Sera
Six Months Later
Adrian's hand is in my hair, fisting it tight as he fucks me from behind. His cock is hitting a spot inside of me that makes my mouth open in a soundless scream. And as I meet his eyes in the mirror across from our bed, I feel myself gush at the sight of the two of us.
My small naked body is engulfed by his larger one, and as he thrusts inside of me with wild abandon, I can see his abs and hip muscles flexing deliciously.
"Adrian!" I scream.
"That's it," he growls against my ear. "Take it. Take all of me."
I'm on my hands and knees on our bed; the silk sheets bunched beneath me. The mid-day light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our bedroom. Our house is filled with caterers, florists, guests, a hundred people who can hear my husband railing me.
I don't care.
I stopped caring about a lot of things over the past six months, especially considering that I know, logically at least, that no one can hear us. These walls are thick.
"Don't stop—" I beg. "Please."
"What do you need, baby?" His other hand slides around to find my clit, circling it with exactly the right pressure. He knows my body better than I do now. "Tell me."
"More," I manage. I flex my fingers in the silk sheets. "Harder. Harder. Harder."
He laughs, dark and pleased. "Greedy little thing."
He gives me what I want. Always does. His pace increases, brutal and perfect, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling our bedroom. His fingers work my clit in time with his thrusts, and I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly.
"Come for me," he commands. "Now, Sera. Let me feel your perfect pussy tighten around me."
That's all it takes.
I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me, stealing my breath, my thoughts, everything. I cry out his name as I clench around him, my arms giving out so my face presses into the sheets.
"Fuck—" His rhythm falters as he swells. "Mine. You're mine. Always mine."
He comes with a groan, his hand tightening in my hair as he fills me. The possessive words should bother me. Six months ago, they would have terrified me, but now, they make me feel safe.
He pulls out carefully, and I collapse onto my side. He's immediately there, pulling me against his chest, his hand splayed over my stomach, just like he always does.
I often joke with Adrian that I think he likes to cuddle more than fuck. He always rolls his eyes at me, but he doesn't disagree.
"You okay?" His voice is softer as he kisses my sweat soaked skin, and I laugh slightly, stretching against the sheets.
"Perfect." And I mean it.
This is us now. Him fucking me with abandon. My begging for it. And then, the aftermath. Soft kisses on sweaty skin and words of love as he massages any tension out of my body.
It's delicious.
The rough and the tender. The claimed and the cherished.
His hand moves from my stomach to trace the scar where they cut Angelo out of me. The sight of it always makes Adrian go quiet and still.
It's a physical reminder of his worst fears.
For me, it's a reminder of missed time.
We've talked about more children. I'm ready. I miss the feeling of pregnancy, and I'm dying for another shot at a birth I'll remember. Adrian is not on board.
I almost died.
Angelo almost died.
He can't fathom doing it again. Even when I remind him that we didn't die, and we are both safe, a darkness overtakes his features whenever I bring up having more children, and I know it is going to be an uphill battle.
We will get there when we are both ready, and for now, I'm enjoying Adrian. Exploring our bodies and marriage. It's decidedly nice.
"What are you thinking about?" Adrian's lips brush my shoulder.
"How far we've come."
"Regrets?"
I turn in his arms so I can see his face. Silver eyes watch me with an intensity that still makes my breath catch. I can't imagine a world in which I don't want my husband.
"No regrets." I touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You?"
"Never." His hand covers mine.
It's strange to think about how much my life has changed.
While I like to think I'm the same person I've always been, I can't ignore the ways life has changed.
Last year, I was barely getting by. Now, I'm married to one of the wealthiest men in the city, part owner of Mr. Bolinger's shop, and on the board of the New York Public Library.
Most importantly of all, I'm a wife and mother.
Speaking of motherhood, I glance at the clock, groaning.
"I need to get Angelo ready," I say, even though I don't want to leave this bed. "And fix my hair and makeup." I give him a pointed look.
He just laughs.
"We have time." But he releases me anyway because he knows I won't relax until I've checked on our son.
I slip out of bed, fingering my long, gold dress. Adrian watches from the bed, propped up on one elbow, gloriously naked and entirely comfortable with it. I slip my lingerie back on, before adding my dress. The shoes can wait.
They are a killer, and I wonder if Gemma chose them to punish me. Things have been strained between us for months.
I shake my head, trying to get back into the headspace I'd had in bed.
"You also need to get dressed," I say, as I walk out. "We can't be late."
I leave Adrian in bed, walking towards the nursery we put together months ago.
The room is soft and warm with cream walls and an antique crib that makes me smile every time I see it.
And in the crib, my son.
He's awake, making those soft baby sounds that mean he's content but will demand attention soon. Six months old now. Healthy. Perfect. A miracle after everything that happened.
"Hello sweet boy," I say softly, reaching in to pick him up.
He makes a happy noise, his little hands reaching for my face. He has Adrian's eyes. Silver-gray and already too observant for a baby. He watches everything with an intensity that reminds me of his father.
But he has my smile. And hopefully my temperament because God knows we don't need another Adrian Nero in this world.
One is complicated enough.
I change his diaper, clean him up, talking to him the whole time. He babbles back, nonsense sounds that I pretend to understand.
"We're going to a wedding today," I tell him as I pull out the little suit I bought for this occasion. Black with a tiny bow tie. "Your Aunt Gemma is getting married." I try to sound excited, but I can't.
Gemma is the one thing Adrian and I have fought about lately.
A lot.
Angelo grabs my finger, his grip surprisingly strong, and I smile as I look down at him.
"She loves you so much, you know." I pause, thinking about Gemma.
She comes around when Adrian isn't home, and while she won't talk to me about her feelings regarding this wedding, I've seen the way she has curled in on herself and how, when she does see Adrian, her eyes are filled with hatred.
I know that look, and I try to warn Adrian that it's more than just defiance. He ignores me, and it pisses me off.
"We are going to do everything to help Aunt Gemma," I say, dressing Angelo carefully. "Even if daddy doesn't like it."
I smile at his little suit. It's ridiculous but also adorable.
"Handsome," I murmur. "Just like your father."
"Talking to yourself?"
I turn. Adrian is in the doorway, dressed now in a black suit that fits him like sin. His hair is still damp from the shower, pushed back from his face. He looks dangerous and beautiful and mine. I can feel him between my thighs, and I shiver wondering if he will lick himself off me later.
Angelo makes a small noise and waves his chubby fist at his father.
"Talking to our son."
Adrian takes him carefully, holding him with a gentleness that still surprises me sometimes.
"Look at you," Adrian says to Angelo. "Already breaking hearts."
Angelo makes a sound that might be agreement. I laugh.
"He won't break hearts," I say. "He'll mend them. He'll be a gentleman."
Adrian's brow raises, but he allows me this fantasy. Kissing the top of Angelo's head, and then, my own.
"We should go down," Adrian says, looking at me. "People are arriving."
Right. I deflate slightly at the thought of Gemma's wedding. Here at the mansion another display of power and alliance as much as a ceremony. Another young woman sacrificed to this world.
I frown.
"Don't," Adrian warns.
"Adrian, you can't—"
He glares at me. "I know you hate it, but we have contracts in place. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't dissolve this. Gemma signed those documents."
"Because your mother—"
He holds up a hand. "I don't want to fight about this again, Sera."
His dismissal is clear, and I glare at him. "Give me ten minutes to fix my hair."
He nods, still holding Angelo, and I slip past him back to our room. I need a moment.
When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
Six months ago, I was Seraphina Romano. Bookshop assistant. Scared. Broke. Drowning.
Now I'm Seraphina Nero. Don's wife. Mother. Survivor.
The woman looking back at me is stronger. Harder in some ways. But also, more herself than she's ever been.
I've found myself in this marriage. I was forced to. And as I spray my hair, I pray Gemma finds her own peace.
Adrian and Angelo waiting at the top of the grand staircase. Adrian's hand is on Angelo's back, keeping him secure, and they're both looking down at the foyer below where guests are beginning to gather.
He turns when I approach, and something shifts in his expression. Softens and heats at the same time.
"Beautiful," he says quietly.
"Thank you."
He offers his me one arm, and has Angelo cradled against his chest with the other. I take it, and we stand there for a moment at the top of the stairs, looking down.
"This is our first official outing as a family since I became Don," Adrian says. "Everyone will be watching."
"I know."
"They'll judge. Scrutinize. Look for weakness."
I square my shoulders. I may not agree with this situation, but I won't fight Adrian. Not in public. "They won't find any," I say.