Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dante
Thank fuck we’re finally alone.
I love my family, but I was ready to throw them out.
This is my honeymoon, and I want Valentina. And only her.
I guide her through the bedroom door, my hand firm at the small of her back, the silk of her blouse warm beneath my palm.
The latch clicks shut behind us with a soft, decisive sound that seals the world outside—my brother, my cousin, the endless calculations of loyalty and war—leaving only this.
Only her.
Only the heavy beat of my pulse and the way the lamplight catches the dark waves of her hair now that she’s let it fall loose.
She turns toward me, those sharp, intelligent eyes steady, but I see the faint pulse at the base of her throat.
My wife.
Christ. The word still lands like a claim I never knew I needed until I had it.
I married her to stop a war, to bind the Russos to us, to avenge my father.
Now, standing here in slacks that hug her long legs and a blouse tucked neat at her waist, I see her for what she is.
For who she is. Beautiful. Brilliant. Strategic.
The woman who walked into a room of Moretti men—the enemy who aided and abetted in her abduction—and held her own without flinching. Like the fucking mafia princess she is.
She understands the score better than most capos I’ve ever commanded.
And damn…
She’s passionate in ways that make my blood run hot. The greatest ally I could ever have at my side.
Too bad she never wanted the marriage.
The thought slices through me, sharp and unwelcome, but I shove it down. Tonight I will make her feel everything—make her body admit what her mind might still fight. I will overwhelm her until there is nothing left but us.
I step closer, letting her feel the heat of me before I touch her.
My fingers find the top button of her blouse.
Her gaze is on me, and her breath comes in tiny little pants.
One.
The fabric parts with a whisper.
Two.
Her mouth opens slightly, but she doesn’t protest.
Three.
She doesn’t pull away.
With deliberate determination, I peel the silk open inch by inch, exposing the lace edge of her bra, the smooth rise of her breasts.
“You wore this knowing I’d be stripping it off you later.” My voice is soft, but rough with the truth of it.
My knuckles brush her skin as I push the blouse off her shoulders and let it slide down her arms to pool at her feet.
She stands in nothing but black slacks and that delicate bra now, and the sight of her—my wife, my equal—makes my cock throb hard against my zipper.
I want her hands on me.
Fuck, I want her to reach for me the way I reach for her, but she holds still, waiting, always waiting for my lead.
The knowledge stings even as it fuels the aggression rising in my blood. Tonight I will take more. Tonight I will show her exactly who owns her pleasure.
My palm settles at her waist, fingers splaying wide over the waistband of her slacks.
I hook two fingers inside and tug her against me.
Her body meets mine—soft curves to hard muscle—and I feel the tremor that runs through her.
Good.
I lower my mouth to hers, not gentle. I crush my lips to hers, tongue demanding entrance.
She opens for me instantly, and I plunder, devouring, sliding my free hand up to cup the back of her neck and hold her exactly where I want her.
When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes dazed. “That’s my good girl,” I tell her, the words rumbling out of me. “Open for me like that every time I kiss you.”
I drop to one knee in front of her, hands on her hips, and work the button of her slacks free. The zipper sighs as it slides down.
Slowly, reverently, I peel the fabric over the curve of her ass, down her thighs, letting my palms drag slow and possessive along her skin.
She steps out of the slacks, graceful even now, and I rise again, towering over her in nothing but her bra and a scrap of lace that barely covers her pussy.
My cock strains, aching to be buried inside the woman who walked into that study tonight and turned the tide of everything.
I reach behind her and unhook the bra with one hand.
The straps gently slip down her arms and her breasts spill free—full, perfect, nipples already taut. I groan at the sight. “Look at these breasts, wife. Made for my mouth.”
“Moretti…”
She’s blushing, and her breaths are shallow.
This woman is not immune to me.
I capture her wrists in one hand and pin them behind her back, arching her toward me. She gasps, body bowing, and I take full advantage, closing my mouth over one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak until she writhes against my grip.
Then I switch to the other, teeth grazing just enough to make her moan, then I intentionally soothe her with slow, wet pulls.
Her skin tastes like salt and woman.
She’s mine.
I feel every tremble, every tiny catch of her breath, and it feeds the beast in me.
She’s wet already—I can smell her arousal, sweet and heady—and I haven’t even touched her pussy yet.
I release her wrists only long enough to strip the last of her lace down her legs. Then I pin her hands behind her again, tighter this time. “Keep them there,” I order, voice thick. “You don’t get to touch me until I say. Tonight you’re going to feel every single thing I do to you.”
I back her toward the bed, guiding her down until she’s sitting on the edge.
Deliberately I kneel between her spread thighs, shoulders forcing her legs wider. My mouth finds her pussy without warning—tongue parting her folds, licking deep, tasting how soaked she is for me.
“Moretti!” She bucks, a broken sound tearing from her throat.
“So fucking wet for your husband already.” I growl against her clit. “This hot little pussy knows who it belongs to.”
Then I suck her clit into my mouth as I slide two fingers inside her tight heat, curling to stroke that spot that makes her thighs shake.
I work her relentlessly—slow drags of my tongue, fast flicks, fingers pumping until her walls flutter and clamp. “Don’t come yet,” I command, lifting my head just enough to lock eyes with her. “Fight it off. Hold it for me.”
“But…”
“You can. You will.”
She whimpers as her head falls back. Her lips are parted and her chest is heaving.
I feel the battle in her body—the way she tightens, trying to obey while pleasure claws at her.
Deliberately, wanting her to acknowledge the truth, I add a third finger, stretching her, sucking harder. “Good girl. That’s it. Feel how full I make you.”
When her walls start to spasm anyway, I pull back completely, denying her.
“That’s…” She cries out, chasing my mouth with her hips.
“Not yet.” I grin against her inner thigh. “You come when I tell you to.”
I rise, stripping my own clothes with quick, efficient movements—jacket, shirt, slacks, gun—until I’m naked, cock heavy and leaking for her.
I sit on the bed, back against the headboard, and pull her onto my lap, straddling me.
Her hands are still pinned behind her by my grip, but I release them now. “Ride me, Valentina. Sink that perfect pussy down on my cock and take every inch.” I guide the head to her entrance, slick and ready.
For a moment, she hesitates.
Not long ago, she was my virgin, and now I’m demanding she be a participant in our lovemaking.
“Do it,” I encourage. “For me. For us.”
She lowers herself slowly, and the moment her heat engulfs me—tight, wet, velvet—I groan deep in my chest. “Fuck. That’s my wife. So hot. So tight. Look at you stretching around me.”
She rocks, taking more, and I watch every micro-expression on her face—lashes fluttering, lips trembling, the flush creeping up her throat. I thrust up to meet her, burying myself to the hilt.
“You’re so damn perfect, Valentina. Ride harder. Show me how much you need this cock.” My hands grip her hips, guiding the rhythm, but I let her set the pace, watching her breasts bounce with every rise and fall.
Pleasure coils in my spine, but I hold it back, focused on her. “That’s it. Grind that clit against me. Feel how deep I am inside you.”
Her movements grow frantic. I feel her orgasm begin to build again.
“Now,” I demand. “Come for me. Come all over your husband’s cock like the good little girl you are.”
“Oh, God!” She shatters, crying out, pussy clamping down in pulsing waves that milk me so perfectly I have to clench my jaw to keep from following her.
I ride her through it, slow thrusts that prolong every ripple, until she’s trembling, oversensitive, gasping my name.
Only then do I ease her off me.
“We’re not done yet, wife.” I ease her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so she’s bent over the edge of the bed, ass high, back arched.
She watches as I reach into the nightstand drawer and pull out the lightweight nipple clamps—delicate silver with soft rubber tips.
“Uh…”
“You can always tell me no.” I place one on my fingertip to show her. “But I want you to trust me. If it’s a no, it’s a no.”
“This is… A lot.”
“Yeah.” I trace my fingertips down her spine. “It is. But so are you.”
She scrunches her nose in the most adorable way. It’s almost enough to dissuade me since all I want to do is kiss her and love her.
“What do you say, my princess?”
“You’re a beast.”
“You bring it out in me.” And that’s the damn truth of it. I hunger for her, can’t get enough. Want to claim her in every way so that she knows she’s mine forever.
I won’t let her go.
But more, I want her to stay. Because it’s her choice, not because I forced it.
“Fine.” Her agreement comes with a tiny huff.
I chuckle. “You’ll like it, Valentina. I promise you that.”
“You promise you’ll take it off if I tell you to.”
“My brave little wife…” I capture her chin. “When I give you my word, it’s absolute.”
At that, she nods.
She’s mafia. She understands that my vow is wrapped in honor and integrity. My word is all I truly have.
“Then yes. Yes, Dante.”
“Fuck me.”
My name. Her trust.
Something has shifted tonight, and she’s humbled me. Brought me to my knees.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman.
I’d kill for her. I’d die for her.
“Valentina… What you do to me.”
With that, I lean over her, placing one hand between her shoulder blades to hold her in place. With the other, I attach the first clamp to her left nipple.
She gasps at the bite. “Damn you.”
“Breathe through it,” I murmur, voice rough with approval. “Let the pain recede and then feel how they make your tits ache for me.”
Restraining my own demanding impulses, I give her a moment to adjust. “Are you doing okay?”
“It’s…”
I wait.
But she doesn’t tell me she likes it or that it’s okay.
“Ready for the next one?”
She nods.
“Use your words, wife.” Unless she gives permission, I won’t proceed. I want her to totally trust me with her safety.
“Yes.” Her breath catches and the tiny clamp sways so damn sexily. “I’m ready.”
“You’re so damn perfect for me, Valentina.” I fasten the second, wait for her back to stop swaying, then I ask if she’s okay.
“I’m fine.”
I chuckle. “Fine?”
My perfect bride huffs. “They’re…”
“Tell me.”
“They hurt, but in the best possible way.”
“That’s my girl.” I kiss that spot between her shoulder blade and her neck, and she squirms deliciously.
I’d known possessing her would be amazing.
But I could never have guessed it would be this spectacular.
I give the chain a light tug. Her answering moan is pure sin. “I want you, Valentina.”
“Take me.” She suggestively wiggles her hips.
My wife is undoing me.
I line up behind her and thrust in deep in one powerful stroke. “Take my dick, wife. All of it.”
Because she’s so wet, so fucking hot and responsive, I set a hard rhythm, moving my hips as the sound of skin on skin fills the room.
Her breasts sway beneath her, clamps tugging with every thrust, and I reach around to play with them—squeezing the soft flesh, flicking the clamps until she’s whimpering, pushing back into every drive. “These tits are mine. This pussy is mine. You’re mine in every fucking way.”
“Yes! Yes, Dante.”
I feel another orgasm building in her—the way her walls tighten, the desperate little sounds she makes. I reach down and circle her clit with two fingers. “Come again. Do it right now. Squeeze my cock while I fuck you from behind.”
She breaks, sobbing my name, body convulsing around me so hard I see stars. Only then do I let go. I bury myself to the root, hips grinding, and spill deep inside her—hot pulses that mark her, claim her, fill her until she’s dripping with me.
I collapse over her, careful not to crush her, forehead pressed to her shoulder.
Our breaths mingle, ragged and synced. My chest feels too tight, too full. Marrying her was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.
She’s brilliant.
She understands the score.
She’s passionate in ways that wreck me.
Valentina Russo Moretti could well be the greatest ally I’ve ever known.
And tonight, with her body still trembling beneath mine and my cum inside her, I realize something deeper. I don’t just want her submission. I want her heart. I want her to choose this the way I already have.
I kiss her nape, soft now, reverent. “You’re everything, Valentina. My wife. My partner.” The words slip out raw and true.
Gently I remove the clamps, soothing the sting with my mouth, then roll us so she’s curled against my chest. My arms lock around her like I’ll never let go.
She fits here. Perfectly. And for a few heartbeats, I glimpse the future I want.
Until reality intrudes.