt, but he made me keep it in while I went about my daily routine. Walking around the house, my insides tingling because my ass is filled isn’t something I’m in a hurry to relive. I don’t like being on edge.
He withdraws his finger and continues to pound into me, battering my pussy with his massive cock. His animalistic grunts of pleasure spur me on to my orgasm. There’s something intoxicating about driving a man as controlled as Antonio to distraction.
As he pulls my hips up to change the angle of his thrusts, he repeatedly hits that hyper-sensitive spot inside me. Tightness grips my womb. My pussy clenches around him, and I cry out some incoherent jumble of words as I’m plunged headfirst into a whirlpool of bliss. My hips jerk and my limbs quiver. I’m on the verge of collapse when Antonio pulls out of me. He grabs my waist and drags me off the bed, depositing me on my knees on the floor.
He cups my cheeks with his hands and rubs his thumb over my lips. “Open.”
It’s a command I’m compelled to obey. Still trembling as my orgasm subsides, I open my mouth. Still holding my cheeks, Antonio shoves his cock straight to the back of my throat. Tears well in my eyes as I choke on his length. I scrabble at his legs, digging my nails into his thighs and he pulls back, just enough to let me breathe.
“Come on, Bella. You can take me.”
His words are more of a taunt than encouragement. This isn’t the first time he’s fucked my mouth. In fact, as short as our relationship has been, I couldn’t count the number of times he’s had me on my knees like this. But there’s a savagery in his thrusts I haven’t experienced before. He wants to hurt me.
Glancing up, I can’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes as he repeatedly makes me gag. He plunges in deep, hitting the back of my throat, enjoying every second of my misery as I choke on his cock. The vicious snarl on his lips is completely at odds with the tender way he strokes my cheek, encouraging me to take every inch of him, assuring me it will be okay. Does he hate me or not? I really can’t tell. The mixed signals are messing with my head.
I don’t know how he’ll react to me touching him, but when I release my grip on his thigh and cup his balls with my hand, he sighs with pleasure. Taking care not to hurt him, I squeeze. It elicits the reaction I wanted. His body shudders. He throws his head back with a low, ecstatic moan. He pushes his cock deep and then withdraws a little.
“Fuck, Bella!” He roars my name as he releases his cum over my tongue. “Swallow every drop.”
I do as he commands, gulping it all down.
“Show me,” Antonio demands as he pulls his cock out, dragging it over my swollen lips.
Opening my mouth wide, I stick out my tongue.
“Good girl.”
Even as his praise warms me, an arctic chill descends on the room. Antonio abruptly turns away and goes to the walk-in closet. I stay where I am, on my knees, trying to work out what I’m supposed to do. Should I follow him, seek a moment of closeness after that intense encounter? I doubt he’s in the mood for cuddling. Even on his best day, he’s not the affectionate type. Do I get up and dress, or get into bed and wait for round two? I have no idea. It’s not as if I can avoid the awkwardness by sneaking off home.
For a minute or so, I listen to Antonio moving around in the closet. When he emerges, he’s dressed in a black suit with a clean, crisp white shirt underneath. He’s put on a black tie. It’s the standard mob uniform. His brothers occasionally embrace a more casual look, but Antonio would never set foot outside of the house in jeans and a t-shirt. He strives for perfection. It isn’t mere vanity, but a deep understanding of the signals his clothing sends out. He has to maintain the appearance of being in control. He expects the same level of perfection from his wife, something I found exhausting.
As he walks to the door, he doesn’t spare me a glance, but throws instructions over his shoulder. “I’m taking you to Westport. Be ready in an hour.”
With that, he leaves the room. Slumping to the floor, a hot, sweaty mess, I try to catch my breath. I’m in the same house as my husband for the first time in a year, but it feels like we’ve never been farther apart.