34. Brook
“Where are we?” I yawn and blink a few times, stretching my limbs.
I couldn’t sleep on the flight. We landed at the crack of dawn, and I must have promptly fallen asleep in the town car Baldo hired.
I’m so excited about meeting my little nephew, and spending more time with Dad. But our return is clouded.
Baldo and I are together. We’re a couple. We’re married, and while we’re both hesitant about full commitment—the man still hasn’t kissed me—we can’t pretend this is fake.
But Dad doesn’t even know about the fake marriage.
It’s all too overwhelming, and we are both evading the topic. I’m avoiding to the best of my abilities—it’s a superpower of mine—and I left all the travel arrangements to Baldo.
As if having someone else booking the travel meant I didn’t have to face the return. I didn’t want to think about coming back to our Riverdale home.
But as I look up, we’re not in the Bronx.
Baldo helps me get out of the car.
No, definitely Upper East Side.
“We’re home.”
I frown at him, but he’s busy overseeing the luggage. A uniformed bellhop appears with a trolley and starts loading our suitcases.
Why do we have four of them? I only had one. Is Baldo planning to stay longer?
“Home?”
He takes my hand, and we follow the bellhop. “Temporary, until we find our own place.”
“Is this a hotel?”
“Yes, but the rooms are only long-term rentals. No tourists, thank God.”
I snort. “I thought the hospitality industry was your bread and butter.”
“Entertainment is my bread and butter. I hate fucking tourists.”
I snicker, elbowing him.
We enter the lobby, where the floor is a polished expanse of marble, reflecting the soft, ambient light from exquisite crystal chandeliers above us.
A large, intricately designed mural on the wall across from the entrance captures the essence of the city.
Every detail speaks of refined elegance, full of grandeur. Even the air is subtly scented with what I guess is a bespoke fragrance. Soft, classical music plays unobtrusively in the background, adding to the serene ambience.
Home.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cassinetti, welcome to Emporio Suites.” A man in a sharp suit approaches. “Here are your key cards. My name is Pietro and I’m here to assist you in whatever way you need. Let me give you a tour of our—”
“We’re exhausted after the flight, Pietro, so we’ll order room service and rest.” Baldo gives the man a hundred-dollar bill. I guess we’re now tipping for not getting the service.
“Of course, of course, please let me show you to your private elevator. We’ll have your luggage there in a few minutes.”
The moment the elevator door closes, silence and tension descend on us. We should talk about the way we’re going to handle the family, but I’m not eager, and I guess Baldo isn’t either.
A petty part of me regrets Paris having the baby early, interrupting our honeymoon. A fake honeymoon that helped us grow closer. But definitely not close enough yet.
It’s like we didn’t get fully grounded in our relationship, and now we have to face yet another challenge.
“Private elevator?” I break the silence.
“I booked us into a penthouse suite. It’s large enough so we can each have some privacy.”
I turn to him. “Privacy?”
What the hell? When did we take several steps back after we’d just made forward progress?
“It has an office where you can write.” He keeps looking at the numbers above the doors.
I hate the unspoken challenge hanging above us. But it’s like neither of us knows how we want to handle it, so while we’re figuring it out, we can’t talk about it.
But shouldn’t a couple face challenges together? Discuss them? I’m worried I made Baldo talk so much in the last few days that he might be out of words for years to come.
“An office, I see. It almost sounded like we’re getting separate bedrooms.”
The door opens into a large living space, but I don’t get to see much of it because Baldo grabs my wrists and yanks me to him, twisting my arm behind me.
Not hurting me, but locking me in. He wraps the other hand around my neck, forcing me to look at him. “Only one bedroom. You have no choice in that,” he says darkly, and I shiver.
There is a retort on my tongue, but it dies as I feel the bulge in his pants.
We pant and stare at each other, our lust igniting the air around us.
We shouldn’t be fucking instead of talking. That’s not a solution to our problem.
That thought is a fleeting frivolity.
Our relationship is like the tide. Retreating and advancing. Let’s hope we don’t get tumbled by an unexpected big wave.
God, but I want this man.
“Let go of me.” I kick his shin.
He grunts and loosens his grip. A jolt of excitement electrifies my spine and I run.
The penthouse sprawls before me. I glimpse the floor to ceiling windows, featuring Central Park bathed in the first rays of sun.
Marble floors stretch beneath my feet, slick and slippery.
The opulent decor blurs into a dizzying rush of colors and shapes as I dart through the open living area.
The problem is, I don’t know the space. Every choice is a gamble, every door a potential trap. But the thrill… the thrill of the chase ignites me with wild exhilaration.
What’s wrong with me? I don’t understand the part of me that revels in this twisted game of cat and mouse.
And yet, adrenaline courses through me like an awakening, a dark and perverse revelation of my true nature. And with Baldo playing along, instead of judging, I’m growing to accept this side of me.
I don’t sense him behind me, but when I chance a look over my shoulder… He hasn’t moved, but his eyes follow me with an aloof coldness. Like the predator waiting for his prey to tire out.
Jesus, he is hot.
My breath comes in ragged gasps.
I stop behind the sofa, gripping the backrest like I could throw the furniture at him. He advances with cat-like grace, prowling in my direction.
No rush.
Just calculated precision.
In control, as usual.
He rounds the love seat and a glass coffee table. There is only the sofa between us.
My eyes dart toward the large double doors to my left, and then to a hallway to my right.
The moment I return my attention to him, I know I shouldn’t have distracted myself.
He lunges over the backrest. I yelp, but without thinking I react and slide to the side.
He grabs me around my waist.
We lose balance and collapse to the floor. I fight with everything I have, like a woman possessed.
Baldo grunts as I elbow him, but it doesn’t slow him down at all. I kick my legs to no avail. The man has straddled me.
I graze his cheek with my finger, drawing blood. He hisses and seizes both my wrists, forcing my hands above my head.
We pant, glaring at each other.
“Your luggage—”
We spring to our feet, emerging from behind the sofa probably looking like we just fought. Which would be accurate.
The bellhop blinks a few times. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” Baldo casually steps around the sofa, approaching the bewildered young man whose eyes stay on me.
Good man, making sure the lady isn’t in peril.
I force a smile, and as soon as my lips curl up, the absurdity of the situation hits me and I giggle.
Baldo gives me a warning look, but his lips quiver as well. He pulls money from his pocket and tips the guy before he’s even unloaded the suitcases from the cart.
The hop’s eyes drop to the bill, and then back at me. I nod, encouraging him to take it. And leave, for fuck’s sake.
He reaches out for his tip. “You’re bleeding, sir.” He points to Baldo’s face.
Baldo flicks his finger over the laceration from my nails and shrugs. “A shaving accident.”
I snort, and my reaction calms the young man enough. He gives us both one more puzzled look and rushes to the elevator.
As soon as the door slides closed behind him, I release the laugh, regretting the interruption but having fun at the same time.
My laugh freezes when I meet Baldo’s eyes. The hunger in them is back, perhaps tenfold. His pull has me transfixed, vertigo tugging at my senses.
As if the interruption never happened, my heart goes from a murmur to a thundering in my chest.
Baldo cracks his neck. His cock is straining against his zipper. Jesus, did the bellhop notice?
“Where were we?” he rasps.
I bolt, veering right, then left. I somehow avoid him and dive through the double doorway.
I stumble into the bedroom, lavish and vast, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a dizzying view.
For a split second, I’m transfixed by the sight, and Baldo catches me from behind.
Wrapping me in a vise-like hold, he lifts me. I struggle, but without much effort he carries me over to the huge bed.
One powerful arm still around me, he fists my hair and yanks my head up. “You’re mine now.”
Oh, what those words do to me. No longer just prey, I’m a participant in this wanton dance.
Baldo pushes me to the mattress, bending me. My face hits the silky sheets and I try to wiggle away, but I’m exhausted, and he’s so strong.
“Move and you’ll regret it,” he snaps.
With his hands, he pulls my pants and panties to my ankles in a quick move. But it frees my hands and I try to push off the bed.
Not a chance.
He lurches over me and covers me with his whole body, wrestling my arms into submission.
He grips my wrists, twisted at my lower back, with one of his hands, and uses the other to free himself.
He kicks my legs apart and runs his cock through my folds. “Hmmm.”
There is so much praise, so much reverence in that sound, I moan.
“So ready for me. Good girl.”
He impales me so suddenly I lurch forward, gasping. Filled by him. Knowing he plays my lewd games without questioning me.
He understands me.
He cherishes me.
He adores me.
Maybe not always in words, but in so many actions.
It takes no time before my walls clench and my muscles tense. “I’m there.”
“Thank God.”
And then we’re coming, swept by a wave of pleasure, in unison.
Baldo collapses on top of me, kissing my hair. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay.” I turn my head to face him.
He is only an inch from me. His eyes drop to my mouth. My lips part, and my heart hammers against my ribcage so fast that he must hear it.
The moment stretches, and fuck it, I close the distance between us.