6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
I step out of the shower, purposely running late getting dressed for dinner. Ms. Bentley found me in the library and told me I was expected to attend a dinner with my husband and his associates. I glance at my bed, seeing the red dress that’s been laid out for me.
I’m nervous but want to impress him. I want to prove that I’m worthy of being his wife. That I can prove everyone wrong and uphold my end of this marriage of contract.
I paint my lips a vibrant shade of red and wear my hair down but with a tousled, wavy style. Or maybe I should wear it up, so I can take it down halfway through the meal.
I think about his fingers on my neck this morning. Is Nico playing with me? Teasing me until I go mad with desire? Two can play his game. I decide on an updo.
There’s a light knock on my door, and I turn quickly while snatching the dress from the bed to cover my body.
Nico enters my room, wearing a salacious smirk. My new husband oozes power in his suit. “Thought you’d be ready by now.”
“Almost.” I drop the dress back onto the bed, giving him a full view of me in my black lacey undergarments.
His throat bobs, and the muscles in his jaw twitch. “I’ll let you finish up.”
“Could you do me…up?” I retrieve my dress and shimmy into it.
I turn my back to him, and he steps in close behind me.
The heat of his breath fans across the back of my neck.
Slowly he drags the zipper upward. He squeezes my hip then steps back.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Think you could help me with these, too?” I point to my gold glittery peep-toe heels.
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” I sit on the edge of the bed, and he goes down on one knee as though he’s about to propose. The slit of my dress falls to the wayside as he lifts my foot, cradling it in his hand before leaving it to rest against his chest as he fiddles with the strap of my shoe.
I’m thankful I had a pedicure yesterday.
Nico rubs a knuckle along the arch of my foot and then slips the sparkly shoe onto my foot. He adjusts the strap and glides his hand up my calve. “How’s that feel?”
“Perfect.”
He repeats the motions, taking his sweet time, taunting me with his gentle touches and heated glances.
“Hungry?” he questions as he escorts me from my room.
“Famished,” I tell him, but it’s not food I want. I want a redo of our kiss. I want sparks. I want the fucking fairytale I’ve been robbed of having.
We enter the dining room together. His associates and men fill the seats.
All but the one at the head of the table.
I notice there isn’t a seat at the foot of it now.
He pulls out the seat to his left for me and leans in close.
His lips brush my ear when he says, “You look beautiful, wife.” He takes his seat, and my belly warms at his words.
I open my mouth trying to come up with a witty reply when the man seated across from me speaks up.
“My brother knows how to marry the most beautiful women.” The man is named Marco.
I recognize him easily enough. He resembles Nico in some ways, but his face is rounder, and his hair is more of a medium brown rather than black.
I recall seeing him at the ceremony, but he was too busy getting drunk to make an introduction.
“It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Odette.
” The way he says my name is intense and turns my stomach upside down. Not in a good way.
There’s something sleazy about him.
“Yes, it’s great to meet you, brother,” I tell him, doing my best to muster up a smile to hide my unease.
He lifts his glass. “To blushing brides and new beginnings.”
“New beginnings,” I murmur and question if his words are meant to be sentimental or a threat. With men like him, one can never be sure. I steal a glance at my husband, but his expression is unreadable. Which isn’t surprising. Men like him have excellent poker faces.
I sip on my wine and nibble on some bread until our first course is served.
The men talk business, leaving little room for me to engage in their conversations.
Crude words are passed between them here and there.
I catch the odds and ends of them giving each other shit about their women at home or lack thereof.
By the time dessert is served, most of them have gone home or back to their posts.
Nico summons me to his lap, keeping a possessive hand on my thigh while feeding me bites of the chocolate lava cake and ice cream.
Marco lingers around talking strategy about expanding their territory and setting up a meet with some banker who can give them inside information on buildings in danger of foreclosure.
Mostly slumlords. Lowlifes. Dickheads who take advantage of the poor.
I tune out midway through the part where he goes into detail about how they can lean on them to sell. Blackmail.
Nico traces lines and circles on my exposed skin, moving higher and higher with each new pattern. I wiggle on his lap when he comes dangerously close to the crotch of my panties.
Marco pretends not to notice, but my husband kisses my shoulder in response.
When his brother continues to press the topic, Nico clears his throat. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” he dismisses him.
“Good night, Odette. Welcome to the family.” He simply nods at Nico.
“Night, Marco,” I tell his back as he leaves without so much as a glance.
The second he’s gone, Nico says, “Be careful with Marco. He has his own agenda.” His caution is not what I was expecting. Marco is his brother and his right hand. “I don’t understand,” I confess.
“You will. He’ll show his hand eventually,” he guarantees. I twist around on his lap to face him. His eyes — dark, intense eyes — pin me in place. “I need you to understand where his loyalties lie. You can’t trust him. No matter how nice he seems.”
There is so much I don’t know about Marco or about Nico.
I grew up in this world but feel like an outsider looking in through the window.
“And what about you? Can I trust you? Where do your loyalties lie?” I ask, testing the boundaries of this conversation.
This new intimacy is strange, but I like this vulnerable side of my husband.
His lips curve into a delicious smirk that I want to taste. “With you, Fiore Mio,” he says, and that warmth in my lower belly intensifies.
The distance between us closes.
He cups my cheek, drawing me in closer. His facial hair tickles my skin.
This time when he presses his mouth to mine, it isn’t the performative brush of lips we shared at our wedding ceremony. This is real. Sexy. Raw and passionate. He prods at the seam of my lips with his tongue, demanding entrance. I open to him, exposing my desire. My need to be wanted by him.
His tongue slides inside my mouth. So this is what it means to truly be kissed.
Hot. Wet. Urgent. His kiss is greedy. Demanding. All-consuming.
The heaviness of our arrangement, the stress of my family, hearing the whispers, the loneliness — all of it dissolves into the heat of his touch as he shoves a hand between my thighs to touch me.
“Tell me to stop, Odette,” his voice comes out raspy. Almost pained. “Tell me no, or your first time will be on this table.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He fists my panties, pulling them up against my pussy.
“Fuck, I want to fill your pretty little cunt up.”
I gasp at his filthy words, not because I’m shocked, but because they turn me on.
“What are you waiting for, Nico? I’m yours to do with as you please.”
“Careful, wife. I’ll have you tied up and begging.” He nips at my bottom lip while teasing between my legs with his deft fingers.
He pulls away far too soon, leaving me breathless. My head spins with the possibilities of what’s coming.
“Let’s take this somewhere more private,” he murmurs, kissing my fingertips.
Nico hurries me up to my room. I try not to be disappointed he isn’t taking me to his bed. We’ve been married a day, and I don’t even know where my husband sleeps.
The instant the door closes behind him, he’s on me, walking me backwards until my legs meet the bed.
“Take this off.” He tugs at the zipper of my dress.
The silky fabric falls to the floor. I kick it away still wearing my heels.
I start to remove them, but he says, “Leave them on. Stand here and let me look at you. I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I walked in on you earlier. ”
He looks me up and down, sizing me up like a hunter observing his next kill. Nico toys with me, moving in closer. He kisses my shoulder and then my neck, but doesn’t touch me with his hands, only his torturous lips.
“Have you ever gotten yourself off, Fiore Mio?”
I shake my head.
“You’ve never touched yourself?”
My cheeks bloom pink, giving me away.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me how you’ve touched yourself.”
“I’d rather you touch me.”
“Are you defying my order?” he growls. Before I can answer his cell phone chirps from his pocket. His brows furrow as he pulls his phone out. He glances at the screen, his mouth pulling tight. “Fuck. I’ve got to take this,” he grumbles and leaves me trembling in my underwear.
I will always come second to his business but his leaving still stings.