Chapter 28
Gina
The sun is bright and warm today, and I adjust my dark sunglasses to protect my still light-sensitive eyes. I’m out in the gardens, now that Johnathon has left after dropping in to check up on me.
As my family doctor, he continues to come more regularly than Reese as my neurologist since the recovery from my hematoma is ‘textbook’. Minus the memory loss and fatigue, of course. However, the fatigue is diminishing bit by bit, and I’ve been having flashes of memory all day today.
Some of Mamma and Babbo while I was a little girl. We lived in a modest home that was filled with laughter and warmth. A happy family.
Others were of a gaudy, overly lavish mansion. It felt cold and foreign. My mother was there, dressed in a beautiful, expensive gown, looking at me with disapproval.
Then other memories of Tommaso. Most were just flashes of something he said to me. A touch. A look. However, there was one that was exceptionally vivid, where we stood in an empty parking lot beside his car at night.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I’d rather show you than tell you.”
“Are you taking me somewhere to keep me captive?”
“Would you like that, il mio sole? Would you like me to keep you locked away? To keep the sun all for myself and my dark soul?”
“No?” I’m finally able to formulate a thought. But it’s a question, not a confident answer.
His large, scarred hands lift and gently frame my face. “You feel it, too, don’t you?” He steps closer. “You feel what cannot be explained, understood, or even rationalized, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Don’t fight it, love. You don’t have to understand it; you just have to trust it.”
“Will you break me?”
“Never. I’ll ruin you, that I promise. But I will never break you or harm you. You have my word or my life.”
“Gina?” Tommaso’s voice and touch snap me out of the memory replaying again. He’s standing close, holding my shoulders, and I realize he has taken my sunglasses off.
“You have my word or my life,” I say, gazing up at him.
Surprise registers, then he smiles. “You’re remembering more of me.” The wind catches my loose hair and brushes it over my cheek, and he wraps it around his hand. “And do you remember why I promised you that?”
“I asked you if you’d break me. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember the feeling of doubt; wondering why or how you could be with a woman like me.
” The hateful words of my father—not the Babbo version of him that I remember as a young girl, but the man whose memories make nausea rise and my old injuries throb—hisses in my head. “A nobody.”
Tommaso’s jaw tightens, as does his hand in my hair. He pulls on it, so my head is tilted further back. “You are not a nobody. You’re everything,” he growls.
I nearly whimper at the switch in him from gentle and loving to almost angry and dominant.
“Did your memories include where I asked you if you’d prefer me to toss you over my shoulder and slap your ass?”
“No,” I squeak. My cheeks are blushing, but my core has started to pulse.
Then I yelp in shock when he does just that. I’m flipped over his shoulder, and his large hand comes down on my ass. I grip the back of his suit jacket, squirming. “Tommaso!”
One of his arms captures my legs, holding them against his body, and with his free hand, he slaps my ass again. He holds it there, gently rubbing over the sting as he carries me toward the house.
I’m trapped, but don’t hate it, even though my face is flaming, thinking that someone is going to see us.
He walks up the steps to the back terrace, then along the house to the entrance closest to our room.
His shoes echo across the floor as he walks through the house with me hung over his shoulder, not fighting to get away but still squirming as intense need rises within me.
I want to submit to his dominance. Not because I’m weak, but because nothing is more freeing than being the entire focus of this man and being the center of his world.
By the time we reach our bedroom, I’m trembling, and my core is already slick.
He walks toward the bed, but instead of flipping me off his shoulder like I wish he would, he gently lays me down on the bed.
His gentle action, not wanting to risk hurting me with my healing head injury, reminds me of what he said in my flash of memory: that he’d never break or harm me.
But I can’t wait until his concern and worry are gone, and he’ll manhandle me like I want him to.
His beautiful, crystal-blue eyes are locked on me, and his jaw is rigid. “You are never to refer to yourself as a nobody ever again. Do you understand?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“You never were, nor will you ever be, a nobody, Gina.” He yanks at his tie, undoing it. His jacket is next.
He’s vibrating, close to losing control. I want nothing more than for him to shed that calmness and control and show me who he hides from the world.
He undoes his shirt, and it’s clear what his intention is. And I’m all onboard for this.
I lift my hands to undo my silk blouse, one of the beautiful but simply elegant pieces of clothing that Tommaso has filled the closet with. But he swats my hands away.
I’m about to protest, but the words die on my lips when he grips my wrists and ties them together with his tie, then pulls them over my head and secures me to one of the headboard’s wrought-iron spindles.
“Tommaso.” My voice is shaky.
He stares down at me, and I’ve never seen him look so serious. “I’ll never break you. I’ll never harm you. You have my word or my life.”
“I know.”
He runs his fingertips down my cheek, along the column of my neck, to my breasts under the silk blouse.
My nipples are taut and aching, and I arch into his touch.
“You like me controlling you.”
I nod without shame.
He pinches his fingers together, trapping my nipple between them. “But only in here. Because out there”—he inclines his chin to the bedroom door—“to the world, you’re my queen, meant to rule by my side. You’re the light that will temper my dark, il mio sole.”
I understand that better now, knowing what I do about what and who he is. And in our wedding renewal vows, he said we’d build an empire together; one that uses its power to bring some goodness and light. And that with me, he can be the man he’s dreamed of being.
I pull on my restraints, wanting to touch him. “I love you.”
“And I…” He leans down to kiss me gently. “I cannot express how fucking obsessed I am with you.” His kiss this time is rougher, and my head lifts, chasing his when he pulls away. “And, like I promised in the past, I will ruin you…just in the best way possible.”
He slowly undoes the buttons of my blouse, keeping me trapped in his hungry gaze while he does.
Pushing the material back, he flicks the front clasp of my bra to make my breasts spill free.
Next are my slacks, panties, and heels. Once I’m exposed to him, he undresses slowly, his tall, broad body sculpted by the angels themselves.
His rigid cock stands just as proudly as he does. A king stands before me, and I pull on the tie that binds my wrists, needing to touch him, but it holds fast.
“Tommaso, please.” My voice is thick with need.
He smiles down at me, gently caressing the inside of my left ankle. “What do you need?”
“You.”
He shakes his head. “Be more specific.”
I look down at his hard shaft, at the bead of pre-cum, and lick my lips. His smile is sinister when I look back at him.
He kneels on the bed beside me, close to my head.
I lift my head, having no idea what to actually do, only knowing that I want to lick and taste him.
He grips his shaft, angling it down for me, and I stick out my tongue to lick the bead of cum off his crown.
His groan encourages me, and this time, I press my tongue along the slit.
“That’s it, my perfect wife,” he groans, wrapping his other hand under my head to support it.
Feeling bolder, I wrap my lips around him and slide down his shaft to take as much of him as I can in this position. His hips buck, shoving it deeper, hitting the back of my throat, and I gag.
“Breathe through your nose.” He pulls back before sliding back in. “That’s it, love. You’re doing fucking perfect,” he groans, hitting the back of my throat again, and I breathe through the urge to gag and push him out.
I’m at his mercy. Restrained, while he controls the thrusts and how deep he is in my mouth. And I’m so turned-on that I can’t think of anything but him and the ache between my legs.
Drool drips out of the side of my mouth, but I don’t care. Not while he looks down at me with that obsession burning in his eyes, and he praises me for how good I’m doing while he thrusts harder and deeper. When I can’t fight my gag reflex anymore, he groans and looks in pain.
His powerful body is taut, and a shudder wracks his frame. But his cum doesn’t flood my mouth. Instead, he jerks out, heaving harshly, and I cry out in disappointment and yank on my restraints, trying to grab him back to me.
He falls between my thighs, and pleasure explodes at finally having my pussy touched.
His tongue licks and laps and pushes into me, and when he suckles on my clit, I come hard.
An explosion of pleasure rips through my body, making it bow.
My orgasm is still coursing through me as Tommaso drives into me.
I scream his name as he fights his way into my clenching pussy and prolongs my climax. He moves in me, harder than he had before, and while I’m still sore, I welcome it and him, my body relaxing to sheath tightly around him.
“I can’t hold back,” he grits as he drives back into me. “I can’t fucking control—”
“Don’t control. Unleash, Tommaso.”
His hungry darkness consumes me as he stares down at where we’re connected. “At least twice a day, I cum in this pussy.” It’s an order.
He’s said that before, and I eagerly agree, knowing what he’s implying.
“Give me your cum, husband. I want your children.” I moan as he hits a delicious spot inside me.
“Oh, fuck.” He shakes, and I know he’s trying to hold off, wanting me to come again before he does. But I want his cum right now more than my own release.
“Let go. Come inside me,” I command. If my hands were free, I’d rake them down his back as that seemed to push him over the edge on our wedding night. I wrap my legs around him, digging the heels of my feet into his back to keep him closer.
“My queen. My fucking everything.” Then his animalistic groan fills the bedroom as I feel him thicken, then pulse inside me.
He doesn’t quit moving inside me as he reaches his hand between our slick bodies and massages my clit.
With my arousal, plus his cum, it’s wet and slippery, making a mess. But I don’t care. He refuses to relent until I’m crying his name again, clenching and convulsing around him.
Once I’m finally coming down from the high, I’m limp and boneless as he undoes his tie and rubs the redness on my wrists because I was pulling on the restraints so hard, wanting to touch him. He curls me into his body, me fitting perfectly, like I’m the missing piece to his masterpiece.
He strokes my hair, holding me close. “What do you think of Massimo as our first son’s name?”
Massimo means the greatest or the largest, and I smile. “I think that’s perfect.” But then groan slightly as I shift. “But I really hope he’s a small baby.”
Tommaso chuckles as he untangles us and lifts me from the bed. “Come, wife. Let me take care of you and your tender pussy with a warm bath.”
I curl into his chest as he carries me with a smile, and contented bliss envelops me.