Chapter 25
TIFFANY
Joseph Ravera is the most infuriating, confusing, and despicable man I have ever met, and I will not play his game. I have options now, and my grandfather’s card sits like a welcome lifeline in troubled seas.
I wish I weren’t attracted to my husband. I wish I didn’t crave his touch or ache for his mouth on mine or any part of me that lives and breathes.
The fact that I even contemplated stripping for him is my biggest shame because in that moment I was tempted—for sure, and I hate myself for that.
I’m aware I’m in his home with no place to hide.
Wherever I go, someone will be watching out for me, and it’s as if the walls are closing in on me.
There is only one room that offers me peace and security of sorts.
A safe place where he has admitted I can go when I have the need, and right now, I need it more than I ever did.
So, I slip inside the black room, and the moment the door closes behind me, I breathe a little easier.
Why does this place feel more like home than the convent ever did?
My breathing is calmer, as I lie with my back to the bench, concentrating on clearing my mind of everything crowding it right now.
My life has changed, and I’m still not certain if it’s for the better.
I am still uneasy, as so many doubts, worries, and problems run through my mind. I instinctively find the wedding band on my finger and I twirl it around, wondering why I’m not disgusted with the fact it’s here at all.
I like being married, and it’s only been one day already.
When I saw the bed we will share, blood pumped through my body like a lit trail of gunpowder. What will it be like? Probably cold, cruel and impersonal, like my husband. But there is something good in him that reveals itself at the right moment.
It’s as if I have reached a brick wall at the end of my journey. I have no way out except to go back to the beginning. The convent, perhaps. Was that really my safe place or merely the waiting room for my life to begin?
Meeting my grandfather today revealed a part of me I was never interested in before. My mother’s side. I must be a freak for not being curious about her.
Many years ago, I switched off that particular faucet in my mind. I have no wish to meet with her, talk with her, or understand her, and the fact she’s drying out in a facility for alcoholics tells me everything I need to know.
Then there’s Morgan. I am so ready for that battle. It’s now that I realize how much I need Joseph. He is exactly what I require to bring that woman down, and if that means her death, I will dance happily on her grave.
Revenge is a sin and retribution a necessity to move forward with my life without fear.
I want that so badly I will do anything to make it happen, so I swing my legs off the bench, my heart pounding as I make my way to the door.
Can I do this? Am I really that desperate? But as her cruel sneer taunts me in every crevice of my mind, determination powers my steps toward the attic room.
I say nothing as I head inside, Joseph leaning back against the headboard, his blank expression revealing nothing.
For a second, I hesitate, and as my anger builds, so does my bravery, and I reach behind me and unzip my dress, letting it fall to my feet.
Joseph says nothing, and I don’t see him anymore. Just a violent rage that banishes every thought in my head other than retribution.
It helps my situation, and I don’t consider how I’ll feel about this later as I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. My panties follow and I stand unashamedly before my husband who is fully clothed and regarding me through a hooded gaze, his expression as empty as his heart.
“Now you strip.”
My voice is husky, edged in foolish bravery, and my breath hitches when he shifts off the bed, tearing his shirt off without breaking eye contact.
I swallow hard as he removes the leather belt from his waist and his pants fall to the floor, his boxers joining the heap of fabric, his eyes never leaving mine for a second.
My heart beats faster as I stare unashamedly at a body crafted from Mount Olympus itself. Strong, muscled, inked in black script. Powerful, deliciously wicked.
His cock is simply enormous and stands like a weapon of my destruction, and somewhere deep inside me, turbulent thoughts are tentatively raising their hands.
My bravery sweeps them away as I step closer, his eyes never leaving mine as I attempt to blank out my stupidity.
I’m a freaking virgin and I’m pretending I know what I’m doing and as I reach him, he does nothing, merely waiting for my move.
My mouth is dry, my pulse racing, and as I reach out, my hand connects with his skin, and I swallow hard.
“You’ll, um, have to help me out here because, well–”
Shame washes over me as I admit I’m all bravado, and I’m surprised when his gaze softens and he reaches out and strokes my face gently, causing a shiver of delight to ripple through my body.
“I’ll be gentle, princess.”
Tears fill my eyes, and he wipes them away, a soft smile on his face.
He says nothing and merely rests his lips against mine, his heady aftershave filling my senses, his soft touch melting any hard edges and causing me to relax.
He kisses me softly, almost with hesitation, and I relax against him, his hand slipping around my waist, pulling me against his body, dropping to my ass, his hard cock nudging against my pussy, reminding me what’s coming.
I reach up and tangle my fingers through his hair, my bravery building as he deepens the kiss and my body lights with sudden interest.
It’s as if instinct is guiding me now as I kiss him with a desperation for something I am curious about but afraid and as he pushes me down onto the bed, I close my eyes and much like inside the black room, I close my eyes against reality and prepare for the unexpected.