Isabella
I hate the way my body betrays me under his touch. I hate how he knows exactly what to do to make me crumble. Most of all, I hate that I begged. I actually begged Alessandro Dante to fuck me.
Yet as he drives into me, while my wrists strain against his belt, the pleasure building again inside me isn’t something I can deny. Each thrust sends sparks shooting through my body, and I can't stop the moans escaping my lips.
"That's it," he growls against my neck. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come around my cock."
I wish I could resist him. I want to lie still and cold beneath him just to spite him. But my hips rise to meet his of their own accord, my body chasing the pleasure his body promises.
Is this what my mother felt before my father broke her? This overwhelming, consuming need that makes you forget your own principles, makes you forget yourself?
"I still hate you," I say, wanting to maintain some power, not wanting him to think he’s completely broken me down to his will.
"Hate me all you want," he says, changing his angle slightly to hit a spot that makes me see stars. "Your body doesn't."
The truth is I don’t hate him, which is what makes no sense. Is it because I still hope to be married to the man who prepared a beautiful romantic rooftop evening? Who made me feel seen? Who said he’d respect me?
I haven’t seen that man since the gala. Even today, while he’s been generous and definitely amorous, it feels performative. Like he’s trying to woo me to be able to manipulate me.
Now, as pleasure coils tighter in my core, I can't reconcile all his contradictions.
“You have a fucking amazing pussy,” he groans. “And it’s mine. Only mine.”
I want to roll my eyes, but the electricity whipping through my body makes it hard to do anything but move with him as we reach for ecstasy.
"Let go.” His fingers intertwine with mine above my head, and it sends an unexpected feeling of emotional intimacy through me. “Just feel. Don’t you feel it? The power of us?”
God help me, I do.
As Alessandro drives deeper, I cry out, my body surrendering completely to the pleasure even as my mind rebels. I’m not an object to own. And yet, there's something powerful about belonging to Alessandro.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice hoarse.
I force my eyes open to meet his dark gaze. The intensity steals my breath. He's watching me, but he’s not guarded. He’s not angry or demanding. No, what I see in his eyes almost looks like reverence.
"You're mine now.” But this time, the words don’t make me want to recoil. This time, it feels like I’m treasured. Like I belong. I've never belonged to anyone before. I was my father's asset, but of no more value than anything else he owned.
Another orgasm builds inside me as Alessandro's rhythm becomes more urgent. I arch against him, my bound wrists straining.
For the first time since this night started, I want to touch him. I want to hold on as we soar together in pleasure.
"Alessandro," I gasp.
"Say it again," he growls, his body driving relentlessly into mine. As I watch, I see again the man who lost control on the rooftop terrace, and I realize that while he’s demanding my surrender, demanding to claim me, I’m not completely powerless.
"Alessandro.”
As he pushes me over the edge again, I stop fighting. Maybe I can belong to Alessandro without losing myself completely.
“Fuck!” He drives in hard, and warmth fills my body. He does it again and again until finally, he collapses over me. He takes a few breaths before reaching up to untie the belt. His fingers are gentle as they rub my wrists.
For a minute, I think maybe something has changed again. But then he rolls onto his back, his hands scrubbing over his face. It triggers the memory of the night on the terrace. After the sweetness, he’d withdrawn from me.
In a need to protect myself from his coldness again, I roll away, pulling the sheet around my naked body.
"What are you doing?" His voice is low, sounding almost confused.
I stare at the wall, unable to look at him. "You got what you wanted. Now you can go back to being a cold jerk again."
The bed shifts as he moves behind me. His warmth wraps around me, and of course, my body, even my heart, softens to him.
His fingers trace my spine. "Is that what you think? That I just needed to fuck you to satisfy some wedding night obligation?"
I shrug. “Or because you’re a man who has feral needs.”
His laugh is soft. “Feral? I feel like that’s a compliment.” His hand slides down my back, over my hip, and between my thighs again. “As far as getting what I wanted… I haven’t gotten near what I wanted yet."
I turn my head to look at him in shock. He wants to do this again?
His eyes darken as they travel over me. "And neither have you."
"I've had more than enough," I lie. After all, my body is already responding.
"Have you?" he challenges, one eyebrow raised. "Let's find out."
Before I can process what's happening, he yanks the sheet away and pushes my thighs apart. I start to protest, but the words die in my throat as his mouth descends on me.
"Alessandro!" I gasp. The first time he’d done that, I’d been shocked. Not that I hadn’t heard about such things, but I thought it was between lovers only, not husbands and wives.
His tongue circles my sensitive flesh, still swollen from our previous activities, and I nearly levitate off the bed. My hands fly to his hair, not sure if I'm trying to push him away or pull him closer.
"Oh, God," I whimper as he laps at me like I'm dessert. The sensation is overwhelming, too much and yet not enough.
His strong hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his assault. I feel the reverberation of his hum of satisfaction as I writhe beneath him.
"You taste like us," he murmurs against my flesh, and the filthy intimacy of his words sends another wave of heat through me. "I could do this all night."
The obscene sounds of his mouth on me fill the room, mingling with my desperate moans. I should be embarrassed, but I'm too far gone in the sensation to care.
My orgasm slams into me. My entire body convulses as I cry out his name, clutching his head like he’s a tether keeping me from flying away into oblivion.
Every part of me trembles. Alessandro rises above me, his muscled chest gleaming with sweat, his dark eyes burning with intensity. "Now it's my turn.”
My eyes widen as I envision my mouth on him. The thought both terrifies and intrigues me. Would I even know what to do? What if I'm terrible at it?
I lick my lips nervously. "You want me to..."
Alessandro shakes his head. "Someday, but not now. This time, I want you to ride me."
He rolls onto his back in one fluid motion, pulling me atop him. His hands grip my waist, positioning me above him. His hardness presses against me, and suddenly, I understand what he means.
"I don't know how," I admit, feeling embarrassed.
His smile softens slightly. "Just take me in and do what feels natural. Control the pace. Take what you want."
For a moment, I simply gaze into his face because I can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s handing over control. He's giving me power.
I sink down slowly, gasping as he fills me in this new position. It's deeper somehow, more intense. My hands brace against his chest for support as I adjust to the sensation.
"That's it," Alessandro encourages, his fingers digging into my hips. "Now move."
Tentatively, I rise up and then lower myself again. The friction sends sparks through my body, making me moan. I do it again, faster this time, finding a rhythm that makes my toes curl.
"Fuck, Isabella," he groans, watching me with desire heating his eyes. “So good… so fucking good… "
His words embolden me. I experiment with different angles, different speeds, discovering what makes him grip me harder and what makes him growl my name. There's something intoxicating about having this powerful man at my mercy, about watching his control slip.
I lean forward, changing the angle so he hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. My hair falls around us.
"Look at you." Alessandro pushes my hair aside. "Taking what you want."
And I am. For perhaps the first time in my life, I'm taking exactly what I want. As I ride him harder, I feel empowered.
He levers up, and his lips wrap around my nipple and suck, sending sensations straight to my core.
“Oh!” I begin to buck wildly.
“That’s it. Fuck me, Isabella.”
I throw my head back as pleasure rolls through me again. It’s like a tsunami, powerful, flooding every cell in my body.
I collapse against Alessandro's chest, our bodies slick with sweat, my limbs trembling from my fourth, or is it fifth, release of the night.
“I don’t think I can move.”
His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear. "Yes, well, I’m not finished."
Before I can process his words, he's flipping me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up while keeping my chest pressed to the mattress. The position is shockingly vulnerable, animalistic in a way that should make me balk. Instead, I find myself arching my back, offering myself to him.
What's happening to me? Hours ago, I was determined to freeze him out, to make this marriage a frigid business arrangement. Now I'm spreading my legs wider as he positions himself behind me, desperately needing him to fill the emptiness inside.
"Ask for it," he commands, his voice rough with desire as he teases my entrance.
“Why don’t you ask for it?”
He gives my butt a slap that shocks me and makes my body hum. “I did ask. Now it’s your turn.”
My behind stings slightly, and I can’t believe I’m not incensed. “Please. I need you inside me.”
When he pushes in, I cry out at the delicious stretch, the slight burn of oversensitivity only heightening my pleasure. His hands grip my hips as he sets a punishing rhythm that has me clutching the sheets.
I hate how much I love this, hate how easily he's made me surrender. I hate that beneath the resentment and anger lies something more dangerous. I’m growing to want this man who one minute can be charming and then the next cold and cruel.
I want to remain distant yet find myself craving not just his body but his approval, his attention, his... everything.
The hours blur together, a haze of pleasure and need that is beyond anything I could have imagined.
By the time we finally collapse in exhaustion, my body is deliciously sore. I trace my fingers over a bruise forming on my hip. There's something almost beautiful about this physical manifestation of passion. No one has ever wanted me with such fierce intensity before.
Alessandro stirs slightly beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. Even in sleep, he seeks to possess me. The gesture should irritate me. Instead, I lean into his warmth.
Warning bells sound off. Giving in to him physically is one thing. But allowing myself to think this could be something more is dangerous.
I was prepared to endure a loveless marriage. I wasn't prepared for this pull that makes me want to seek pleasure and safety in his arms, even as doing so requires me to surrender myself.
What happens when the honeymoon ends? When we return to New York and back to real life? Will he go back to being the cold, distant man of the last week, except for when he needs a physical release?
Sadness takes me by surprise. Right now, I feel alive, and yet I’m also lost, confused, and even in Alessandro’s arms, I feel alone.