Chapter 12
12
M assimo
I splash cold water on my face. We fucked several minutes ago, and I came to the bathroom. I slowly touch the fluffy hand towel and dry my hands. My body is still rattled, even though I just came hard. A post-sex awareness lingers.
Naming what's going on is weird.
I'm not good with that kind of stuff. I thought I was. With Daphne and my other lovers, we small-talked before or after sex with ease. The rules were clear, and no silly attachments would come.
Having sex with my wife feels different.
There's something about her I can't quite understand.
When I rejoin her in the bedroom, she's on the bed, facing the ceiling. The sheet hangs around her shoulders, and her arms are folded behind her head. The bedside lamp I turned on after sex is still on, to my surprise.
"You okay?" I ask casually.
She spares me a sideway glance. "Yes. Just running a to-do list in my head. You?"
"What's on your to-do list?" I slide back into bed.
She shrugs. "Oh, lots of small things that aren't even worth mentioning. Either way, I'm sure Anthony will give you the full daily report."
Ouch. Of course, Anthony reports to me, but most of the day, I'm too busy to ask him about my wife's whereabouts. I trust him to let him know if he sees something suspicious. "I'd rather hear it from you."
"Well, now I wonder if I should start attending a stretch class or something, given, hmmm, well, you."
I smile. Maybe she's smartly trying to get the heat off her agenda by flattering me. Either way, it's working. I don't usually care for flattery, but since she’s never complimented me, I'll take it. "I thought stretching you was what I just did."
A shade of red spreads over her face. "Oh. That's what you did. Yes, that makes sense."
"And here you thought I didn’t take things slow." The message is clear—her ass will be mine. Soon. But until she can fully take me, I’ll manipulate her hole and get her used to it.
She turns to the side, propping herself on her elbow. When she's this close, I can see the flicker of excitement in her eyes and a cheeky smile that lights up a part of her I don't have. "Wow. I guess I learned a lesson. It's been a while since I last had sex, and I never did any of that stuff before."
I turn to my side, giving her my full attention. "How long?"
"Oh, like a couple of years. Being a sheltered mafia princess and all isn't conducive to dates." She makes an invisible circular pattern on the sheet. "How about you?"
"Saturday."
"Saturday," she repeats, her eyes wide. "As in the day we married?"
" Before we got married. I was saying goodbye to someone." I genuinely mean it. Daphne has texted me a few times, and I blocked her. I thought she'd take it like a champ, but that wasn’t the case. I don't intend to see her again.
Amara shifts to a sitting position, pulling her sheets up with her. "Goodbye? Maybe I should’ve said goodbye to Anthony like that when he was done for the day. If that's how people say goodbye in your world, I want to try it too."
I detect a trace of challenge in her voice. "Not funny," I say curtly.
"No, it's not funny at all. Couldn't you have had your farewell fuck the day before? It's weird to think the day we got married, I was getting my hair done and a facial, and you were getting… a different type of facial."
"Relax. Look, I'm honest. You asked, I answered," I say like it's no big deal. We weren't together then. Besides, this has always been a straightforward deal. Why is she making a fuss?
"So you want a medal for being honest?"
I run my fingers down my face. "I want to end this conversation."
"I think we just started it. If you're being so nonchalant about having fucked a woman hours before we got married, why can't we call this sham marriage what it is? It's arranged anyway. So let's go out with other people. You probably already have. Just don't make a fool out of me."
The idea of her with anyone else but me boils my blood. "If you go out with anyone, he dies," I say evenly, and mean every fucking word. "And possibly you too."
She rolls her eyes, unamused. "But the rules don't apply to you. How refreshing."
"I'm not going out with anyone."
"How can I be sure?"
"Ask me. You asked, and I told you the truth," I say, and her expression softens a notch. "When I ask you simple questions, you change the subject. You're the one who hides things."
She parts her lips. "What?"
"Yes. What are you hiding from me?"
"You told me you fucked a woman before we got married. The same night you fucked me when you made it clear we had to, like you hadn’t had sex in a month or something. And now you're making this discussion about me. Bad move."
I erase the distance between us. I'm still fully naked, and she's wrapped in the sheet, holding it together. How can I change the subject? She's resolute in talking about what I can't change. Maybe I shouldn't have admitted that I slept with Daphne on our wedding day, but I didn't think it was a big deal. "Amara, be reasonable."
She motions to move, but I wrap my fingers around her wrist, pulling her to me.
"Get your hands off me," she says and punches my abdomen. Her closed wrist doesn't hurt, but it distracts me, and she slips from my hold.
"What the fuck?"
I block the door before she reaches it to leave the bedroom. She steps back, panting. Her eyes darken, her features hardening. Obviously, I unlocked a bad memory for her, and it's time I got some answers.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you were going to?—"
"You thought I was going to hit you."
She glances down.
"Who hit you?" Frustration claws at my chest. "Don't think I'll let you change the subject this time. You're not leaving."
She sits on the accent chair next to the dresser and wraps the sheet tighter around her body. She has this absentminded look for a moment. Is she accessing whatever memory she’s chosen to forget? Doesn't matter. She's my wife now. I need to know these things.
My gut clenches, and I curl my fingers into a fist. A protective instinct kicks in. "Tell me."
"A couple of years ago, I met someone and fell in love. He wasn't from the mafia, and I knew my parents would never allow us to be together. I introduced James to them, but they didn't give him a chance. So we decided to run away together and start fresh. I stole some cash from the safe and left it in the middle of the night. We went to a small town in California. Thought they wouldn't find us," she says, bitterness in her voice.
"But they did," I say, trying my best to process everything she’s telling me. She left town with another man in the past. A deep, dark emotion I'm not familiar with sounds a loud alarm in my brain. I never expected her to be a virgin or inexperienced, but to hear she fell in love with someone leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Romantic love is an experience I've always steered clear of—not that I believed it could easily happen to me, anyway.
"Yeah," she whispers, yanking me from my thoughts. "Four days in, my parents’ head of security, Ugo, showed up. I refused to leave. So he killed James in front of me." She purses her lips, and her facial muscles tense like she's trying not to cry.
This memory obviously still haunts her. I scratch my chin, putting an invisible leash on my deep, dark emotions. A part of me wishes I could bring this big love of her life back and kill him myself, like he was to blame for simply existing. Racing thoughts populate my mind. Why doesn't any of this make sense?
The man, James, is dead. I shouldn't care about their history. Doesn't change what I have with her—or does it? Was that why she didn't want the lights on when we had sex? Because she wanted to think of him as I fucked her? A blade pierces my chest.
"I refused to leave, so he beat me up for a day and a half. Kicked me so hard he broke one of my ribs," she says.
Her voice snaps me out of my pondering, and ice-cold liquid fills my veins. Now, all I’m thinking about is this other man. A soon-to-be-dead one.
Ugo. Yes, I've seen him a few times when I met with her parents to negotiate the terms of our marriage. Tall, stocky guy in his thirties. Snake neck tattoo. "What did your brother do?"
"Nothing. Alonzo was already in a coma."
"What about your parents?" Obviously, the guy still works for them, but did they punish him somehow? My mind races. I can't imagine how her parents would allow a man like this to?—
She lets out a long sigh, then continues, "Oh, I'm sure they gave him a bonus for finding me and bringing me back. As for the beating… they said they didn't like it, but they told me he had to be aggressive so I'd return."
"Bastards," I hiss.
I could kill her parents right now for not protecting her. Of course, that'd give me another type of headache, given we're business partners. My family would be on my ass too. Besides, despite what they've done to her, I doubt Amara would agree with having her parents killed as revenge. I already carry the guilt of being responsible for my mother's death—I'd never wish it on her.
"Yeah. I'm not their biggest fan either."
"Did Ugo… try anything afterward? Or since?"
"No. But the threat of having him around was enough for me to behave," she says in a subdued voice. She sounds defeated, as if I’ve beaten this confession out of her like that bastard beat her in California.
My heart hardens to stone. I'll make this right for her. Oh, I will. This motherfucker will go down.
Tears fall from her eyes. I kneel in front of her and wipe them away with my thumbs.
She withdraws, clearing her throat. "I bet you're having buyer's remorse. You married this insecure woman whose parents didn’t take her side. I guess I shouldn't have asked you to. You just met me."
Sadness fills my chest. That's why she doesn't open up. Why should she? She probably doesn't have a support system, and her parents are assholes. And as for me… I'm not equipped to deal with people like her.
She's good and caring. She's beautiful.
I lift her chin. Her lovely eyes peer at me, and a part of me softens. I inhale and swallow, worried I'll get distracted if I look deep into her irises. Maybe that's why this trance state hasn't happened before… because of the darkness when we have sex. The dim light is enough for me to see all her beauty. All her soul—more than anyone I’ve ever met.
"I've seen what people look like when they die. When they take their last breath," I say. "I know death. Darkness. But when I look at you, I see light. It's almost like you have the power to bring life to parts of me that should be dead. And right now, that's all I need to know about you." God, that's enough to scare me.
She regards me in silence before her expression softens, her eyes two rings of fire. "Do you mean it? Or do you say that to every woman?"
I cup her face. "I've never said that to anyone."
She leans closer, her gaze dropping, and she captures my lips with hers. We've never kissed on the mouth before. But now… it's the best time. I lap my tongue over hers, and she reacts, circling my neck with her arms.
I pull her to me, and she releases the sheet. We're now skin to skin, and her tits rub against my nipples. A familiar zing pierces me. I intensify the kiss, angling her head in the right position to deepen our contact. Her lips are like a drug I'm experimenting with for the first time. They're delicious and addictive.
My cock stirs, blood rushing in my veins.
I pull her, and she slides from the chair onto the floor. I push her down, positioning myself between her legs without breaking eye contact. I glimpse her luscious, curvy body. But I hold our stare, partly because I'm caught in a spell.
She lifts her hips, and I thrust deep inside her. We both groan, the heady sensation buzzing in my brain. I lower myself, propped on my elbows, and kiss her again. This time, I nip her lower lip. She moans and rocks her hips into mine, signaling her body is ready for more.
I withdraw my cock halfway and then slam all the way to the hilt. Feels so good to be inside her like this, railing her while our mouths fuck. Our bodies have never been so aligned.
She lowers her hand to my chest, touching my pierced nipple, tugging it enough for awareness to shoot down to my core. I lift her leg and swing it over my shoulder, shifting the angle slightly. Enough for both of us to moan in tandem again.
I disengage my mouth from her and catch up with breathing, my heart thrumming so fucking fast that I'm at an all-time high adrenaline boost.
"You're so fucking hot," I whisper. "Fuck."
"Yes," she says, panting. "Yes. Oh, Massimo. I?—"
She clenches her inner walls, and I close my eyes, desperate for self-restraint. God, I'm so close. I slip in and out of her faster, deeper, aggressively. Opening my eyes, I study her reactions, ensuring she can take it.
Soon, she shows me she can.
Sweat sheens her limbs, and her body jerks beneath mine as she moans loudly. Another gush of her cream coats my cock, her body shaking, a shade of pink claiming her face. She's coming, and seeing her go over the edge is a privilege.
It also pops the bubble of my self-control. I come, spilling my hot seed inside her, filling her, stuffing her with my load.
"Now I definitely won't be able to walk tomorrow," she says as I roll off her and lie on the floor beside her. "Might need a massage after all."
I touch her hair, caressing her scalp. "I'll have the best masseuse in town at our home by nine am." I have a reason I want her busy by then, but now isn't the time to share it.
She chuckles. "Are you serious? That's super short notice. You're not going to put a gun to their head, are you?"
"No. I have other weapons at my disposal."
"I hope you're talking about money."
"Smart girl."
She kisses my shoulder, a quick peck, and the gesture makes me unsure. I'm used to touches and affection before sex, not after.
I've fucked a lot of women. But Amara is different. And I can't explain why. What I know is that tomorrow, I'll find the bastard who hurt her and teach him a thing or two.