22. Punish Me
Punish Me
Holy shit, my husband was so ridiculously hot it should be illegal. He’s also a confessed murderer, Arianna. That's very illegal.
M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R.
But…
That tattooed chest. Those biceps I wanted to bite. Abs carved like marble. Tanned skin. Deep V. Muscular thighs. Veins. Scars. Firm ass. Pierced, beautiful, hard dick. Un-fucking-fair for anyone to look this good naked.
My brain basically checked out as I watched the water glide down that body of perfection. The only things still online were my eyes and my vagina, both of which were mesmerised by the view while the rest of me stood there like a glitching statue.
“Are you ignoring me again?”
I blinked, peeling my eyes away from his dick to his arrogant, cocky, stupidly handsome face.
What happened? Oh. He’d dared me to join him in there and…
fuck him. For an absurd second, I let my mind wander into dangerous territory.
Would it be so bad if I did? A dick had never made my mouth water before.
The thought of it in my mouth… holy fuck.
Or his hands tearing my dress off, our skin wet and slick against each other as he took me up against the tiles.
My hands tugged at his hair as he muttered filthy Italian words in my ear.
How would it feel to have a man as wild as him inside me?
How would it feel to be claimed by a man who’d killed someone for even thinking of doing horrific things to me?
It shouldn’t turn me on. But my God, it did.
I was going to hell. Or perhaps this was it.
I was already there, trapped in the realm of lust.
I blinked away the fantasy when I heard the water turn off, realising I’d been in a trance, blatantly ogling him and refusing to move or speak.
My eyes met his dark, burning pits of black fire, and I gulped, my pussy throbbing beneath my dress.
He reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist, hiding the temptation of his dick from view, and I nearly whimpered.
My mind cleared just enough to realise what I’d done as he stepped towards me with the slow prowl of a predator. He picked up his belt and bowtie from the floor, and my eyes widened.
“I wasn’t ignoring you, I—”
“Too late,” he growled, flipping me over his shoulder and striding into the bedroom. My hands slapped at his wet back muscles, one landing on his firm ass by accident, and he groaned. “You really want that punishment, don’t you?”
Yes. Punish me. What? Wait. No.
“Santino! Wait! Please,” I begged as he threw me down on the bed.
My body bounced onto the soft mattress in my wedding dress, and I gasped, staring up at him at the foot of the bed, looking like the sexiest, most intimidating man I’d ever seen. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and I twisted away, scrambling across the mattress.
He grabbed my ankles and yanked me back to him.
I kicked and wrestled against him, but he was so strong.
Before I could escape, he straddled my hips, had my wrists pinned together over my head, and was tying his bowtie around them.
Then his belt was fastened around my thighs, keeping them together.
I was flung over his lap, and my tulle and lace skirt was shoved over my head, trapping me in a sea of white.
“Santino! Let me go,” I screamed, trying to wriggle free from this humiliating position, but I froze when I felt one of his hands caress my ass while the other held me in place.
“Look at that,” he laughed, his voice so deep and gravelly it sent a pulse through my pussy. It was embarrassing how wet I was, and I really, really didn’t need him to find out with his fingers so close. “Pretending you don't want it… until I touch you.”
My breathing was erratic, sweat beading on my forehead beneath the heaviness of my dress as I tried to throw it off, but it was impossible.
I couldn’t see anything. I could only hear his voice and feel his hands.
The warmth and hardness of his thighs and cock pressing into my stomach beneath his towel made all thoughts fall out of my head.
“Please,” I whimpered, making one more half-assed attempt to worm free from under my dress and off his lap.
“Pick a safe word, Bella Ribelle.” His voice was low and infuriatingly gruff, sending a shiver down my spine.
I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. I couldn’t give in to this. I didn’t know what he had in store for me, but my body was my worst enemy for wanting to find out so badly. I couldn’t want something so depraved.
“Safe word, or I’ll pick one for you,” he husked, running his hand over my ass, his fingers slipping under the pretty lace thong.
“Piadina,” I whispered, hating myself for it, for so many things, but mostly for how much I knew I wouldn’t use that word.
Perhaps he was right. A part of me wanted to be his beautiful rebel, so I could see how far he’d take this. How much I should fear him or… trust him. Yes, I was scared, but I was also extremely aroused, and… I wanted this. Whatever this was.
“Brava, use it if you need it, and I’ll stop.” His fingers traced the curve of my ass, and I bit my lip as he squeezed it, then gave it a light slap. “Do you trust that I’ll stop?”
I nodded, my body trembling with anticipation.
“Words, Aria.”
“Si. If I say piadina, you’ll stop,” I moaned, and he gave my ass another slight slap, making it jiggle.
He groaned, a sound so full of approval. “Now be my good girl and stay still.”
He squeezed my ass again, harder this time, his hand running over me, dipping between my legs and up to the small of my back as my body vibrated with the need for more.
More of what? I wasn’t sure. I just needed his hands on me.
I smashed my face into the mattress—or my dress; I didn’t know which—as I clenched my fists and moaned when his fingers glided over the fabric stretched taut against my pussy.
“You should see how perfect you look like this. Completely mine and at my mercy. I can feel how wet you are through these,” he groaned, pressing his fingers against my clit, then leaving me trembling as he removed them just as quickly.
Then it came. A hard smack on my ass. The sting of his hand left my back arching and a squeal escaping my lips. The mortification was replaced by shock as my pussy clenched with need in response.
“Did you really think I’d let you wear this dress for anyone else?” he growled, rubbing circles into the sensitive ass cheek he’d just slapped.
My muffled moans echoed around the room as he continued teasing against the seam of my underwear, then grabbed a handful of my ass, digging his fingers into my flesh. I whimpered and shook my head, unsure whether he expected an answer. I could barely give one.
“That I’d let you marry another man?” Another hard smack landed on my other cheek, sending a sharp shock of pleasure straight to my pussy. I cried out, my hips bucking against him, and he held them still. Another slap came just as quickly when I didn’t answer.
“No,” I cried, shaking my head into the bedding.
The moment I’d read his note in the flowers, the shocking reality hit me like a lightning strike.
I wouldn’t have gone through with marrying Callum.
Partly because of Santino’s threat, but also, more selfishly, because I knew I’d never feel the intense lust and desire that Santino provoked in me with Callum.
“Why not?”
I whimpered as two more smacks came hard and fast; the pain making my mouth fall open. Then he rubbed his hand gently, leaving only pleasure behind.
“Why not, Aria?”
“Because… he wasn’t you.”
He groaned, that rugged, hot sound of approval rippling from his chest as his fingers dipped between my thighs, rubbing softly over my pussy. I squirmed in his lap, panting hard, and his fingers stopped. “Stay still.”
I tried my best, biting my dress when another hard smack came down on my ass.
“Did you want me to come and steal you away, Aria?”
Oh God, oh God. My pussy was pulsing, needing attention, and I couldn’t stop rubbing my thighs together to gain some friction.
“Please,” I whimpered, never needing to come so much in my life.
“Do you like testing me? Being punished by me?” His hands ran up and down the curve of my ass and along the seam of my underwear, teasing at the waistband.
“Yes,” I moaned. God, what was I saying? I liked this? Fuck, I really liked this. And that was just… insanity. All rational, responsible thoughts had just jumped out of the penthouse window.
“Only I get to see you like this. Only me. No one else. You’re mine,” he growled, slipping my underwear down over my ass.
The soft fabric felt like sandpaper against my raw skin.
The air on my exposed pussy made me whimper, while his words echoed in my mind, igniting a memory of him saying them at the gala while he finger-fucked me on the balcony.
How did I keep ending up in positions like this?
Christ alive, I needed serious evaluation.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Oh, was it possible to come from spanking? Why the hell did submission and climbing to the height of intense pleasure and pain feel so good?
Another slap, so close to my pussy yet nowhere near where I needed it, had me crying out, tears leaking from my eyes.
It was too much and too intense. My safe word was lodged in my throat.
How could I be enjoying this? Letting a man—who stole me from the altar, forced me to marry him by threatening everyone I cared about, and admitted to murder—spank me and I wanted more? When had I become so messed-up?
I wanted to be his rebel, but I also wanted his praise.
I wanted to be rewarded. And that outweighed all the logic telling me I should end this.
This wasn’t even about punishment. It was about possession.
He was proving to me that he owned my body.
My pain. My pleasure. He commanded them.
And I was letting him. Because… he’d never truly hurt me if I didn’t want him to.