23. Psychological Warfare
Psychological Warfare
Irolled onto my back and sat up, wincing at the tenderness the movement caused, then glanced down at the heavy diamond ring on my wedding finger.
It wasn’t a crazy dream. My life had really gone massively off script. Married to a heathen. Spanked by a heathen. Orgasmed on a heathen’s tongue and fingers. And slept in a heathen’s bed, wearing what looked like his T-shirt. I really needed to work on my self-control.
I grimaced as I turned my head, expecting to find that naked heathen sprawled beside me. When the other side of the bed was empty and unslept in, I blew out a relieved breath. Facing him would have pushed me over the edge.
Without thinking, I lifted the soft cotton fabric over my face to hide from the world and my shame.
Big mistake. His delicious scent filled my nostrils, sending my stomach on a joyride.
I’d been struggling to place it, but now my mind was free of the champagne and lust, and I was practically suffocating in it; it was unmistakable.
Oud, amber, and warmth. So heavy and hypnotic, it felt like gravity forcing me to my knees.
I dropped my t-shirt-covered face into my hands and groaned.
Last night was bad. Spectacularly bad. Scratch that. The whole day was an ever-loving nightmare. His mother was right; that man was an absolute menace.
But who was the sinner, really? The devil must have just added my name to the top of his list of potential recruits with a winky face, because not only did I allow it to happen, but I loved every damn second. I’m supposed to hate him, not beg him to spank me and make me come.
Flinging back the covers, I made my way to the bathroom, shoving away the curious thought as to where Santino was if he hadn’t slept beside me.
I didn’t care where he was. Not one bit.
The further away, the better. Maybe he’d be wealthy enough to be picked to go into space and live there.
That would significantly help get my life back on track.
Twisting in the mirror, I lifted the hem of his shirt, which swamped my body, and glanced at my ass.
There were marks. Not quite handprints, but definite redness that quickly matched the blush on my cheeks.
I ran my fingers over them and bit my lip as memories of his hands, his words, his groans of approval surfaced, along with a fluttering ache between my legs.
Somewhere inside, a sensible version of me was screaming to get myself together. So what if he was sexy as sin, kind of funny, and the best sex I’d ever had, even though we hadn’t gone all the way yet? NO. Not yet. Never.
I needed a way out of this marriage before I did something utterly stupid, like believing the man had a single good intention.
He almost had me convinced last night. Soulmates?
That was his excuse for blackmailing me into this?
He’d picked the wrong girl if he thought love-bombing and swoon-worthy speeches would work on me.
Men lied, especially to get what they wanted.
That was my mum’s life motto. He wanted to blackmail my father, and I was his best resource.
Clearly, he was hell-bent on humiliating me in the process.
I glared at the woman in the mirror. Messy hair, most of which had fallen out of the wedding updo and tangled around my shoulders, smudged makeup, and flushed cheeks. I may have looked broken, but I wasn't. It would take more than a spanking.
My phone started ringing somewhere in the bedroom, and my eyes widened. My phone! Santino had taken it from Allegra at the reception. I dashed into the bedroom, searching for it, and found it in his suit trouser pocket, draped over the chaise by the window.
“Ally!” I whisper-yelled, accepting the call and running back into the bathroom.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice strained. “Your papi has been phoning me all morning, asking whether I’d heard from you yet.”
“Si, I’m fine.” Slightly hysterical, but fine. “Are you okay? Did they get you home safely? I thought Raffaele threw your phone out of the car window?”
“He did. But that little shit turned up at my door at the crack of dawn with a replacement. Still no bloody apology though. So… what happened after you left with Santino? I’ve been so worried. He didn’t force himself on you or anything?”
“God no! Nothing like that.” My chest tightened with guilt that she and my father had been so worried. I bet they didn’t sleep a wink while I fell into an orgasm-induced coma. “I’m… okay. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head, even though she couldn’t see. Was I ready to admit it out loud and make it real? Hell no. But I didn’t want to lie to her, and she was the one person I could truly confide in without judgment. Well, a healthy amount of it.
“Ari?”
“He might have stripped in front of me and taken a shower. Then dared me to get in and fuck him. When I stood frozen, only eye-fucking him instead, he took it as me ignoring him again and… bound my wrists and legs and… spanked me, then finger-fucked me until I came. Oh, and then ate me out until I fell into a sated, comatose state. Clearly, a devious plan, so I couldn’t run away in the night. ”
Deafening silence. Then...
“You… lucky fucking bitch.”
I burst out laughing, slamming my hand over my face.
“I have never been more jealous of you in my life.”
“Stop,” I half-laughed, half-cried, feeling like I was losing my mind. “You are supposed to talk some sense into me. Tell me I’m stronger than my insane attraction to him, to stop being a slutty whore and keep my legs shut so I can use my brain to escape this nightmare.”
“Escape? Why the hell would you want to escape? I’ll switch places with you happily.”
The thought of Santino doing what he did to my best friend last night had the laughter dying in my throat, and my hand gripping the phone a little tighter.
“I’m joking,” she scoffed. “Oooh, did that make you jealous?”
“A little,” I groaned. “But that’s why this is dangerous. Last night was a mistake. I can’t let it happen again.”
“Just like the bathroom and the balcony and the massage–”
“Yes, I know! I’ve been making a lot of mistakes recently, but it ends now. I need out of this marriage, Ally. God knows what he’s going to force my father to do if I don’t find a way out of this.”
“Ah, yeah. That’s a sobering thought. Olivia said that Santino has genuine feelings for you, right? Do you not believe her?”
“You’re forgetting whose side she’s on.”
“True, but could you test the theory? He’s already promised not to hurt your father if you married him. Why don’t you, I don’t know, ask him to stop being a criminal so you can give this marriage a real go?”
I barked out a laugh. “I love you, but that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”
“Why is it?”
“Have you met the man? Pretty sure he was born a bad boy. It’s his DNA.”
“Well, your father said he’s already got a lawyer drawing up the divorce papers, so there’s that.”
“Santino won’t sign them,” I sighed.
“Not unless you give him a reason to,” she said, her tone laced with mischief. “You can’t escape him, but maybe you can make him regret marrying you. Make him believe you’re not the woman he thinks you are and you're not worth the hassle.”
A slow smile crept onto my face. “You mean be such an insufferable pain in his ass that he’ll be begging me for a divorce before the end of the week?”
“Exactly. Do everything men hate. Be needy, clingy, high-maintenance, hysterical, emotional, and annoying. Drive him nuts at every opportunity, but not so much that you know… he tries to kill you or anything. Actually, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“He won’t kill me,” I said quickly. Maybe it was foolish to believe it, but after last night, he’d at least convinced me of that. “I’m the only leverage he has against my father.”
“True. Well, is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’ll message you if I think of anything. I'd better go and start being the wife from hell.”
“Okay, have fun in your villain era! Make him suffer. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I sighed at the dozens of missed calls and texts from my papi and a few from Callum. Callum. Shit. The guilt of barely giving him a thought and leaving him high and dry at the altar without an explanation festered in my chest.
I quickly sent a message to them both so they wouldn’t worry that I was dead in a ditch somewhere, and that I’d call later when I could. I needed to build myself up to speak to my father. He was going to have questions and demand answers, which I wasn't ready to give.
I contemplated having a shower and making myself look less like a feral badger, but thought better of it. This was the perfect look for what I was going for. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, was I?
I walked out of the bedroom, padding barefoot along the corridor towards the open-plan living space.
I still couldn’t get over how stunning his apartment was.
I hadn’t expected it to feel so… lived in.
It was bold and daring, with a touch of sophistication that felt masculine yet warm.
It was very… Santino. And I didn’t hate it.
I froze when my eyes landed on the eight-foot-long dining table that was covered with a breakfast spread fit for a king. The smells of cinnamon, honey, coffee, and cooked meats filled the air, and my stomach grumbled rather embarrassingly.
“Buongiorno, moglie mia,” his voice husked against the shell of my ear as he ran his fingers up the outside of my thigh. I jumped out of my skin and turned around to glare at him. All of him.
He was wearing gym shorts and nothing else. His broad chest glistened with sweat, and his black hair was damp, curling more than usual at the tips as it fell into his eyes. He smirked and casually walked past me towards the table. “Sleep well?”