18. Caelia
Maybe there will comea day when knocking on my husband’s office won’t fill me with dread, but today’s not that day. This marriage didn’t start with a mix of good and bad feelings. No. It was one hundred percent hate, sorrow, and hurt. And it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t rough. It was unbearable—soul-crushing. There were days when I thought I had enough and maybe life wasn’t worth living. Mattia lit up a spark of hope inside me, and nothing is worse. It’s a double-edged sword. I don’t want to get comfortable while I work on my plan to run away. I don’t want to let my guard down so he can strike when I’m least expecting it.
He tipped the scale.
But there’s too much bad blood between us to forgive and forget.
“Come in, Wildfire.”
Arching my eyebrows, I enter his office. I didn’t know my husband knew my steps so well.
“Hi,” I smile at him.
He gives me a nod, an amused grin on his face. “What can I do for my lovely wife?”
I’m willing to drink poison to kill whatever flutters in my stomach at the sound of his smooth, sinful voice. We kiss. We fuck. We talk. Sometimes, it is about silly things, like whether having bacon with pineapple is a good idea. Sometimes, about other things. When I’m not careful enough, I let details of my childhood slip. I talk about my dreams. My hopes. We both play this game so well that you would never think he used to be my assailant until a couple of months ago. He’s wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I know his tattoos by heart now. I have traced the ink with my fingertips so much that it has bled into my skin.
“Your mother called the landline.” He goes stiff, his jaw clenching. “She returned from the cruise yesterday and said you’re not answering the phone. She asked if we”d be attending the charity ball next month.”
I wasn’t aware of it, but Mattia must have known. He rarely tells me things until the last minute, so I got used to it. Sometimes, he doesn’t even bother to invite me. Living my life without expecting anything from him is the best thing I can do. I cross the distance between us. He seems a little off, but you couldn’t tell unless you spent countless hours forging his features in your mind. I lean against the desk on his right side. His gaze travels up and down my body, his pupils dilating. I’ll never stop being amazed by the desire that takes over him. My husband wants me. It’s too bad he figured it out too late.
“Are you going to attend?” I break the silence between us.
He catches my wrist, pulling me closer to him. I place my hands on his shoulders, trying to regain my balance. Strange things started to happen when I am around him. His touch doesn’t turn my stomach upside down anymore. I don’t feel that burning desire to stab him every time he looks at me.
“You’re not coming with me?” He tilts his head back, looking up at me.
I will never forget who he is and how he treated me for so many years. But it’s easy to fool myself when he’s staring at me like I’m the moon in his sky or when he’s on his knees in front of me, worshipping my body.
“I wasn’t invited.”
He sneaks his hand under my dress, caressing my thigh.
“Would you like to attend the charity ball with me, Wildfire?”
“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” I tease him.
I don’t lean forward to kiss him because I want to. I do it because I have to keep this charade going to keep him distracted long enough to put my plan in motion. I will need a new identity. I will need a place to stop to change my appearance before I get on a bus, leaving New York behind. Taking a flight is too risky. I still don’t have enough money saved. I need a little more time.
I don’t moan when his tongue circles mine because I’m enjoying this. Wetness doesn’t drip between my legs because I want him.
“Do you have any plans for today?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Come with me.” He intertwines his fingers with mine.
“Where are we going?”
Mattia would have turned around and smacked me for asking a question a few months ago. Now, he squeezes my hand lightly, a smirk on his lips.
“You’ll change into something more comfortable and come with me. I’ve been thinking about something.”
“You’ve been thinking? That’s great news, Mattia.” I laugh, following up the stairs.
“I’m going to fuck the brat out of you, Wildfire.”
“You can try.”
He stops, spinning me around in his arms, his fingers digging into my waist as he pushes me back until I hit the banister behind me. He glares down at me with the most intense stare I have seen so far, bending enough to gather the material of my dress into his hands. He lifts it slowly. The rhythm of my heartbeat speeds up. My throat is as dry as the desert.
“What are you doing?” I murmur. “Anyone could pass by.”
Employees are living on the grounds. Some of his men have quarters inside the house. He steps two stairs down, his face at the same level as mine. Mattia’s hand finds its way between my legs, his finger sliding up and down, touching my clit lightly, like an afterthought, just to watch my lips part, eyes widening, a soft whimper escaping my lips.
“And they’re going to see me fuck my wife the way she’s meant to be fucked.”
His words turn my mind off and my body on.
“And how’s that?” I arch an eyebrow.
“With my cock buried so deep inside you, you’ll purr. My hand around your throat, my handprint on your smooth ass. At my mercy, Wildfire. This is how you’re meant to be fucked.”
“I don’t?—”
I don’t think this is a good idea.
I meant to say this, but he doesn’t allow me to. With his hands on my waist, he spins me around, one hand pressed between my shoulder blades, bending me forward. He pulls the dress around my waist, exposing me to anyone who might happen to pass by.
“My wife has this bad habit of walking around the house with no underwear. I wonder why that is. Is it so the thought alone would drive me crazy?” I throw him a look over my shoulder. He kneels on the stairs behind me, caressing my ass before he slaps me so hard I falter, moving a few inches forward. I clench my fingers on the banister to keep myself in place. “Or is it so I can easily do this?” he asks, flattening his tongue on my pussy.
I close my eyes, my chin resting on my chest, my hair spilling around my face. He licks me up and down, sucking on my clit without a care in the world, stopping just for a split second to slap my ass again. The sound reverberates in the quiet mansion. He went down on me this past month more than he did in the previous two years of marriage. It’s a pleasurable distraction. He knows exactly when to stop. He lets me taste the orgasm on the tip of the tongue so that he can take it away from me. My knees are shaking. I’m a mess by the time he stands up and slaps my ass again. I’m afraid to look. I hear the sound of the zipper.
“You understand why I will not undress, don’t you, Wildfire?” I nod, but it’s not enough for him. “Say it.”
“I understand.”
He bends over my body, his breath tickling my ear. “Good girl,” he whispers as he thrusts inside me in one unforgiving motion.
My eyelids flutter as he wraps his hand around my neck, pulling me back until my back meets his chest. He catches my wrist, bending my hand behind my back. I give him the other one willingly. He rewards me with a kiss on my shoulder. I feel his lips curving on my skin into a smile. He’s ruthless in his thrusts. My pussy stretches to accommodate him, my inner muscles clenching around his cock. I can lie to myself that I hate everything he’s doing or stop and enjoy myself. I have chosen the latter lately. He’s not giving me any reason to fight him. I carry the baggage of the past with me, and I will always do so. But my life is more manageable when I don’t fight him every breathing second.
I take what I need when I allow my body to mold into his. I’m using him as much as he’s using me, and I’m not worried about pregnancy. I’ll never give the bastard a child. I’m not a stranger to his hand wrapped around my neck, but at the same time, I am. He choked me a couple of times when I disobeyed him or when he thought I made a fool of him in front of other people. But Mattia doesn’t trigger any warning signals in my brain this time. My lips are parted as I struggle to breathe, but the more pressure he applies, the closer to orgasm I get. He fucked me up really bad. He fucked me up so bad there was a time I didn’t think I was going to enjoy sex with someone, less alone with him.
But here I am, a shaking mess, one of my feet slipping on the step below as he continues to fuck me, my body betraying how much I’m enjoying this. I freeze as I see Domenico at the bottom of the stairs. I squirm into Mattia’s arms, but all he does is squeeze my neck a little tighter, digging his fingers into the skin of my waist, his rhythm not faltering, not even for a second.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks Domenico.
“Mattia—” I try to warn him, but it doesn’t help when it sounds like I’m moaning his name.
“I don’t care if he’s watching, baby. I’m not done with you yet.”
My checks are on fire. I shake my head, trying to get enough hair in my face so I don’t see him looking at us with an expressionless face. My husband doesn’t react as I thought he would if ever put in a situation like this. He’s not horrified. He doesn’t slip out of me. He doesn’t stop.
“We have a situation, sir.”
“Is it urgent?”
“It’s—”
“Nothing’s more urgent than making my wife come. Now leave us.”
Domenico nods and turns on his heels.
“You were so close, Wildfire. Weren’t you?” He whispers in my ear, making me forget all the embarrassment. I nod. “Let’s fix that,” he bites my earlobe, his fingers finding my clit.
My head falls back on his shoulder. I’m not prepared for Mattia to grab my chin and kiss me like it’s the last thing he will ever do. His mouth claims mine, his tongue driving me insane as it moves in the same rhythm as his fingers. He pours possessiveness into this kiss, which I didn’t think he was capable of. And I melt in his arms, tension building up in my core. My body trembles and fireworks explode everywhere when I climax. He always keeps me wrapped in his arms while he waits for me to come down from the high, and this time is no different. His rhythm slows down like he’s taking a second to watch me and breathe me in before chasing his orgasm and letting out a moan. I wish I didn’t find it so hot.
I hate how dangerous these moments are. How vulnerable I am.
I hate how, even for a split second, I falter and wonder … What if? What if I don’t kill him?What if I don’t run away? I know it’s stupid. But the thoughts are there, and they scare the hell out of me. If a life like the one he showed me lately is possible, would I take it?