24. I Should Have Made More Rules #2
“Do you really want me to stop?” I husked, slipping my fingers into the waistband of her joggers and gliding them along the elastic. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes filling with desire and torment, my favourite combination. “Or would you prefer to touch me?”
Her eyes brightened, and then she did something I wasn’t expecting her to be brave enough to do yet.
She wrapped her hand around my throat and shoved me back against my chair.
I groaned as she slipped off the table and straddled my lap, pressing her fingers against my pulse point.
My cock ground against the heat of her pussy, and I shifted my hips, rolling them into her to make those crystal eyes widen with desire.
Her lips parted, and she tightened her grip on my neck.
“Who do you want me to be, Santino?” she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction. “Do you want me to be your obedient, submissive little wife who does everything you tell me to? Or do you want me to be your Bella Ribelle?”
A slow, mischievous smile spread across my face as I gripped her hips and pulled her closer, making her gasp as I dragged her pussy along my length.
“I just want you. You can be my perfect, submissive wife whenever you want.
But keep being my Bella Ribelle. Fight me if you must. I enjoy having to remind you who you belong to. "
She dragged her nails down my throat, scraping my skin and leaving marks.
They clawed down my shirted chest to my belt.
I stared at her, my head relaxed back against the chair, and let her touch me.
Fuck, I had been dying for her touch since I first laid eyes on her.
She shifted back so her nails could drag along the outline of my cock, and I hissed, needing so much more.
“As my husband, you should probably know something,” she whispered, leaning in as if she were about to kiss me. “I have a terrible gag reflex, and I hate sucking dick. It makes me physically sick to my stomach.”
I blinked at her, my brain stuttering to a halt because her words didn’t match her actions. Her fingers teased my cock while she told me she’d never suck my dick. Was this some new torture technique?
“If your dick came anywhere near my mouth, I'd probably throw up on it or bite it off. Neither would be pretty.”
I’m sorry… what the fuck was happening?
“I guess we both won’t be fulfilling each other’s needs.” She smiled, tapped me on the cheek, and then climbed off my lap. “Have fun at your meeting, Amore. I'll be here waiting for you like your obedient little wife.”
I highly doubted that.
The meeting ran longer than I’d planned, which was fitting, seeing as nothing seemed to go my way today.
By the time I parked my bike in the garage, it was already dark, and I was frustrated.
I’d spent the first day of our marriage working, but there was no way out of it.
Rome was my territory, and if I didn’t keep it secure, it would be taken from under my feet.
If one thing was a given, no one took anything from me.
I yanked off my helmet and gloves, groaning at another incoming text on the burner phone meant for Aria to contact me only in emergencies.
The other source of my frustration. After the first, second, and third texts asking me how to turn the heating on, where I kept the batteries, and whether I preferred sourdough bread to normal, I realised she had no idea what an emergency meant.
And it was embarrassing having to interrupt the meeting over and over to check my phone, just in case that one time there really was something wrong, but no. It was more of this shit.
Why do you have so many guns in your apartment? I keep finding them everywhere.
Do not touch my guns, Aria.
Remember, this phone is meant for emergencies.
I can’t find a pair of decent scissors. I’ve checked three drawers.
Check the other ten.
Not urgent. But just wanted to let you know I found the scissors.
I repeat. This phone is for emergencies.
When are you coming back?
Soon.
Vague. What are you doing?
Still in a meeting. I'll be back in an hour.
Is your meeting in a strip club?
No.
Convincing.
I reorganised your office. Hope you don’t mind. Also, matches?
What about matches?
For scented candles, duh.
I don’t have any candles.
You do now. What’s mine is yours, husband.
I threw my head back and let out a loud groan as a new text arrived.
We are out of milk.
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I entered the lift, trying to compose myself. She was just bored. I couldn’t be irritated with her because I’d left her alone all day with only Big Toni, I mean Belio, outside the door.
The moment I walked into the penthouse, a gust of heat melted my face. Belio looked overcome with relief to see me as he wiped sweat off his forehead.
“Why the fuck is it so hot in here?” I growled, storming towards the thermostat to find she had turned it up to an insane temperature for an autumn evening in Italy.
“She said her feet were cold. Also, there have been a number of deliveries, Boss. Things Signora Buccini ordered." He gave me an odd look. "All checked and secure.”
“Grazie, you can go.” I nodded at him, and he immediately chucked off his jacket while waiting for the lift, desperate to escape the sauna before he passed out from overheating.
“Arianna,” I called, moving to the bedroom first to find her clothes spewed everywhere as if she had been reorganising the dressing room but became distracted mid-way through. I walked inside and stopped dead.
All my pristine, tailored black, white, and grey shirts had been replaced with bright, flamboyant silk abominations that belonged backstage at a theatre production.
I stared, trying to decide whether she just had ?catastrophic taste in men's clothes or she was deliberately trying to get a reaction out of me.
I walked back into the messy bedroom and my eyes caught on the new hot pink, lacy underwear set on the bed, along with the mammoth pink strap-on, lube, and anal toys. There was a note next to them.
If you change your mind, husband. I think pink's your colour.
I covered my eyes with my hand, feeling a migraine coming on. Belio would have signed off on the delivery of this shit. No wonder he looked at me as if I’d grown a second head.
I picked up a half-drunk coffee mug from the side table and headed for the living room.
More insanity followed. Another four half-full coffee mugs, which I dumped into the sink, and I spotted the jar of milk on the counter, left out of the fridge.
So we needed more milk because she forgot to put it back?
I shook my head, turning to assess the unwelcome changes she’d made to my home.
The main ones were fairy lights hanging around my art canvases, weird decorative objects like a single fake lemon in a bowl, and scatter cushions fucking everywhere.
I picked one up with a frown. Good Vibes Only. Another. Live, Laugh, Love.
Fuck my life.
“Arianna!”
“In here!”
I twisted, turning towards my slightly ajar office door.
I pushed it open and stared. My office was no longer the same room I’d left it.
The desk had been pushed up against the wall, and every surface had been cleared and replaced with candles and burning incense sticks.
The lights were dimmed, and in the middle of the room was my wife, wearing tight leggings and a sports bra, balancing on a pink foam mat in a strange position to music that belonged at some hippy wellness retreat.
“Oh, you’re finally home,” she breathed, not looking at me but moving into a squat. “Murder anyone today, husband?”
“Not yet. But there’s still time.”
“What was that? You were mumbling?”
“Nothing. I did show you the gym, right?” I asked, pointing my thumb over my shoulder. “It’s just down there.”
“The vibes are all wrong in there. This room has a much calmer energy. It’s perfect.”
“It’s my office,” I stated evenly, just in case that small point had completely bypassed her brain.
“There’s enough space for it to be both an office and a yoga studio, don’t you think? Sharing is caring.”
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Where was Cher when I needed her?
“This is my office, Aria. I need this space to… work. To think. You’ll have to find somewhere else to breathe and balance.”
She ignored me, exhaling a slow breath as she stayed in her squatting position.
Being a warm-blooded male, I found my frustration slipping into horniness as I took a proper look at her.
Her ass looked fantastic in those leggings, and her tits…
that sports bra was barely holding them in.
I leaned against the doorframe, folded my arms, and watched.
“So what do you call this pose?”
She cracked open an eye, gave me a sideways glance, then tried to focus again. “The chair.”
I bobbed my head. “It’s working. You look exactly like a chair.”
She laughed. For the first time since I’d forced her down the aisle, she gave me a genuine laugh, losing her composure completely. She slammed her hand over her mouth before she cleared her throat and sank back into position.
“Go away. You’re distracting me.”
“You can practice squatting on my face if you’d like.”
“Pervert.”
“Downward dog is a good position. Do that one next.”
When she realised I wouldn’t leave, she gave up. She straightened, placed her hands on her hips and faced me with an overly enthusiastic smile. “So, what do you think of the place? I wanted to make it feel more like home. Do you like it?”
"It's... overwhelming. Let me guess, I paid for it all?" Which means I'd have no problem returning it.
"Of course. With that lovely black card. But it's the thought that counts, right?"
"So the thought process behind the fluorescent silk shirts?"
"You wear too much black. Life is not a funeral, Santino."
“The pillows have quotes.”
“Think of them as aspirational.”
“There are a lot of candles in here. Big fire hazard.”
“They’re tranquil lotus.”
“Don’t think that makes them less of a fire hazard.”