Chapter 5
Chapter Five
A ntonio
“ Buongiorno ,” Angelo, one of my hired servants murmurs, rushing to my side when I crack an eye against the sun.
Fuck. Did I pass out on the deck last night?
I’m sprawled in a chaise lounge, my white tuxedo shirt unbuttoned to my chest.
Angelo holds a tray with various juice options–orange, grapefruit, tomato. Or is that a Bloody Mary? My stomach turns. I reach for the orange juice.
“Ham and cheese omelet with sourdough toast,” I order. I don’t even know what food is on this boat, but I assume they can figure that out.
“ Si signore.”
“Make one for my bride, as well.”
“She has already eaten, sir.”
For some reason, that answer irritates the piss out of me. Whether it’s because my bride ate without me or because I have a bride now, I’m not sure.
If I weren’t still a vengeful fuck, I would get rid of Dahlia quickly. Deposit her in my place in the Hamptons and take up residence in the loft on Billionaire Row. I could visit her a few times a month to get her pregnant. Once she’s pregnant, she could be shut away for good. I would only require her to trot out and accompany me to society events once every few months.
I wouldn’t have this need to continue stealing from her. To take and take until there’s nothing of her left that doesn’t belong to me–her body, her mind, her will.
I did allow her to sleep alone last night. After she reminded me how beneath her I am–that I stole her from her legitimate fiance, I left her in our master suite and spent the night drinking myself into a stupor. That’s how I ended up waking on the deck of my newly acquired yacht.
The sound of a helicopter flying overhead gets me onto my feet and reaching for a gun.
My men emerge from all directions, holding machine guns all pointed toward the approaching helicopter.
“Put the weapons away.” My bride strides onto the deck in a short mini-dress and wide-brimmed sun hat with a large navy bow at the back and a pair of huge sunglasses.
Before the thought has even reached my brain, I’m running for her, needing to get her safely below deck.
I pull up short when my tiny wife lifts an arm gaily in the air and waves at the helicopter with a broad, Hollywood smile on her face. “Smile and wave, Antonio,” she says between bared teeth. “That’s the press.”
The… what?
I twist to look up at the helicopter. My brain and body are still telling me this is an attack, but I realize she must be right. If they were going to shoot at us, they would’ve done it by now.
I did just hijack the wedding of New York’s most famous belle. It makes sense that the press might be here to try to catch us on our honeymoon and figure out how this all happened.
“Guns away,” I snap, tucking my own back in the holster at my ankle.
I put my arm around my prize wife and join her in a jaunty wave.
It occurs to me that she could’ve sent up a distress signal. Waved both arms or somehow looked frantic and in need of rescue. The fact that she directed my men to hide their weapons and look appropriate surprises me.
I’m not dumb enough to believe she’s on board with this wedding or even that she intends to be compliant. At least she’s doing her duty at the moment.
The helicopter circles the yacht, and I verify that she’s right–a camera lens winks in the sun.
“Give them a good show, princess.” I wrap my other arm around her and bend her backward in a dip, then kiss the fuck out of those lush lips of hers.
She goes still, shocking me by accepting the kiss. I sense the thump of her heart against my chest as she begins to move her lips against mine. I thrust my tongue in her mouth, sweeping it boldly, fucking her with it. My dick thickens and stretches along my leg, pressing into her belly.
And then I don’t want to stop. I no longer give a shit about the helicopters or the reporters. I don’t care what kind of photos they get.
All I want is to conquer the beautiful debutante who thinks she’s too good for me. She may believe I’m beneath her, but that doesn’t change the fact that her body responds to me. That her curiosity over what I could give her, what I could make her feel, never died.
I’m suddenly locked in and laser-focused on only one goal: winding up my new wife. Making sure she’s hot and needy and desperate for what I can give her.
And I can’t fucking wait until I know exactly what that pretty face of hers looks like when she comes.
I slide one of my hands down to her ass, kneading the soft flesh there. This is how I lost myself last time.
When the delicate blue-blood proved that she may look like she’s made of porcelain, but hot blood runs in her veins.
My kiss loses finesse and turns aggressive with passion.
It’s the way she responds to me–that gasp of excitement, the offering of her lush body to my hands. She heats beneath my touch. I lift her upright, so I can get at her neck, kissing and nibbling down the slender column.
“Oh.” Her little gasp of surprise gets me harder than granite. I slip my forearm under her ass and boost her ass up so I can carry her to the closest wall. Her legs part to straddle my waist, sending the short minidress careening up her thighs.
If I weren’t half out of my mind, I would worry how much of her delicious thighs my men can see. Or the photographers for that matter.
But I’ve forgotten there’s anyone else around. I’ve forgotten my revenge. I’ve forgotten everything but the taste of her mouth and the feel of her lush body. The excited sounds that leave her throat.
I pin against the wall and deepen the kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and bruising force. My erection presses against her belly. I drop her ass lower into my hands to line the notch between her legs up with my throbbing member.
She moans against my mouth. I thrust my tongue in rhythm with the rock of my hips, a slow fuck.
“ Antonio ,” she gasps.
Fuck.
I must be losing my mind because I would give up this yacht just to hear her say my name in that desperate, breathy tone again. To hear her chant it over and over like an invocation. Like she’s praising God.
“That’s right, Principessa .” I bite down on her neck. “This is how your husband is going to take care of you.” I lick the place I bit, then suck. “Every. Fucking. Day.”
“Antonio.” She’s panting. Rocking her hips to meet my thrusts. I find the waistband of her panties and yank them down her ass, dying to get that small scrap of fabric out of my way, so I can give it to her hard. Right here, right now.
Dahlia panics.
Suddenly, she’s kicking and shoving me away, wriggling and scrambling to get out of my arms.
I return to my senses.
Easing Dahlia back to her feet, I pull up her panties and adjust the hem of her dress. I give her ass a pat. “No, dear. Not until you beg me for it.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes and giving my chest a shove.
Hearing the beat of the helicopter’s blades, I pull her against my body as if she were trying to hug me instead. She allows it, and I hold her for a few counts before I release her.
“You will beg, darling.” I adjust her sunhat, which I must’ve knocked askance when I was kissing her. Her lips are swollen and puffy from the kiss, her cheeks flushed.
It makes me hungry for Round Two.
“Don’t hold your breath, Antonio.” she shoots back, flouncing away. Then she stops and twists to look at me over her shoulder. “On second thought, do. I could definitely survive the tragedy of a marriage cut short by an early death.”
Dahlia
As I walk away from Antonio, my body buzzes from his kiss. My panties are soaked, nipples hard beads beneath my bra cups.
I don’t know how he does it to me. Why I find him so achingly attractive. I can’t fathom what it is about him that makes me desperate for his attention.
Maybe the real appeal of the bad boy is that he doesn’t give a crap about me. It calls to that human desire to win friends and make connections. He’s the ultimate challenge.
It makes sense. I met him at a ball where everyone had to be polite to me, if not fawning.
And there he was. Watching me with total disinterest. Derision, even.
And I just had to make him want me.
Sadly, I’m still that fifteen-year-old girl.
Antonio claimed me to punish my father. He thinks I’m a spoiled rich girl. He has no real interest in me, and yet I’m dying to make him fall in love.
To win over the bad boy and prove I am worthy.
It’s that realization, more than anything, that strengthens my resolve to get myself out of this unhealthy, dangerous situation.
There has to be a way to unbind myself from Antonio.
I realize I’m walking swiftly across the length of the yacht with no particular destination in mind, other than getting away from Antonio. I end up near the helm and through the window of the console, I’m startled to see a face I recognize.
Shawn Hennessey, my father’s yacht captain.
It’s funny how in dire circumstances a familiar face–one that normally would only cause me to feel a shrug of boredom–could fill me with such pleasure.
“Shawn!” I beam the first smile that’s cracked my face in at least thirty-six hours.
“Dahlia!” He flicks a nervous glance in both directions, then cracks open the door to the cockpit and pulls me through it and into a hug. Then he whisper-hisses in my ear, “Your father sent me a message for you. He said he’s going to get us both out of this.”
Hearing footsteps outside, I pull myself out of his grasp. “It’s good to see you!” I say loudly.
Antonio growls behind me, “Hands off my wife, or I will cut them off and throw them to the fucking sharks.”
His wife.
The words send shockwaves through my body.
“Antonio!” I jerk back, putting at least three feet between me and the captain. “Stop. He’s a family friend–I mean, an employee, that’s all.”
I thank God for Antonio’s apparent jealousy. It seems to have distracted him from realizing Shawn passed me a message.
“He’s nothing to you.” Antonio says it like a warning. “You come near this stronzo again, and I will throw him overboard. Are we clear?”
It’s perfect. I should be terrified. Appalled. But something warm slithers through my chest.
Antonio’s alpha male possessiveness is over the top and absurd. But in addition to it serving as a distraction, it gets me hot. I like him staking his claim over me. It turns me on. I craved this man’s attention, and now I have it. And with it comes a sense of power.
I place my hand in the center of his chest and give him a push. He allows me to back him out of the cockpit.
“Relax. I was just saying hello.”
Antonio’s face is still twisted in a scowl.
“You basically abducted me. You took me from my family onto a vessel with complete strangers. It shouldn’t shock you that I’d be happy to see a familiar face.”
Some of his irritation seems to ease.
He pulls me toward him and tucks me under his arm to escort me toward our bedroom. “Don’t speak to him again.”
I refuse to agree.
“Dahlia,” he warns. “Do you want him dead?”
This is too much. I stop, digging my heels in, so Antonio has to stop, too. “You can’t kill everyone I talk to.”
He raises his brows and pierces me with a cold gaze. “Try me. You’re my wife. I would murder anyone who touches or disrespects you.”
I shiver. “You really are a monster, aren’t you?”
His expression contorts, the cold mask breaking to show that I hit a nerve, but then he quickly recovers. “I am what your family made me.”
I scoff. “My family isn’t mafia. Yours is.” I lift my nose in the air and take on a goody-two-shoes air. “Blaming others for your own failings is a bad look on you.”
“And stuck-up snob is a bad look on you.”
I hide my wince. I knew that’s what he thought of me, but it still wounds me to hear him say it out loud.
“So, exactly who am I allowed to speak to on this yacht?” I demand.
Antonio hesitates. “No one. No one but me.”
I throw my hands in the air and start marching toward the sun deck. “That’s absurd. You are absolutely insane.”
“Don’t test me,” he warns, but I’ve already made up my mind.
I’m definitely about to call his bluff.
I stride up to a grouping of his men standing near the rails. He’s not going to throw his mafia soldiers overboard when I speak to them.
“Hi guys.” I try out my flirty voice. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” I touch the nearest guy on the shoulder and step close. “I’m Dahlia.”
“Get away from her,” Antonio barks.
In the next moment, I find myself flung over his shoulder. My short dress rides up to my waist, no doubt giving the men a view of my panty-clad ass. “Don’t look at her,” Antonio roars as he stomps away. My trunk swings behind his back.
Instead of taking me to our bedroom, he walks into one of the other staterooms–apparently an uninhabited one–and deposits me on the crisply-made queen-sized bed.
He towers over me, but rather than finding his large, imposing visage intimidating, I’m turned on by the cave-man display of possessiveness. My gaze tracks his large hands curled into fists at his sides, how good he looks, even in yesterday’s rumpled tuxedo.
“Clothing restriction.” Antonio’s voice is a choked growl, his dark brows slash down. He tugs my dress up over my head. He doesn’t hurt me, but his movements are rough and jerky.
Gone is the smooth, revenge-is-a-dish-served-cold man who ordered me about in cool, manicured tones last night.
This man feels more raw. More real.
I’m totally turned on. I’m also far more wary of him. I don’t want to anger the bull. I allow him to strip me of my bra and panties. I even kick off my sandals myself–a show of surrender.
Antonio stoops to pick up my dress, panties and bra. He points a finger at me. “I warned you.”
I scramble up off the bed, so I’m not in such a submissive position. I try to think of something clever to say in return, but nothing comes to mind.
As it turns out, I’m saved from answering because Antonio marches out of the room.
I stand there, naked, contemplating the situation.
Then I realize the solution is simple. Antonio doesn’t like me talking to other men, he doesn’t want them looking at my ass, and he took away my clothing.
He literally walked right into this one.
I stride to the door and pull it open. Then I strut out like I own the place.
Antonio
Oh, hell no.
I lurch forward at a dash when I catch sight of my fully naked bride and her fuck-hot body arriving on deck in full view of all of my men.
I was an idiot. I should have known she has more spunk than shame about her nudity.
I’m not sure my feet even touch the ground as I cross the deck to catch her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her into the air, spin her around, and head for the master suite.
“You love punishment, don’t you, Principessa ?” I murmur growl against the shell of her ear.
“Controlling you just became my number one pastime.”
Controlling me? I grit my teeth. “We’ll see who controls who.” She wants to use her body to control me? I will use it against her.
I know she’s curious about sex. I will have her begging in no time.
I will punish the fuck out of her with orgasms until she weeps for me to give her my cock.
“Who controls whom ,” she corrects.
Right. Putting me in my place again. “Sorry, my prison education didn’t quite compare to your prep school,” I growl.
I carry her straight to the closet where I pull out a belt.
That scares her. She goes wild in my arms, thrashing and kicking. I manage to keep hold of her until I get her to the bed where I pin her wrists above her head and lash the belt around them.
She quiets somewhat, no doubt relieved I’m not going to whip her with it.
I lash the end of the belt to the bedpost. Then I stand on my knees to observe.
My bride looks beautiful, her dark hair spread in a fan around her flushed face. Her perfect tits are lifted and spread, her nipples a dusky-rose against her pale skin.
I run my thumb across my lower lip admiring her. “I like you bound,” I observe. “I might just keep you this way for the rest of the trip.”
She thrashes her legs, twisting her hips this way and that. “Let me go!”
“Oh, no, sweetheart. We have your punishment to deal with first.”
Her lips close, and she stares at me.
“Not going to ask what it is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
I shrug. “Nah. I’ll just let you experience it.” I grip her thighs and push her knees wide, all the way up to her shoulders.
Her belly flutters. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Looking at what’s mine.”
It’s a beautiful pussy. Pristine. Unpenetrated by another man. My usual type of woman is one with more experience, but I relish the idea of being Dahlia’s first.
Make that her only.
Because she is mine now. And mine alone.
Which means her beautiful body belongs to me.
Her orgasms belong to me.
Her freedom belongs to me.
I may not be able to take her heart, but I will rule the rest of her like the fucking boss that I am.
She tries to close her knees, to push them out of my hands, but I hold her fast, just drinking in the sight of her. Letting her feel my dominance. My ownership. My desire.
Taking my time, I lower my head and drag the tip of my tongue along her slit.
Her anus contracts, and she jerks against my hold.
I explore her soft folds with no particular goal other than tasting her. Getting acquainted with her terrain. Her reactions to my touch.
Her breath draws in soft pants, her inner thighs start to quiver. Within seconds, her juices are flowing, and I lap them up with my tongue.
“You said you wouldn’t have sex with me.”
“This isn’t sex. This is punishment,” I tell her, even though it’s quite obviously something far more pleasurable than my other forms of chastisement. The punishment will come when I leave her hanging. When I get her wet and ready, blooming for my entrance, and then I back off.
She mewls softly when I trace along her inner lips, then swirl up to her clit and suck.
I continue my slow torture, penetrating her with my tongue, sucking her labia, nipping. My cock is heavy, aching to be inside her.
Dahlia tugs against the belt, squirming against my mouth. No, pressing up into it.
She’s definitely enjoying herself now.
I keep at it, building her right to the edge, judging by the pitch of her moans, and then I draw back.
For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then her head snaps up. “What’s happening?” she sounds alarmed.
“What do you want to happen, Dahlia?”
Her head falls back, and her eyelids flutter closed. “Oh, God.”
I wait.
Her eyes pop back open, glassy and large. Frantic. “Are you going to finish?”
“How would you like me to finish, princess?”
“Wh–what you were doing was fine. I mean, if that’s my punishment.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “No, this is your punishment.” I back all the way off the bed.
She draws in an angry gasp when she realizes. “No. You can’t leave me here like this. You can’t .”
I give her a cool smile. “I can, dear wife. This is what happens when you challenge me.”
I step into the bathroom and strip out of the stale tuxedo to take a much-needed shower.
When I walk out, Dahlia’s body’s gone limp. Her knees hang open like butterfly wings, and her head is turned to the side.
“Please–my wrists are hurti–” The last syllable dies on her lips when she takes in my bare torso, still glistening with water droplets from the shower. Her gaze traces my pectoral muscles down my abs to the white towel around my waist.
I’m tempted to taunt her with my body, but then, I remember her innocence, so I ignore her and stride to the dresser where my clothing has been unpacked with hers. With my back turned to her, I drop the towel and pull on a pair of boxer shorts, feeling the heat of her gaze on me the entire time.
I turn and let her eye the erection tenting the soft cotton. I probably should have beat off in the shower to take the pressure off, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I want to come inside my bride. I’m saving every last drop for her juicy cunt, so I can fill that belly with our child.
She draws in a breath and licks her lips.
“How’s that pussy of yours?” I advance on the bed.
She snaps her knees closed with a soft slap of flesh.
I tsk. “Bad girl. You don’t hide it from me. I own that pussy now.” I grasp behind her knees and lift her feet off the bed to spread her legs wide. This time I let them come back to the bed outside my shoulders. I slide my hands under her ass and lift it slightly to meet my face.
“No-o, Antonio,” she moans. “Please.”
I lick into her. “Please what, darling?”
“I…I…Please don’t do this.”
I drag my tongue up and down her slit. I’m sloppier this time because it’s hard to focus with blue balls.
No matter, she’s already desperate. The moment my mouth connects with her, she tightens her ass and pushes into me, greedy for her release.
“You have no say in this,” I tell her. “You chose to show your body– the body I now own –to my men. This is the punishment I’ve chosen for you.”
“I…don’t even understand it,” she complains.
I chuckle against her soft flesh then nip her labia. “Your body does, though, doesn’t it?”
“My body…” she pants. “My body wants…”
“I know what your body wants, amore. I can give you what you desire.”
“No,” she says. “No, no, no, no.” Her needy tone doesn’t match the words, but, of course, I honor her words.
Eventually, she will cave to me.
Instead, I continue with my slow, deliberate torture, bringing her to the brink of orgasm and back away again.
She lets out a dry sob when I climb off the bed. “You’re a horrible person.”
“I can be quite cruel,” I agree. “You’d be wise to stay on my good side.” I give her a cool smile. “And believe me, darling. This was my good side.”
Dahlia
Antonio tortures me for hours with his tongue, driving me nearly insane. Never letting me actually reach a climax.
Finally, when I beg him for mercy, he releases my wrists from the belt.
I should be thrilled to have the use of my arms and hands back, but I get pins and needles from the blood rushing back to them and worse–much worse–is the fact that Antonio is getting dressed.
Like he’s finished with me.
Like he’s not going to give me the satisfaction I need.
I waste no time. As soon as I have feeling back in my hands, I roll to my belly with my hand tucked between my legs. My hips buck against the firm contact–the pressure I’d been desperate for.
The relief is so great that I moan out loud as my internal muscles clench and lift. A giant star blooms and bursts behind my eyes. I undulate my fingers and bring on a second smaller contraction, but before I’m finished, Antonio rolls me to my back.
He stares down at me, his golden eyes dark and glittering. “Did I say you could come?”
My brain doesn’t even process what he’s saying. I’m dizzy from my release. Lost in outer space. I blink up at him, still moving my fingers to eke out more aftershocks.
He catches my wrist and replaces my fingers with his. “This pussy belongs to me, remember?”
He moves his fingers expertly, finding the exact place I need to bring on another full orgasm.
I cry out with the release, arching up from the bed, completely at his mercy. When I blink open my eyes, I find Antonio watching me intently as he continues to slowly move his fingers.
“I didn’t give you permission to come.”
“Ahhhh.” I’m mindless. Brainless. I have zero control over my body. Certainly no ability to refuse when he screws one thick finger inside me.
I groan because it feels so good. So right. I’ve used my own fingers between my legs in the privacy of my bedroom since I was a child, but this–this sensation, like his tongue–is completely beyond any pleasure I was able to give myself.
I’m shocked by how wet I am, my arousal soaking his finger, making a slick sound as he pushes it in and out. He gets deeper, bumping my inner wall, and I shriek at the sensation–a sudden loss of control–a catapulting over the edge into still more pleasure. I gush more liquid. He doesn’t relent, he keeps pumping his finger, then adds a second one, making me scream and shake in the throes of incredible release. Tears stream down my face.
“Please,” I beg because I can’t take any more. He’s been torturing me for hours now, and the sensations are too much. I’m a rag doll. Boneless. Barely capable of putting together the thought to speak. “Please, Antonio. Have mercy.”
Abruptly, he stops, slipping his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth to suck.
“I control your orgasms now, Dahlia. You don’t come without me giving them. Understand?”
“Yes,” I nod. I would agree to anything he said at this moment.
He wanted to prove he controls me and my body, and he has.
I pant, unable to move, my hands limply resting on my ribs. He studies me a moment longer, then nods. “Good girl.”
My belly flutters. I don’t care about his praise. I mean, I shouldn’t. But somehow, it still has an effect on me.
“You may dress and move around the yacht as you please.”
I should hate his presumed authority over me, but instead the words wash over me. I imagine I detect warmth in his tone, but it’s probably just the reverberation of bliss from my orgasm.
“Go to hell,” I manage to mutter as he steps out of the room.
He pauses and looks back in, and my pussy clenches as if anticipating further torture. But instead, amusement flickers on his expression. “Keep fighting me, little wife. I enjoy taking you in hand.”