Chapter 12
FRANKIE
A cop must have seen me toss the phone. We’re in Napa, so littering is a serious offense around here. Guess my new rich husband can pay for my ticket, then.
I pull over and have Livvie pass me the vehicle registration from the glovebox. I also have a fresh printout of my new insurance cards, luckily, which the dealer required for the sale.
The officer looks serious as he approaches, aviator sunglasses giving him an intimidating Terminator vibe. “License, registration, and proof of insurance, ma’am.”
I hand everything over with a warm smile that he doesn’t return. His thin lips pull into a disquieting, knowing kind of smirk as he scans the brand-new paperwork.
“Remain in your vehicle, please.”
He goes back to his cruiser and my nerves jump. Crap. What if the insurance didn’t go through? Or maybe the AmEx charge was somehow declined after all and the dealer wanted the car back.
“Oh my God, Frankie!” Livvie whispers in that disbelieving, teenager way.
“It’ll be fine.”
“We’re going to jail!” she teases. “You think their cafeteria has vegan options?”
I force a smile at her good-natured ribbing, but inside I have a bad feeling.
A few moments later, the officer returns with my paperwork.
“Your husband is waiting for you at home, little lady. Go on.”
Little lady? Ugh. Despite my irritation, I keep my face neutral. “You’re…not going to give me a ticket?”
He smiles, but that somehow makes it all worse. “Drop your sister off and get home. Now.”
I’m completely baffled at how this cop knows Livvie is my sister, and that Dante wants me home, but I just nod and thank him. Jesus, my husband has everyone in his back pocket. And it seems he can track me down, no matter what I’m doing.
I drive off, cracking a joke to my sister about how good it is to have a well-connected husband. But meanwhile, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
The wind is howling like mad by the time I get back to the Bellanti estate and park behind the massive house, quickly raising the convertible top.
Thank goodness a push button makes quick work of securing the roof, because the first fat drops of rain begin to fall just as I step out of the vehicle.
A crack of thunder booms in my ears as I turn to race for the door.
And run smack into my husband.
His hand goes around my upper arm like a vice grip and he levels me with an expression I have no trouble reading. Rage. It matches the ominous atmosphere so well he could be elemental himself—dark eyes flashing, angry energy swirling around him like the wind.
I liked it better when he had his poker face on. At least then I didn’t know I was in for it.
“Pick up the fucking phone when I call you.”
My eyes narrow, but inside I shiver, hard and deep.
The fear crawls across my skin, instinctual, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
I’ve been pretty defiant all day about making him pay for insulting me, though that defiance was laced with a trepidation that I pushed aside.
Now all those nerves come to the surface, and I’m wary of what Dante is going to do next.
Being his wife, I’d assumed he wouldn’t get physical with me—but maybe I was wrong. Still, I won’t let him see that I’m afraid. Considering the kind of man he is, it might just spur him to violence. So I lift my chin and glare right back, even though we’re getting pelted by rain.
“My father may have sold me off to you, but you don’t own every minute of my time. Besides, my phone had an unfortunate accident on the freeway. I’m going to need a new one.”
When I smirk, his eyes narrow, his grip tightening on my arm. It should be painful. It is painful. But it’s arousing me, and I hate it. I don’t want to feel turned on by this.
“Don’t act like a stupid bitch, Francesca.”
“Then stop being such a controlling asshole, Dante.”
He shoves me back against the car hard enough that the thud can be heard over the harsh wind. “You have no fucking clue who I am, do you?” he growls.
“Oh, here we go with your ego.”
We’re going to get soaked, and my new linen skirt suit will be ruined. How much longer is he going to keep me out here? I’m about to lay into the arrogant prick properly when he leans low over me, pinning me back against the hood, cutting me off before I can open my mouth.
He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“I’m the first son of Enzo Bellanti. I dine with criminals and senators at the same table.
I drink with mobsters and the occasional prince.
I know dangerous people and I’ve made dangerous enemies.
Enemies who would love nothing more than to cut my pretty new wife’s throat from ear to ear, just to take her from me. ”
His hand trails beneath my chin to the center of my throat, where he lightly traces his thumb across.
“Is that supposed to be a threat from you, or from them?” It was supposed to sound sarcastic, but my voice comes out too softly.
The rain starts pouring down in earnest now, more thunder rumbling ominously in the distance, but Dante doesn’t take his eyes from me.
His hand is still wrapped around my throat, leaving my neck tingling.
As I look up at him he consumes me with his heat and his dominance, as if ingraining into me that he very much controls every inch of me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, blocking the rain from my face. “They can’t touch what’s mine.”
My lips part in shock at his possessiveness, my body tensing, the anticipation growing.
Suddenly his mouth is on mine. He kisses me cruelly, almost painfully, his tongue choking me, his hips grinding into me.
My purse hits the crushed stone of the driveway.
My brain takes a second to catch up, even though my body is perfectly aware of what’s happening.
My nipples tingle, my core going tight as his other hand goes behind my head, holding me in place.
I couldn’t get out of his grip if I wanted to. Maybe that’s why I kiss him back.
Or maybe it’s just the lust I can’t fight a second longer.
A lush ache commands me to press my hips into his, seeking some relief from the discomfort between my legs.
The wind is even fiercer now, driving the cold, stinging rain over us both—but the lingering warmth of the Jag’s engine and the heat of Dante’s body on top of me make me burn.
He pushes his hips insistently against me, pressing me against the hood of the car, the feel of his hard length drawing a harsh breath out of me.
This is all happening so fast. My mind spins as if I’m drunk.
Every single touch makes it worse, like shots of tequila going straight to my inhibitions and breaking them down one by one. I hate him. Gone. I despise him. Gone. I’m going to fight what his touch does to me. Gone, gone, gone.
He pulls back, shoving my skirt up so it bunches around my waist, taking me off guard a second time.
I can’t help but spread my legs wide as he grinds against me again, even though I’m battling my body’s urges, desperately trying to resist what I know is coming: I’m going to give in to him and love every second of it.
My body is going to betray me just like it did on my wedding night, heedless of the fact that Dante was using me solely for his own pleasure as I came again and again around his cock.
He takes his hand off my throat and thrusts it down the front of my underwear, crudely palming my mound, his fingers digging into my sensitive flesh.
I push against him to suss out more of the delicious sensations coursing through me, a moan escaping my throat.
It seems to flame him on. Dante streaks his fingers over my center, dragging his fingertips along my seam, and then he cups me again, hard. Bruising.
I take a full breath of air right before he rips my underwear down.
The elastic cuts into the sides of my thighs, sticking to my wet skin, and then the fabric gives way in his impatient hand.
My pussy is bared to him now, wet and ready and waiting.
Meanwhile the sun has deserted us, leaving behind a shaded gloom.
The sound of his zipper is muted against the wind, but it’s unmistakable what he’s doing.
His cock is out, hard and proud as he shoves my right leg up around his hip, driving into me with one possessive thrust. I cry out, my head lolling back as he wraps my other leg around him.
Then he gets straight to work, fucking me hard and deep, the entire car bouncing with the force of his jackhammering.
I cling to him, letting him ride me. My fingers clenched in his hair, my eyes shut against the falling rain.
Another storm begins to build, this one inside of me.
Each thrust pushes me closer, somehow rubbing me just right, to the point where I’m hardly aware of the raindrops running into my hairline and clinging to my lashes.
I can’t stop my moans, coming faster and louder now as his hips pound into my inner thighs, his cock filling me, claiming me.
Possessing me.
I come right as a crack of thunder rips overhead.
I barely hear it, I’m so consumed by the sensation of the orgasm taking over my entire body.
My scalp tingles, my pulse rushes with the pleasure, stars shoot behind my clenched lids…
it’s so strong that Dante’s release doesn’t even register with me.
I only know he’s done because I realize that I’m suddenly very, very cold.
Sitting up, I see that Dante has zipped up and moved away. I wipe the rain from my eyes and try to gather myself as violent chills assail my body. I’m shaking so badly that I’m not sure my legs will support me if I try to stand up off the car. My knees feel like jelly, my arms weak.
Dante takes off his soaked suit jacket and comes over to me, wrapping it around my shoulders as he helps me up.
The lining inside is mostly dry, the warmth and masculine scent of it enveloping me.
I tug my skirt back down and pick my purse up off the driveway, touched and a little surprised by his kind gesture.
Who would have thought my husband had a single tender nerve in him to actually extend some chivalry like this? Especially to me, the wife he claims as nothing more than property.
Just then, a light shines from his cell phone, aimed at the car. He leans over, ignoring me, running his hand over the hood where we just fucked. The warmth in my chest dissipates as I realize he’s checking for any dents we may have left behind. He hadn’t been concerned about me one bit.
Hugging myself, the jacket’s too-long sleeves hanging past my fingertips, I stomp my way around the side of the house as best I can in my new heeled sandals.
Water runs down the back of my neck, my clothes clinging to my body inside the jacket.
The wetness running down my legs gets worse as I reach the door.
I’m acutely aware that it’s definitely not from the rain.
I might laugh at the whole situation if I wasn’t so infuriated.
What an asshole.