Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
D ahlia
I spend the day on the deck in a swimsuit reading my book. The air is warm and balmy. We definitely left New England waters. I’m too proud to ask where we are, since it doesn’t really matter. Antonio says he won’t let me off until we’ve consummated the marriage, so I plan to hold out. For years if I have to.
That would serve him right.
I eat lunch by myself on the deck. In the late afternoon, I spot land. To my surprise, we drop anchor. I have no idea where we are, but this could be an opportunity to get word to my father. Maybe Shawn, the captain, is already working that plan. I should try to see him again.
I put the bookmark in my novel and stand up from the chaise lounge, trying to come up with a plan.
Antonio strolls to my side. “Put a dress on, darling. I'll take you to dinner.”
My heart double pumps with the sudden rush of adrenaline that floods my system. Perfect. This could be my chance to get away.
Well, scratch that. I’m not going to make an escape attempt until I’ve spoken to my father. I would hate to sign my parents’ death warrant by angering Antonio. But if what Shawn told me is true, it sounds like my father is working on a plan to get us free. I need to get word to him about our location at the very least. Even better if I could actually speak to him.
“Fine,” I say, as if going to dinner with Antonio is a chore, not an opportunity. I breeze past him and go to the room to get dressed.
I put on a white minidress with a pair of heeled sandals. I might as well work every distraction I have available to me. My legs, tanned and long, look decadent, if I do say so myself.
Antonio's rumble of approval when I emerge shouldn't satisfy me so much, but it does. I drink in his heated gaze, giving my hips an extra swing as I walk. This man makes my body come alive. He thrills me like Jake never could. Like no other man has.
He takes my hand, and we climb down to the speed boat waiting below.
“Where are we?” I ask when we disembark.
“Miami.”
Still the U.S.. I can work with that.
“Oh good, I love Cuban food.” I pull my hand from his grasp and give my hair a toss as I stride forward.
Two of his men instantly flank me, and I jump, feeling threatened.
“Step back from my wife,” Antonio growls.
His use of the word wife is no less shocking this time. It’s like the man electrocutes me every time he lays claim on me. And I can’t say I completely dislike it.
The men give me space.
I wait for Antonio to fall into step beside me again. Given the choice between him or his men, I’ll take him. Besides, I need him to think he has me in hand, so I can get away later. Escape to a bathroom and get the use of a phone. Something.
He rests a hand lightly at my lower back, and we walk down the esplanade. “Have you been to Miami before?”
“I haven’t,” I admit.
“There’s a shop here known for its black pearls. Do they interest you?”
I sense Antonio’s desire to please me. Perhaps that’s why I get stubborn. “No.”
He tugs me into one of the shops. “Let’s have a look anyway.”
A well-dressed man stands behind the case. He inclines his head and greets us. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.” I glance at the jewelry in the glass display cases, aware of Antonio’s attention on me. The intensity with which he regards my interest. I don’t dare look for a phone or accomplice yet.
“Show us those.” He points at the one necklace my gaze bounced over–a single giant pearl mounted in white gold on an arty asymmetrical curve.
It’s stunning.
Not conservative or predictable.
I would’ve hated a regular strand of pearls. I’ve been wearing white pearls my whole life. Every female I know wears white pearls. I could care less about the look or the expense of them.
This piece is different, though.
Antonio points to the case at a matching ring. “Show us the ring, as well.”
The shopkeeper rushes to serve him, pulling out both pieces and putting the necklace on me before I can protest. He holds a mirror up for me to admire.
It’s lovely. Rainbows dance and glimmer in the shimmering black-silver orb.
The shopkeeper tries to put the ring on my right hand, but Antonio takes it off, removes the engagement and wedding ring Jake bought, and slides it in place there instead.
I hate that it fits me perfectly because I don’t want to love it so much. Nor do I want to feel gratified that he wants to replace that ring. I wanted to keep hanging onto that offense and use it to stroke my defenses against him.
“We’ll take them both. And those earrings.” Antonio points to a pair of two-inch long drop earrings with giant black pearls on the ends of a single white gold shaft.
He shells out an ungodly amount of money, and I wear the set out of the shop.
When we get outside, he holds my jaw and turns my head from side to side, inspecting me the way he did in the limo on our wedding day. “They suit you. Classy but different from the rest. Far more unique than the others.”
I fight the warmth his words produce. Fight it with all the resistance I can muster. “Am I supposed to thank you?”
He releases my jaw. “No. You wearing them is thanks enough.”
I turn those words over and around in my head, wondering what they mean. Why would he care if I wear his gift or not. What he truly wants with me.
Because it feels like it’s changed.
He’s not just out for revenge. If that were the case, he wouldn't care if I wore his ring. He wouldn’t buy me a new ring.
No, Antonio is trying to please me.
And as much as I hate to admit it…I’m pleased.
Which changes nothing with regard to my plan to make contact with my father tonight.
Antonio
A strange thing has happened.
I simply like to be in the presence of my wife. Yes, she’s easy on the eyes, but it’s more than that. I like to hear her voice, even when it’s tight and defensive. I like to watch her expressions. I like seeing that while she tries to hide her feelings, she’s attracted to me. Enjoys my attention.
If I let her win a few rounds, she just might drop her defenses again. We might have a chance of an actual marriage. It’s not what I wanted–not what I expected–at least not consciously. But this woman has been at the center of my revenge plan from the beginning. She was the trigger. The girl I was told I wasn’t good enough for and didn’t deserve.
The one who became a symbol of everything I had to be angry for. Except she was a shimmering, shiny symbol. Something I had to attain, capture, and keep.
The sensual, enigmatic beauty of the ball.
The prize.
My prize. What I actually deserved, that evening of her ball and now.
No, maybe not now. Because I haven’t earned her affection yet. I fought unfairly, and I won.
Now it may be time to actually court my wife. To find out what makes her tick. How to make her smile, laugh, sing.
And–ah God–her voice! Like an angel’s.
After hearing her sing last night, I feel I’ve glimpsed the real Dahlia. The vulnerable, talented artist who was never allowed to express her gifts.
It made me want to wring her parents’ necks.
And now I’m determined to make sure she gets to do everything she dreamed of doing.
Which is why I choose a festive open-air restaurant with a lively band singing contemporary English pop music instead of the more expensive fine dining Dahlia would be accustomed to.
American tourists sit under palapas, sucking down fruity cocktails.
I watch as curiosity overtakes Dahlia’s tension. She watches the band and the happy, drunken tourists around us as our waiter takes our drink order.
She sucks down a banana daiquiri, and I order her another. Her mood lightens considerably. While we eat a simple but delicious fish dinner, she rolls her shoulders a little then nods her head to the music, smiling at the band.
“They’re good, no?” I ask.
“So good.”
“Do you sing this kind of music? Or only opera?”
“I love this kind of music. I sing everything. If I could’ve done anything, I would’ve been a Broadway musical star.”
My heart.
She has the talent for it, too. What a shame her parents didn’t support her dreams.
When she excuses herself to the restroom after dinner, I send one of my men to keep an eye on her, and I speak to the lead singer.
People are up dancing now, some sloppy drunk, others with more class. I take Dahlia’s hand when she returns and lead her to the dance floor. Her heart beats quickly at her throat.
She’s excited. To dance with me?
It occurs to me this girl has probably lived her life in a deficit of fun. Of letting loose. Letting go. We dance a few songs, and I order her another drink but keep her on the dance floor. We dance until her face is flushed and her eyes are bright.
Then I lead her up onto the stage and tell the lead singer she’s going to perform with them.
“What? No!” Dahlia tries to pivot and retreat, but I gently nudge her forward.
“She’s an incredible singer,” I explain. “Tell them what to play, bella , and they’ll play it.” I slipped the lead singer a tip earlier to make sure he treats her right.
“Um…” Dahlia flicks a glance at me, and I wink. “Can you play ‘Be My Baby’?”
The band strikes up the music, and Dahlia takes the microphone that the lead singer offers her. She sings.
Ten songs later, the place is rocking, and Dahlia’s the new star. I maintain a position below the stage, just in front of her. Her biggest fan and her keeper.
I ensure she’s supplied with water and daiquiris, and I drink in her talent. Her presence. Her poise. Her charisma.
She could be a star. Should already be one.
She’s incredible.
When she starts to slur and sway on her feet, I catch her hand and tug her off the stage and into my arms in a honeymoon carry.
“Let’s go back to the yacht, amore .”
She loops her arms around my neck and kisses my temple. “That was fun.”
“Was it?”
“Thank you.”
She sounds sincere, and it does something funny to my chest. Twists and tugs it.
“I take care of what’s mine,” I tell her.
She bites my ear. “So I’m yours?” She slides her tongue around the shell of my ear.
My dick gets rock hard.
“You’re definitely mine.”
If I were a real gentleman, I would not take advantage of her alcohol and fun-induced affection.
But I’m not a gentleman, and she’s my wife.
I’ve been blue-balled for three days now. I am dastardly enough to press my advantage. If I can seduce her now and gain her consent, nothing will stop me from fully claiming my wife.
“Why do you even want me?” she asks drunkenly. “I’m the daughter of your enemy. Shouldn’t you be repulsed by me?”
“Repulsed?” I give a mirthless laugh. “Hardly.” I carry her into the tender and settle her on my lap for the short boat ride to the yacht. “You forget how I made him my enemy.”
Her breasts are at eye level. I open my mouth and bite through the fabric of her dress.
She mewls and squirms on my lap. I narrow my bite and zero in on her nipple, nipping it through her clothing.
“You were attracted to me.” She says it with a tinge of wonder, like it hadn’t occurred to her.
I guess I’d forgotten it myself–the aftermath had blotted out the original experience. My life ruined over a kiss and a second-base grope.
“Mmm hmm.” I stroke my thumb along her throat. “You’re a beautiful woman. New York aristocracy. You should have been out of reach for a guy like me, but there you were, coming after me like you saw something you wanted.”
Dahlia pivots on my lap and shocks me by straddling my waist. I doubt it’s so she can grind over me–she probably just wants to look at my face, but that doesn’t stop me from yanking her core right over my hardened cock.
She instantly starts rocking on it. I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing, but her body understands exactly what’s going on.
“I did want you,” she confesses. “There was something powerful about you, even then.”
“Even when I was just the waiter at your ball?” I shouldn’t jab at her. Not when her tits are in my face and her hot core is grinding over my dick.
She kisses me. It’s a sloppy, excited kiss and her fervor makes me forget everything but the feel of her body against mine. The need to give her pleasure and get my pleasure in return. I catch the side of her face and kiss her back, sweeping my tongue into her mouth, taking over.
She rocks her sweet ass, undulating over my lap. I curl my fingers around one of her cheeks and help her find a rhythm. By the time the boat reaches the yacht, she’s breathless and hot.
I waste no time lifting her to the ladder to climb aboard.
She’s weaving toward our room when I catch up with her and sweep her back into my arms to carry her the rest of the way. I kick the door closed and set her on her feet, then unzip her dress as I kiss the fuck out of her swollen lips.
She makes little moany sounds into my mouth, her hands sliding over my chest. She works open one of the buttons on my shirt. I tug her dress up over her head.
“You didn’t forget me.” I don’t know why I’m asking. Why it seems important to know that she didn’t kiss every fucking waiter at every fucking ball she attended growing up.
“I never forgot.”
I unhook her bra, then tug the straps down until it falls down her arms and onto the floor. “Did you want more than you got that night?” I lightly brush the pad of my thumb over her erect nipple. One hand still has hold of her nape to angle her face up for my kisses. I don’t give her a chance to go cold or get nervous.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“What would you have given me, if I’d pushed?” I palm her breast and squeeze as I back her toward the bed.
She whimpers her excitement.
“Hmm?” I move to grab her ass now.
“I-I don’t know.” She’s unbuttoned half the buttons on my shirt now. I yank it off, popping the rest of them. Her fingernails scrape across my hairy chest.
I push her onto the bed, falling on top of her. She parts her thighs, allowing me to rub the bulge of my cock in the notch between her legs. She moans in response to the sensation.
“Would you have let me touch you here?” I slide my hand between our bodies, into her panties, my fingertip parting her.
She cries out at the sensation the moment I touch her clit.
Her thighs lift and squeeze around my hips, pulling me against her. “God, yes!”
I chuckle, not sure if the yes is for what I’m doing now or what she would’ve let me do then. It doesn’t matter. I press against her clit and rub a slow circle. Her skin is flushed, her eyelids flutter as her hands coast up and down my shoulders.
I slide my index finger lower and curl it inside her. She moans softly, her pretty mouth falling open and staying that way.
I trail kisses along her jaw, then down her neck.
“I fantasized about you afterward.”
Aw, fuck. I can’t believe it.
“Yeah? What did I do in those fantasies?” I add a second finger, stretching her tight entrance to ready her for me. “This?”
She shakes her head. “Yes. But this is better. I had no idea.”
I gently pump my fingers inside her. “You didn’t know it would feel so good?”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth and shakes her head. “No.” The syllable sounds desperate, like she’s already nearing orgasm.
I don’t want her to come without me this time, though. I’m desperate to come with her, to bring us to that place simultaneously.
I unzip my pants and free my erection.
Dahlia sits up on her elbows and stares at it. She doesn’t look afraid. More…fascinated.
“You’ve never felt anything so good as this,” I promise her, dragging the head through her juices. “You wanna watch?” I grab a pillow and shove it beneath her shoulders and head, so she doesn’t have to strain her neck. “You can watch me fuck you.”
I work my cock between her legs, taking my time, using her natural lubrication to get her to stretch and open for me.
She tenses when I press forward, so I ease back.
“Here.” I take her hand and wrap it around the base of my cock. “You control it.”
Her gaze flies to my face, then back to my cock.
“Put it inside you, Princess.”
She tugs gently, and I follow, pressing in at her pace, easing back when she directs me that way. Easily, organically, I get all the way in, her tight channel open and slick for me.
The victory I feel isn’t over consummating the marriage or getting my revenge fuck.
It’s the trust between us right now. The intimacy. The sense of the two of us being on the same team. I don’t own Dahlia in this moment; she owns me. I would do anything to make sure this experience is good for her.
I wrap an arm behind her back and roll us over, so she’s on top. “Straddle me,” I murmur.
She obeys, pushing on my chest to rise and ride me. I grip her hips to show her how to move, then release my hold and give her ass a pat. “You do it. Show me what feels good to you.”
I see the confusion flit over her face. “To me?”
I nod, showing her again. “How do you like it? Can you pleasure yourself this way?”
“Can I…?” She catches that lip again as she starts to grind over me. “Oh!” Her expression of pleasured surprise steals my breath. Her hands drop to my shoulders, and she increases her speed. “ Oh .” She shifts her hands to the headboard and uses it to push and pull her body over mine. Her movements grow faster and faster, her breath turns to wild panting.
I’ll bet I could make her come with one brush of her clit, but I shake my head. “Not yet, Principessa .”
She abruptly stops, staring at me with wide eyes like she’s done something wrong.
“I want to come with you this time.”
I flip her back over on her back. “You gonna come with me?”
She locks gazes with me and nods.
“Good girl.” I rock into her, slowly at first. She’s sopping wet now, making it easy to glide in and out. “You’re so wet, baby. You liked riding my cock, didn’t you?”
“Antonio.”
The sound of my name on her lips does wild things to my heart. Once more, I belong to her. Want to do everything in my power to hear my name gasped from her throat every fucking day of my life.
I pick up speed, and she starts to chant my name.
This.
This is what I’ve been missing my whole life.
I’ve had women. Lots of them. But there’s something different about this time. Dahlia’s my wife. And not as a symbol, as a conquest. This isn’t about me bedding the society darling.
Fuck.
Was all this revenge just about getting the girl?
Had there been something special in that kiss? That meeting?
Were we two souls destined to collide in this lifetime? Did I recognize her then?
I think I did.
With that realization, I lose all control, plowing into her hard, forgetting to be careful with her. I grip the headboard and slam in, again and again, until my balls pump.
I shout as I come and Dahlia wraps her legs around my back, holding me against her. I’m blinded, seeing only fireworks on a black backdrop for a moment as I release and release inside her.
“Dahlia.” I remember her, shocked back to reality by the realization that I’ve been rough with her–terribly rough for an untouched virgin.
Her eyes are squeezed shut.
I reach between us and rub her clit, and her muscles spasm around my cock.
She cries out, arching against me. “Oh my God!”
“That’s it, Principessa. You come, too.”
“Oh God.” She continues to clench and squeeze my cock, drawing another release from me. “So good.”
Thank fuck.
I roll us to our sides and wrap her in my arms, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Was that good, sweet girl?”
“Mmm hmm.”
I stroke her back, savoring the feel of her soft skin, the way she melts against me and lets me hold her.
For the first time in years, something in me quiets.
It rests.
Dahlia’s mine. Maybe not in heart, yet, but in body.
The rest will come.