Chapter 7
Antonio
The man who sold me this exclusive twenty-five-year-old Macallan whisky said its aroma was reminiscent of dried orange and raisins with a hint of ginger. He told me I’d taste rich, dark fruit and a touch of oak. I get none of that. Perhaps if I took the time to savor the whisky, I’d pick up on those subtle notes but, right now, I just want to feel the burn at the back of my throat and to calm the storm raging inside me.
I was correct when I worried it was a mistake to bring Isabella here. The moment we sat down to dinner, I remembered the first time I brought her to my family’s Connecticut retreat. We’d only just got married and Isabella seemed excited about spending time alone with me. I thought it was because she was hopeful about our future, but now I wonder if she was trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Was she setting me up from the start? It wasn’t her choice to marry me and what happened with Rico proves my wife is capable of anything when backed into a corner.
It’s unusual for me but I’m at a loss for how to handle this situation. If Isabella was a man, she’d be in one of our warehouses, stripped naked and handcuffed to a chair while my brothers and I used whatever means necessary to get information from her. If she was any other woman, she might face a similar fate. The problem is, she’s my wife. I vowed to protect her. It’s an oath I take seriously.
As much as I want to know what motivated her to betray me, I can’t bring myself to ask about that night. I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid of what she might tell me. Though I wasn’t the most attentive husband, I cared a great deal about my wife. I thought the feeling was mutual.
Whenever I could spend time with her, things were great. The sex was amazing, and we never argued. I thought we made a good couple. When she turned on me, I was totally floored. I can’t understand why she did it and I’m too much of a damned pussy to ask. Perhaps I should hand her over to Leo for interrogation. He’d find out what I want to know.
The idea of any other man, even my brother, laying his hands on Isabella makes me nauseous, so I dismiss the thought. I trudge upstairs, my body weary. That tugging pain in my shoulder returns, making me wince. It’s definitely being brought on by psychological pressure. I have to get a grip.
As I walk along the corridor, I glance at my watch. It’s been more than three hours since I sent Isabella to bed. I expect her to be sound asleep, but she isn’t. She’s not even in bed. She’s standing by the window, looking out into the night. It’s dark, so there’s nothing for her to see out there, but she appears completely transfixed. I don’t think she heard me come in.
While she remains focused on whatever she’s staring at, I can’t take my eyes off her. Her black hair tumbles over her slender shoulders. She’s wearing pink floral shorts that barely cover her ass and a white camisole. With the light shining behind her, she must be visible to anyone who looks up at the window. Annoyance surges through me.
“Isabella!”
She spins around, startled. Obviously, she didn’t hear me come in.
“What?”
“Get away from the window.”
Her forehead crumples in confusion. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Does she really not understand? “Anyone can see you. Do you want to give my men a show?”
She looks over her shoulder and then turns back to me. Her gaze drifts up toward the light on the ceiling and realization dawns. Her lips form an O-shape as she walks away from the window.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she folds her hands on her lap as I storm across the room and shut the drapes, using such force I almost yank them off the pole.
“I’m sorry.” Isabella’s voice is quiet.
“Don’t be sorry, be more careful.” My harsh tone is unnecessary. She wasn’t deliberately flaunting her body, but I can’t tamp down a surge of annoyance. Her eyes glisten with tears, fueling my irritation. Is she trying to manipulate me?
“Don’t dare cry.”
She draws in a shuddering breath and casts an accusing glare at me. “Why did you bring me here?”
“So we could be alone.”
“Why? You won’t even talk to me.”
I step closer, invading her personal space. She tries to turn away from me, but I put a finger beneath her chin and force her to meet my gaze. “You think I brought you here to talk?”
Her expression is one of resignation as she slowly shakes her head. She draws in a deep breath and then reaches for the belt at my waist. She unbuckles it and then unfastens my pants before pulling my cock out. I’m already hard. She curls her hand around the shaft. Her fingers are cold, making me hiss. She peers up at me from beneath thick black lashes, then leans forward to wrap her soft pink lips around the head of my cock. She sucks gently and then pulls back.
“Is this why you brought me here?” she asks. “To make love?”
“Make love?” I can’t help but scoff at the hope in her voice. It’s born of naivety that I might find endearing on any other night, but not when I’m not wound so tight. “That’s not in my nature.”
Isabella leans back, bracing herself on her palms. She tilts her head to one side as she stares up at me with a hint of challenge in her pursed lips.
“So you want to use me, then? You want to hurt me, treat me like a whore?” There’s a viciousness in my wife’s tone I’ve never heard before. That makes me wary. “Go on, then, Don Volante. Use me. See if I care.”
She might act as if she doesn’t give a damn what I do to her, but I’m not buying it. Isabella’s looking to provoke me so she can play the victim when I take the bait. I study her face carefully, looking deep into those tumultuous green eyes. There’s anger, pain, and something I can’t identify.
“Bella.” My tone is gentle, but with a hint of warning. She’s in a dangerous mood and may take us along a path neither of us wants to tread.
She leaps to her feet and pushes onto the tips of her toes to get right in my face.
“Do it!” she screams at me. “Use me. Make it hurt.”
I grab her shoulders and haul her closer. “You’re playing with fire, Isabella.”
“So burn me.” There’s such desperation in her voice, I quash my desire to give her what she’s asking for.
Letting go of her, I step back. “I’m not doing this, Bella.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you make me the villain.”
Her lip curls into a snarl. “Oh, you’re the good guy now, are you?”
“I never said that, but in this situation, I’m not the bad guy.” I lean a little closer. “You’re the one who’s sinned this time, Mrs. Volante.”
Anger flares in her eyes. I see the slap coming, but do nothing to stop it. The crack of her palm on my cheek reverberates around the room. Isabella’s eyes widen in shock. I have to admit to being surprised, too. That actually hurt.
She turns to run, but I grab her by the arm and swing her back around to face me. She fucked up, and she knows it. Her mouthing off a bit I can forgive, but she can’t be allowed to strike me without facing the consequences of her actions.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, I think you did.”
Backing Isabella up, I shove her against the wall. Grabbing her wrists, I pin them above her head. I bring them together so I can hold her in place with one hand while I use the other to grab her chin. When I bend to kiss her, she whimpers before I even begin my assault on her mouth. She’s afraid and so she should be. I wasn’t going to touch her when she’s clearly in an emotional state. My chivalrous restraint flew out the window the moment she slapped me. Now I have to remind her who’s in control.
I kiss her the way I intend to fuck her, with a raw savagery. My tongue invades her mouth as she parts her lips. She tastes of mint toothpaste, but there’s a lingering hint of garlic from our dinner. It’s not enough to ward me off.
Isabella doesn’t kiss me back, just lets me ravish her mouth. My tongue slides over hers, pushing deep. My lips punish hers until they’re swollen and bruised. Whining, she tries to free her hands from my grip. When that doesn’t work, she sinks her teeth into my tongue. The distinctive metallic tang that fills my mouth tells me she drew blood.
I draw back and smirk at her. The little minx scowls back at me. Letting go of her wrists, I grab the edges of her flimsy camisole and rip it apart, revealing those gorgeous breasts. They’re small and round, a perfect fit for the palm of my hand. Cupping her breast, I dip my head and suck her taut nipple into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the areola and then bite down hard, but not enough to break the skin. Isabella cries out. She tugs at my hair and I allow her to pull me off her.
Darting my hand out, I grab her throat and squeeze, just enough to make her eyes widen in fear.
“Is this what you want from me, Bella?”
She sucks in a breath as my fingers tighten around the base of her delicate neck. Her hands come up to my chest, but she doesn’t try to push me off her. She’s trying to make a connection, to cut through my anger so I’ll release her before I actually choke her. What she doesn’t realize is I’m not in any danger of losing control here. She’s pissed me off, but I’m not close to snapping.
“You want me to treat you like a whore?”
Not giving her time to answer, I let go of her throat and spin her around to face the wall. She gasps as I drag her shorts and panties down her long, lean legs.
“Step out of them.”
She takes a second too long to respond to my command, so I spank her ass three times in quick succession, drawing a startled yelp from her.
“Hands on the floor,” I instruct her, “legs spread.”
This time, she obeys without hesitation. She widens her stance, bends at the waist and places her palms flat on the floor. Her hair fans out over the sage green carpet. My wife used to practice yoga. I wonder if she still does. Her flexibility and balance are impressive.
Shoving my pants farther down my legs, I grab Isabella’s hip to hold her in place and position my cock at her entrance. I don’t need to touch her to know she’s ready for me. The evidence of her arousal glistens on her pretty pink pussy. I push in slowly, feeling each inch gliding through her wetness to be gripped by her tight channel. It’s like being welcomed home. I both love and hate that I feel this is where I belong.
Slowly, I slide out and back in again. Isabella’s body trembles. I repeat the motion and she whimpers.
“Tony.”
I clench my jaw, angrier now than when she slapped me. “You do not get to call me that.”
Tony is what the people I’m closest to call me. My traitorous wife does not fall into that category.
“You’re nothing to me, Isabella.” I pull out and shove in deep. “Nothing but a warm hole to fuck.”
Her anguished gasp gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction. I don’t care if my words hurt her. She’s wounded me more than any enemy ever has. She’s burrowed under my skin and she’s still there, driving me to distraction with her deceptively innocent eyes and air of vulnerability.
I ravage her pussy, entering her with firm strokes that go a little deeper each time. Digging my fingers into her hips, I keep up a punishing pace, trying to purge a year’s worth of pent-up emotion by fucking my wife hard and fast. I’m like a man possessed. This can’t be easy for her to take, but her frantic mewls tell me she’s loving every second of this. Confirmation of that comes as her pussy squeezes my cock, sending an insistent pulse straight to my balls.
The tightening of her body around mine is enough to trigger my own release. There’s a pressure at the base of my spine. The muscles in my neck cord as I grit my teeth. I have to bite my tongue not to call out Isabella’s name. I don’t want her to know how deeply she’s affecting me.
Pulling out of her, I watch with satisfaction as my cum leaks from her pussy. This woman is mine and I intend to assert that fact every chance I get. The limpness of her body tells me she’s exhausted. I wrap my arm around Isabella’s waist to prevent her from crumpling to the floor. I turn her to face me. With hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks flushed, she’s a gorgeous mess. The well-fucked look suits her.
Since my wife is clearly exhausted, I lead her to the bed and pull back the covers for her. She clambers straight into bed and curls up on her side, facing away from me. I strip off my clothes and get in next to her.
“Did you like that, Bella?” I put my hands behind my head to combat the temptation to touch her. As much as I want to sleep with my arms wrapped around her, I’m not prepared to cuddle a snake. “Did you like being fucked like you don’t matter?”
She doesn’t answer. Her soft, snuffling breaths tell me she’s already asleep. Tonight hasn’t brought me any sense of resolution. I’m no closer to understanding Isabella’s betrayal. One thing is clearer to me now, though. She needs a firm hand. Fortunately, I’m just the man to give it to her.