6. A Honeymoon for Five
Chapter 6
A Honeymoon for Five
M y wife had told me before we arrived in Monaco that she had made a mistake inviting Freja into our marriage bed in Rome. However, I am a Fausti, and skilled at understanding what is being said even when it is not outright said but implied in the way words are set into a sentence. I understood that she might have been apologizing for that night, but the nights to come would be filled with invitations.
The first invitation came after we attended an art exhibition for my uncle’s son who was traveling around the world to showcase his talent. His medium did not speak to me, but he was a Fausti, and therefore, he would be talented at whatever desire fueled the flame in his heart.
My new wife was charming as she kept her arm around mine throughout the night, her shimmering yellow dress bringing thoughts of a canary to mind. If only canaries had beaks whittled down into knives that flew down from the sky.
Rosaria was approachable if the man or woman held status; other than that, she did not feel the conversation was worth her time. She was not charming about her dislike if she felt that way. She allowed the truth to come through her tone.
Once we returned to the yacht, and after a candlelit dinner, I watched the horizon with a drink in my hand as Rosaria decided to shower. Removing my jacket, letting it hang over my arm, I loosened my tie as I left the dining area.
Donato stepped of the darkness, only the whites of his eyes shimmering, and gave a curt nod toward our suite. I sighed but did not comment.
Our room was dark, lit only by candlelight and the seemingly floating lights from the shore. I set my jacket on the lounge chair, removed my tie, and set it on top. As I walked toward the bar, I rolled my sleeves up.
A hand came over my left shoulder, followed by another hand on my right. My wife was to the left and a “friend” of hers to the right. Rosaria gave me a name, but I did not even bother to learn it. I was hoping whatever she got out of watching me fuck Freja was out of her system.
We were married.
Yet.
She wanted to watch me pleasure more than her.
Perhaps to test my stamina.
Perhaps to fill an empty cave inside of her—a cave that should have been locked before we were married. Rosaria burned hot, and I could not imagine what life must have been like for her before our wedding night. A want to be touched and to touch that burned hotter than a Sicilian summer night.
If this was what my wife wanted, I would pleasure her in the way she desired.
Even if I was also fucking her “friend” in front of her.
We had not been in touch with the lawyer about adding that caveat. We would not know of our lovers. Rosaria was taking advantage of the time we still had left. After our return to Italy, the lawyer would be my first call.
Rosaria’s “friend” ran her hand along my back, meeting my eyes through the reflection in the glass. She sucked in a breath and released it slowly, right around my ear. “You are stunning,” she whispered to me. “You will fuck me tonight with the big cock I have heard so much about?” She ran her hand over my hardened cock, and it twitched in my pants.
My wife and her friend started to undress me, taking their time absorbing my body in the candlelight. I did the same to each woman, placing a kiss on each nipple, before the kissing started.
I allowed my wife to join us this time. Her “friend” liked it rough. Not as rough as my wife, but rough enough to bruise her skin. Unless she touched my wife, then it was gentler.
I hated the woman.
How she was able to touch my wife with a gentleness that my wife seemed repulsed by when it was me.
My wife wanted me to fuck her until her insides were churned like butter.
My anger did not come out at the woman, but my wife. I wrapped my hand around her throat and pinned her to the wall. Her eyes were bright. Excited. And she was so turned on, I could smell how sweet her desire was as it ran down her legs.
The woman turned me toward her, kissing me, flames almost coming out of her mouth because I was showing Rosaria too much attention.
My wife turned me back toward her, kissing me.
This was how our time went.
The woman and me.
My wife and me.
Until the woman started to beg for relief.
She was crying for it.
Rosaria was on the edge too, and when she started to beg in Italian, I bent her friend over the bed, and after Rosaria slipped a condom over my cock, started to pound into her.
“Yes!” Rosaria cheered. “Yes! Like that! You are only an animal for me, but for her, you will give her that gorgeous cock and make her fica cry out on it.”
The friend orgasmed with a cry that seemed to rip from her chest. And before she could move, I ripped the condom off, and pushing my wife’s head down, started to fuck her mouth. Her moans were garbled as she took me in deep.
The friend was starting to touch me again, and after the three of us moved to the bed, we did what three sexual partners would do.
That night, the three of us lay side by side, me in the middle. The women touched me all night long, the center of their pleasure, using my body for their own desires. Rosaria had, at one point, covered my cock with a bunch of grapes, and she and her friend ate every one, until they both started to take turns sucking me.
Her friend called me Zeus.
My wife called me her Ruthless Husband.
Over and over.
That was what she called me as her arias serenaded us from the speakers.
We fucked to the truth in her voice as if she was back on her stage.
We did not leave the suite for days.
And when a knock came, I opened it to find Donato again.
“Let them in!” Rosaria sang from the bed. “The more the merrier!”
Donato looked at me for permission. I nodded.
A man and a woman came to the door. The man seemed as if he was hyped up on something. The woman’s eyes were wide, but she was letting the man lead her into the room. I grabbed him by his throat, about to throw him over the side of the yacht from our private balcony, but my wife set a hand on my arm.
“He only wants to watch,” she almost purred at me. “He will only touch his wife, my ruthless king.” Her eyes almost glowed at the way I held the man. One squeeze, and he would die on the floor at my feet.
Rosaria’s hand guided mine down, and she started to sing to me, then started to kiss me. But I could not escape the look on the wife’s face. She was almost in tears .
“Oooh,” my wife’s friend said, walking over to the man. “Do you mind if I touch your husband?” She must have had pity for the woman too.
The woman looked at the husband.
“I do not mind,” he said.
The “friend” of my wife’s kept her eyes on the woman.
The woman shrugged. “If I get to touch him.” She looked directly at me.
I nodded.
Rosaria rolled her eyes, leaving me with the faint touch of a ghost as she passed me, running her finger along my shoulder. “Do not soften on me, my ruthless king, as I help my friend with…” She smiled at the friend, who waited by the bathroom, holding the man’s hand. The friend reached out for my wife, and laughing, they closed the bathroom doors behind them.
The woman’s eyes were hard on the door, and when she looked at me, she hid her face in her hands and started to cry. I slipped on a pair of sweatpants and took a knee before her. A second later, she sniffed and took her hands down.
“I did not want this,” she whispered. “But I could not tell him no.”
I wiped her tears, and after picking her up, carried her to another room on the yacht. I set her down on the bed. She looked up at me and I looked down at her.
“I will not touch you,” I said.
“I…want you to,” she whispered. “If you do not, I will never know what it feels like to be enough. Can you do that for me? Touch me like I am enough?”
I leaned down, kissed her head, and nodded. “I will touch you as if you are everything, bel cuore .” This woman had a beautiful heart, and instead of treasuring it, as I would, the boy was throwing it to the dark world to eat alive.
She started to truly cry, and after we made love, she rested her head on my chest, as if she were attempting to memorize the sound of the beats .
“Isn’t she your wife?” she asked. “The one who invited us?”
“ Sì. ”
“You do not care that Denis is in there with them?”
“Tell me, do you care.”
“No,” she said in a rush. “I do not. I will hate him for eternity after this.”
“Neither do I,” I said, gazing deep into her shimmering green eyes. Her face was pale in the darkness, her auburn hair flames on the pillow, and her lips red from my kisses. “I would rather be here with you.”
I kissed her heart, and she wrapped me in a warm and loving embrace, kissing my face.
She cleared her throat and started to hum, then added lyrics to the most heartbreaking song I had ever heard. The song was in English—it was about a love that was over. She told me a Swedish group had sang it.
It must have been love…
Her voice drifted as I kissed between her breasts, communicating with her heart. Whenever this woman felt lacking, she would remember she was enough for a man such as myself, and not feel this way.
“What does bel cuore mean ? ” she breathed out.
“Beautiful heart,” I said.
That was what she called me as she left the next morning with the waste of a boy. Then she told me to take care of myself. And when Donato delivered the news that she had been killed in a car accident on the way to the airport, that lion in my chest stirred with an unknown emotion.
It was not roaring, but weeping.
That was my first interaction with the beast inside of my chest other than feeling his anxious pacing, as if he was waiting for something that would save him from starvation.
Rosaria and her friend attempted to touch me, but I sent the friend away and allowed the darkness of the room I shared with the woman, the sheets still smelling of her floral perfume, to consume me.
When we arrived in the Maldives, the sun seemed mocking.
“What are you so sour about?” Rosaria laughed, and that was mocking too. “Did the poor little girl that fell in love with you make a mark on my tender-hearted king’s?—”
I stepped toward her, and she stepped back, truly seeing the monster in my eyes and cowering at the sight of it.
“Do you want to strangle me, my ruthless king?” she breathed out, a fire deep within her starting to make it to the green of her jaded eyes. She lifted her neck, inviting me to wrap my hand around her slim throat until she almost blacked out. She went as wild as a lioness eating bloodied meat for it.
“How?” I cocked my head to the side. “By touching my wife with a tender hand? I think it not worth my time or energy.”
She sucked in a breath, as if those words above any of the words I had spoken to her had wounded her. I released her from my space, and turning, undressed. She watched me as I left our suite and dove into the crystal blue and teal water from our private pier. I turned my face to the sun, letting it fall over me, as the cool water enveloped me in its rocking embrace.
In the water, I was free to allow my feelings off the leash I usually had them on. I released them to the water, along with the time I had spent with the woman on the yacht.
She was a good woman who did not deserve the fate she was handed. I wished upon her husband an eternity full of lonely nights. A lonely so cold, it had sharp teeth, piercing claws, and would eat at his heart until the end of his days.
The water rocked me a little harder, and I opened my eyes to find my wife leaning against the railing of the pier, naked and allowing the sun to beat down on her skin. Her raven hair flowed around her with the constant tepid breezes, and she was a creature I understood, but had not planned on marrying. She could not be who I needed her to be—a woman who would walk gently with me through life, only turning into my ruthless queen when I was in danger.
Rosaria knew this, which was why she constantly invited other women into our bedroom. She raged. She cursed. She clawed. She bit. She could not tread gently. Rosaria, for all the truth in her voice, was too hot blooded to care about anything but her needs. I doubted she would go on bringing women into her relationships after me. She preferred group settings when women were involved. Perhaps they were allowed to give her what she felt I should not.
A tender touch.
She did not want that from me.
She wanted ruthless.
In that moment, I accepted it, as the woman from the yacht had accepted her fate with Dennis—her touch would have never been enough for him. He had traded wedded bliss for a dozen women who could get him off in a cheap night of fuckery.
That life did not appeal to me any longer.
I’d had it in my youth. I had older women and younger women. Women from all areas of life—with personalities that sometimes suited and not suited them. I would find myself in the homes, beds, of women who could be careless and cruel, but also women who could be tender and loving.
After our wedding, I would find myself in the arms of whichever woman could cater to my needs.
This was why when we repeated our vows, we did not take oaths to be true to each other only.
This was an arrangement between us.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
As my wife gazed out at the water, she was in her space again. The world at her feet. Forever giving the performance of her life, even if she thought no one was watching. But if she ever decided to take a lover and she fell in love with him …
The amount of water I was currently in could not touch the blood that would stain my palms for eternity.
If she could not love me.
She would never love another.
Her barbs had gone too deep, and so did the hurt she handed me on our wedding night, and the nights that followed. I would never kill out of honor in her name, if the circumstances pertained to love, but out of bitter resentment, the vengeance as warm and passionate as our wedding night should have been.