Chapter 9
FRANKIE
Leading my new husband away from the firepit and toward the Bellanti estate, I quickly realize what an amateurish move I’ve just made: I don’t actually know where his room is.
Dante walks slightly behind me, allowing me to put on a show of leading him by his tie, but I start to slow down as we reach the back of the house.
Before I can turn around, Dante solves the problem by scooping me up unceremoniously and carrying me inside.
His face is a mixture of amusement with a touch of annoyance.
Seriously? Is this a chore for him? Most men trip over themselves at any opportunity for sex, and he’s acting like I’ve inconvenienced him.
Stopping a moment to kick the door closed behind us, he strides down the hall as if I weigh nothing in his arms.
“That was a neat little power play there, Francesca.”
He hasn’t even glanced at my breasts—and it’s not like he can miss them popping over the top of my corset.
I bristle. “That’s not my name.”
Dante takes a left. The halls are dark, rich wood paneling, the floor, beautifully neutral slabs of stone. “It’s the name on the contract I signed. Francesca Carina Abriana Abbott…Bellanti. So many lovely names and you choose to go by Frankie.”
How rude can he be? “That’s right. So get used to it.”
“Never.”
He adjusts his grip on me to open a door, then carries me inside and locks it behind us.
The room is cavernous and richly appointed with carved furniture and sumptuous fabrics, though I can’t see much detail since a small lamp on the nightstand provides the only light.
Without another word, Dante tosses me onto the massive bed and flicks his tie onto the floor. My eyes track his body, the lines of his broad chest and muscular arms beneath his tux. The promise of a tight abdomen. The impressive bulge in the front of his pants.
Oh my God.
I’d thought he wasn’t interested in doing this—that we’d be merely going through the motions—yet he’s sporting an erection that clearly says otherwise.
My chest wells with satisfaction, and I feel a quick surge of feminine power seeing the proof of his lust. I guess I do have something over him after all. He’s attracted to me. He wants me.
Dante slips out of his tux jacket and tosses it onto the floor as if the expensive fabric means nothing.
Next are his cufflinks, those big hands and their strong fingers working the little gold adornments loose.
Dropping them onto the nightstand, he slips out of his vest and begins to unbutton his shirt.
I’m pretty sure the mass pressing against his zipper just got bigger.
I grin a little. I’ll have him eating out of my hand in no time.
Now that he’s disrobing, and it’s clear that this is actually happening, I’ve lost some of my resolve—but the lust coursing through me makes up for it.
My body thrums with charged, sexual heat.
My thong is getting wetter by the second as I watch him undress piece by piece.
Taking my cue, I sit and reach behind me to tug the stays that hold the corset together.
I’ve barely gotten the ribbons loose when Dante stops me, pulling my hands away and shoving me back down on the bed.
My breath hitches as he pins my wrists above my head with one hand, his face lowering over mine.
Tingles race over my skin, my pulse jacking even higher at his dominance.
He leans close, as if he’s going to say something in my ear—but instead he grips my chin, crushing his mouth against mine.
The warmth of his tongue invades me, and a gasp strangles in my throat as his weight presses me into the mattress.
My lips throb from the memory of our kiss earlier, the pulse between my legs beating with demand.
But this time is different. This kiss is harsher, more aggressive. Dante doesn’t hold anything back.
Still trapping me with his body, he grinds the kiss into me harder, claiming my mouth completely, flaming pleasure with every slight twist of his head and movement of his lips.
His other hand roughly pulls the half-loose corset down, over my breasts and hips, where it gets stuck.
With a grunt, he pulls away from me and rips the delicate fabric right in two, impatiently whipping the lingerie across the room.
My breasts bounce from the movement, drawing his gaze.
I touch my swollen lips, wondering if they’re bruised from his kiss.
Dante moves over me again to unclasp my stockings from the garter.
Then he hooks a finger around the crotch of my thong, his knuckle brushing my pussy lips, so he can pull my underwear off in one rough tug.
Adrenaline pumps through me, my breath coming faster.
My husband doesn’t look me in the eye as he whisks off my garter and then my heels, leaving only my stockings, and climbs back on top of me.
Tingles of pleasure bombard me, darting between my legs.
I’ve never felt so naked. Dante is still in his shirt and pants and I arch against him, all my most sensitive places rubbing up against the fine fabric and his muscular body beneath.
I’m unable to stop myself as a gasp works free from my lips.
Shame heats my cheeks as I realize how turned on I am. What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t even know this man. I was forced to marry him—and he’s acting like a total barbarian. But none of those things are enough to keep me from lusting after him.
Dante leans back, hot gaze raking over my body, as if he’s taking inventory of his new wife. Judging by the hungry look in his eyes, he likes what he sees. I swivel my hips a little, trying to be alluring. Letting him know I’m ready for him.
He just smirks at me, tracing the lacy elastic bands that keep my stockings tight around my thighs.
“Are you a virgin, Francesca?”
I stop moving. “I don’t see why—”
“Are you, or not?” His tone hardens, as if he’s losing patience with me.
“No.” I shoot him a glare, but he ignores it.
“How many men?”
He’s toying with me, getting back at me for maneuvering him away from his friends and Jessica earlier. He wants the power back. I prop myself up on my elbows and level him with my most eat-shit-and-die look.
“Dozens. I couldn’t keep track.”
A liquid smile crosses his lips, slow, taunting. “Liar.”
He slides to the floor and removes his shirt, then his undershirt, revealing a broad, muscular chest lightly dusted with dark hair that trails over his tight abdomen and down toward the bulge in his pants.
He’s out of those in an instant, and now I can’t stop staring at his body.
This man is pure perfection. My fingers itch to run over the dips and rises sculpting his middle, to squeeze the firmness of his biceps.
Before I can reach for him, Dante is back on the bed, his strong hands spreading my thighs wide open.
“Wait,” I pant, looking up at him in a panic. “Don’t you need to get a condom?”
“I expect an heir, a stipulation you agreed to,” Dante says flatly. “The sooner the better.”
“But—”
I barely have time to process what’s happening before he plunges into me without preamble. Hard and deep. To the hilt. Luckily, I’m already soaking wet, but the fullness of his thick cock has me gasping.
Shocked that he’s entered me like this, without foreplay, without any tenderness, I pull in a breath and lift my hips to meet his long, forceful thrusts.
He’s using me hard, clearly not interested in my pleasure, but God—his dick is hitting all the right places without him even trying.
Pleasure hums through my center, despite the obvious lack of affection.
Gripping his shoulders tight, I clamp my thighs around his hips, drawing him in deeper and holding him in place to keep the pleasure going. A familiar, swirling pressure builds, shocking me to my core. How can the sex feel this good when there aren’t any feelings between us?
His eyes meet mine, but I can tell he doesn’t really see me.
He’s a million miles away. And so am I. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me moan, I squeeze my eyes shut as an impending orgasm starts to flood every inch of me.
I try to will it away, but there’s no stopping it.
My hips grind into his even faster, and he answers with a hard, insistent, raw thrust that sends me right over the edge.
Hating myself for the whimper that leaves my throat, I dig my nails into his flesh as I come. The contractions are so hard, I know there’s no way Dante can mistake what’s happening.
Opening my eyes, I find he looks surprised that I’m coming beneath him. For some reason, it only makes him even more possessive. He growls and dips his lips to my neck, trailing kisses down to my chest, nipping me with his teeth as he drives himself into me like a wild man.
My orgasm is fading, but it doesn’t go away as he pounds against that sweet spot deep inside, flaming the pleasure all over again. Biting and sucking my breasts as he thrusts. Hard and deep, faster and faster, until I can’t keep myself from crying out. All I can do is hang on.
“Fuck yes,” he groans against my neck. His cock stiffens a second before he pumps his release into me, pushing me to orgasm once more. I can’t hold back the moans this time.
Dante relaxes on top of me, his limbs entangled with mine.
His weight is pushing me down on the mattress in the most delicious way.
My arms instinctively go around his waist, and my pussy clenches around him with aftershocks of pleasure as I hold him close.
My mind is in a haze. I can’t believe what just happened.
I’ve had sex plenty of times before, but it hadn’t been anything like that. At all.
Suddenly Dante pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, if I’m being met with his approval or his scorn. Damn his granite face.
Before I can think of anything to say, he rolls off the bed, his semi-hard cock glistening and proud as he grabs his pants and pulls them back on. He slips his shirt on next, leaving the buttons undone.
“You must have learned some good tricks from the ‘dozens’ of men you’ve slept with,” he says nonchalantly.
I sit up and try to gather my dignity around me, along with the bed sheet. Dante ignores me, picking up the rest of his clothes and avoiding eye contact. A chill races down my back.
“Enjoy your rooms.” He gives me the absolute barest of glances before turning to the door. “Your clothes are in the closet and the en suite is fully stocked. Feel free to decorate however you like.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in what I’ve just realized is my bedroom, not his. Sinking back onto the bed, my body still trembles from his touch, still burns from the power of our mutual release. I stare up at the white ceiling, mind racing.
My sister said I could have him eating out of the palm of my hand. Just warm his bed, let him underestimate me, and he’d let me do whatever I want.
A harsh laugh bubbles from my throat. I can’t believe I thought I could control Dante Bellanti with my body. The thought is a fucking joke now.
I’m in way over my head.