17. Aria
17
ARIA
A t home, I shower and dress for bed. The look on Tito's face when Carlos interrupted our sex was physically painful to me. Not only did I really want to have sex with him, but the anger in his eyes cut me to the quick. I was the one who betrayed him. I was the one who guided Carlos to leak the information to Tito's enemies who inevitably leaked it to the police. I had no idea it would rise to the heights of the FBI.
I curl up in bed and set my phone on the nightstand. Tito hasn't checked in, and I’m not sure if I want him to. I don't know if I can keep lying to him—or myself. I should hate him for his sneaky, traitorous actions. I should want to murder him in his sleep for trying to own my father’s business, to prey up on his vulnerability after losing my brother. I should loathe him from somewhere deep in my soul.
But I don't.
For some ridiculous reason which I can't begin to comprehend, I actually felt guilty and ashamed of myself when Tito lunged out of that car, desperate to go clear his name. I come from a very long line of liars, scoundrels, and thieves, but I am not one of them. At the heart of who I am, my being can only anchor itself in compassion and concern for others. I thought I could do this, and maybe if I didn’t have this strange dynamic of being married to him, I could.
But I can't. I have to tell Carlos it's off now. I have to. Hurting Tito even in his business isn't who I am as a person. And now there is this strange bond.
Tonight at dinner, I expected him to scold me for sulking or order me to smile more. But something was different about him. He was kind and patient with me. The compliments he poured over my soul felt like droplets of water to a thirsty plant. He surrounded me, and yet he gave me space, and now I'm confused and conflicted. I may be developing feelings for him, but I can't. It would mean Jasper's killer goes free.
The phone rings, startling me, and I jolt and tense before taking a deep breath. It's just a phone call. The screen on my phone is lit up, but it's not the ringtone I saved for Tito. I push my naked form upward to prop myself on one elbow and see the caller ID displayed. It's Carlos. My shoulders tense. I don't want to talk to him. I should never have commissioned his help.
The phone stops ringing and the screen displays a notification that I have one missed call. Behind it is the picture of Jasper and me on the day of my wedding. He looks cross with me, and I know he was. He hated my marriage to Tito.
He tried to warn me.
I should have listened.
Now Jasper is dead and I'm in a mess of trouble. I should be with my family, mourning, but they're not my family anymore. Tito is my family now, and while he'd allow me to go, I'm afraid the only thing that will happen is his talons will tighten on my father's organization until there isn't anything left for Dad to grab on to.
I stare at Jasper's face on my phone screen with an aching heart until it goes black and I remind myself why I’m here. I’m not here to fall in love and live happily ever after. Tito is fucking with my mind, that's all. He knows the game and he's playing it well, and I would be wise to follow his lead. I have to continue my plan with Carlos, making him look better in every way than Tito so their father will make Carlos the leader and not Tito.
When that happens, Carlos will see to it that Dad's businesses are separated back to him, and I will get out of this ridiculous marriage contract by proving Tito broke the statutes in the agreement. Even if I have to bruise myself to do it.
The phone rings again, and again it's Carlos, but this time, I don't hesitate to answer. I lift the phone to my ear after swiping.
"Yes?" I say and hear a very breathless man on the other end of the line. If I'm not mistaken, it sounds like he's scared.
"He's gonna find out. He's on a fucking rampage. What the fuck did you get me wrapped up in?" Carlos is furious and scared, a dangerous combination.
"Nothing you didn't already want. Now calm the fuck down or he will figure it out, moron." I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there with a palm pressed to my forehead. I feel tired and nauseous, and my heart is screaming at me to stop and back out of this whole thing, every part of it.
"You stupid bitch. You are going to get me killed."
His insults don't affect me. I grew up with a brother who was being trained to murder without remorse. That's a pet name to me.
"You could step off the curb and be hit by a bus tomorrow, Carlos. Life is a risk. Just live it. Now just follow the plan. Stay calm, and let the information work for you. If you don't stop freaking out, you're the one who's going to get us busted." I sigh and continue. "Give it time. The FBI knows everything now, and your father will bail Tito out. He'll pry around, but it will look like the Russians. They have nothing on us."
My heart hammers but I’m confident I’m right. Even if they did trace it back to us, Carlos can get me proof that Tito ordered the hit on Jasper. I know it was my fault. I'm the one who got him killed, but my parents don't know that. They'll only think that Tito crossed lines and the agreement will officially be terminated. I can’t get that proof on my own, or else I'd expose him now and be free.
"You'd better be right," Carlos hisses before he hangs up, and I exhale in relief.
Maybe I have it all figured out, or maybe I am subconsciously self-sabotaging. Tito isn’t that bad as a husband, and the sex is incredible. But none of that is worth the cost my family will pay in the end.
"There you are," I hear, and I look up to see Tito walk into the bedroom. His eyes are wide and bloodshot. The stench of whiskey wafts in my direction, wrapping around my throat like his hands when he fucks me. "Who was that?" he asks and looks down at the phone in my hand.
"Oh, it was Carlos. He called me to tell me you were pretty upset. He suggested I help calm you down." I toss the phone onto the nightstand and feel my heartstrings being tugged by the lie. I'm feeling guilty over lying to him now? Oh, fuck, I have it bad.
"Yeah, he kept trying to tell me to calm down." Tito yanks off his tie and throws it, then proceeds to tear his clothing off in a very angry fashion as he relays how the FBI has torn apart several of his businesses’ office spaces looking for evidence. I can't look him in the eye or he'll see my stained conscience.
When he climbs into bed and crawls over to me, I know my guilt is only going to get worse. He started something in that car that he wants to finish, but now that I've seen how angry he is, how hurt he feels, I don’t think I can bring myself to fuck him. It would be like I'm pouring salt into his wound but he won't feel it until later, and when he does, he'll be so angry, he really will kill me.
"That sounds like a very difficult position to be in…" I'm not sure what to say to comfort him because I know it's all my doing. And in this moment, my stupid fucked-up heart wants to take it back, to make it like it never happened and Tito walks scot-free.
"I have an even more difficult position to be in, and I want you in it… now." His fingers coil around my neck and press into the throbbing vein next to my esophagus. "If you still want me to make you feel something."
I can't say no to him, because I feel so ashamed for hurting him and because I actually do want him. I wanted him in that limo, and I want him to finish what we started earlier.
I nod and let him have his way with me. His firm grip on my neck strengthens as he pulls me backward. I whimper when he forcefully drags me across the bed until my head is on his pillow and my legs are stretched out.
"Do you like it rough?" Tito asks, and I nod even though that’s not entirely what I want right now. "Good," he growls, and before I can react, his dick is in my mouth, semi-hard and salty. His hips start thrusting, and I try not to cut him open with my teeth, but he straddles my head and thrusts so hard and so deep I am gagging.
I claw at his ass when his cock pushes into my throat, and I feel my body jerking as my gag reflex pinches his head. My eyes water. My legs protest, pushing me across the silky sheets until my head hits the headboard.
"Oh, fuck, baby, that's incredible. Gag for me again," he grunts, pushing into my throat again, and I find his begging strangely erotic. He continues to fuck my throat so hard I’m drawing blood with my fingernails on his ass. He grabs my hair and yanks it back, exposing my neck. I gasp before he grinds his cock past my tonsils again, his balls slapping against my chin. I can't breathe and my vision is going out of focus, but I don't want him to stop. Somehow, this feels a fitting punishment for my betrayal. I deserve this.
“Shit… I gotta stop…” Tito slowly pulls his cock from my mouth with a wet Pop and it springs up, my spit dripping to my cheek. He’s rock hard now, precum beading on his head, and I’m panting for breath. I’m also so fucking hot for him that my pussy aches and throbs.
I moan when he climbs off me and grips my ankles, pulling me to the side of the bed. Tito spreads my legs wide, his muscled thighs inserting themselves between mine. He smirks down at me before pushing himself home, effortlessly stretching me. Holy fuck, does it feel good. He grabs my hips and picks me up so only my shoulders are on the mattress and starts pounding into me. The headboard keeps rhythm with his hips, beating against the wall. He goes deep, ensuring he hits my back wall with every thrust, and I am a whimpering ball of need, now scratching his hands.
“Shit, oh, shit,” I moan, unable to pry his hard grasp off my hip bones. He’s an animal, not letting up for a second, and I’m helpless as he pounds me. I might start bleeding. It actually hurts for a moment, but I distract myself by touching my clit, and in seconds, I’m on the edge, ready to snap.
“Ah, not so fast.” Tito stops short, denying my moans for more, and lowers my hips back to the mattress. “I want you to beg me, Aria.”
"Please, Tito, please!" I beg. I’ve never felt this desperate for anything in my life. Not even air. “I need it!” I whine.
He grins, wiping the sweat from his brow and sliding his hands up over my body. “Louder.” One hand grips my tit, while the other curls around my throat. The sweet pressure of his thumb pushing against my jugular makes it impossible for me to say it louder, but I try.
“Please… fuck… me…” My eyes are locked on his as his hips begin slowly thrusting, his cock making glorious friction against my pussy walls.
“Beg,” he orders again, and now his grip on my neck is so tight I can’t breathe at all. My lips move, but no sound comes out as I mouth “fuck me” over and over again. I thrash against his muscular body, my nails leaving crescent moons in his wrist, but he doesn’t budge. “Beg me, Aria!” he growls, and I'm at my breaking point.
“Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me!” I mouth, and Tito's lips crash against mine, biting my bottom lip until I taste blood. He picks up speed, slamming into me so hard I swear the bed moves. I can’t think straight anymore. Everything is just a haze of white and red and pleasure as he pounds into me.
When his thumb presses on my clit, it’s consuming. Every muscle in my body tenses. My pussy locks down on his dick, and I feel my consciousness slipping. The jolts and spasms of pleasure roll across me in waves that only intensify the second he takes his hand from my neck, and I don’t even feel his release this time. The pleasure is so overwhelming, all I feel are the surging hormones and endorphins that make me body convulse and my heart connect, and without thinking, I’m muttering, “Fuck, I love you…”
Tito thrusts until my body is only spasming lightly, then pulls out and flips me over. I crawl back to my side of the bed and collapse a quivering mess, and the bed shakes as he climbs in and pulls me against his sweaty body. My stomach rolls again, and I don't know whether it's because I just confessed to loving the man who has the power to destroy my father or if his plan of impregnating me has been successful. Probably the former. I can't believe I told him I love him. How can I betray my brother like this?
Tears well up, but I hold them back until I hear Tito snoring. Then I slip out of his arms and head to the bathroom. I glance in the mirror and see the marks around my neck, probably enough to prove he "hurts" me. But even the thought of hurting him more makes my body react. I'm kneeling on the floor by the toilet, emptying my dinner into the bowl and praying Tito doesn't hear me.
What am I doing?