Chapter Seven #3
Thick. Hard. Already leaking at the tip, the head flushed dark.
The sight of it made my stomach drop and my empty pussy clench around nothing.
He wrapped one hand around the shaft and stroked once, twice, slow and deliberate, while the entire room watched.
Then he dragged the head through my folds, coating himself in the wetness he had forced from me, and notched himself against my entrance.
I felt every inch of the blunt pressure.
His eyes were impossibly darker, the cold mask firmly in place. There was no heat in them for me as a person. Only the focused intent of a man who had decided to break a body open in public and make it thank him for it.
He fisted the chains that bound my wrists and yanked them above my head to keep me secure in place as he prepared to rip my virginity from me. Then he pushed in.
The stretch was brutal. I was tight from the orgasm, fluttering, and he was thick enough that the first thick inch burned like fire. My back arched. He did not stop. He kept pressing forward, slow and relentless, forcing my body to take him while the entire underworld watched.
Men in the front rows shifted again. One cursed under his breath. Another’s hand moved faster between his legs. The stranger ignored all of it. His focus stayed locked on the place where his body disappeared into mine, cold and precise, even as sweat began to gather at his temples.
“Fuck,” he said, the word the first real crack in that icy control, quiet. “Tight pussy. Taking your new husband’s cock like it was made for this moment.”
He bottomed out with a final, deep thrust that punched the air from my lungs. I felt him everywhere, stretching me, owning me, the heavy weight of his body pinning me open. Tears streamed down my temples. The chains dug into my wrists as I clenched my fists above my head.
Somewhere in the crowd a man groaned openly. Another laughed, dark and breathless. The auctioneer had gone completely silent.
Matteo stayed buried to the hilt for three long heartbeats, letting every watching pair of eyes see the exact place where his body disappeared into mine. Then he pulled almost all the way out, so far that only the head remained inside me, and slammed back in.
The sound was filthy. Wet. Obscene.
My cry echoed off the high ceiling. He set a merciless rhythm, deep, hard, claiming strokes that rocked the platform beneath us and forced broken sounds out of me with every thrust. One of his hands pinned my bound wrists above my head.
The other gripped my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me while he fucked me in front of the Five Families.
His face stayed almost expressionless. Only the tight set of his jaw and the controlled power in every thrust betrayed how deliberate he was being.
He was turning me on… and doing it on purpose.
Every angle, every grind against my clit, every deep stroke was chosen to force pleasure out of a body that did not want to give it.
“Take it,” he said against my mouth, voice cold. “Every inch. They’re watching me fill what I bought. Make me proud, wife.”
I hated how my body started to respond again, how the sharp burn melted into something darker that made my inner walls flutter and clutch around him, how my nipples tightened and my clit throbbed every time his pelvis ground against it.
“There,” he murmured. “Your body knows better than you do. Clenching around a man who you don’t even know.”
He shifted the angle, hitting a place deep inside me that made white sparks explode behind my eyes. My back bowed.
The crowd reacted harder. Several hands were openly moving now.
One of the older dons shifted in his seat with a rough exhalation, eyes fixed on the wet place where the Matteo’s disappeared into me over and over.
He did not look at them. He kept his gaze on my face, watching every unwilling flicker of pleasure like data he was collecting.
“Come on my cock,” he ordered, voice flat, almost bored. “Right here. In front of all of them. Let them see what happens when I decide to teach a virgin to come on a real cock.”
My body was climbing, traitorously, helplessly.
For one fractured second I had a choice.
I could keep fighting the rising heat, keep denying him and the watching men the full sound of my breaking.
Or I could stop fighting and take the only power left to me: the power to look him in the eyes while it happened.
I chose the second.
I forced my eyes open, locked them on his cold, dark stare, and let the orgasm tear through me with my gaze fixed on the man who was claiming me. If they were going to watch me come apart, they would watch me do it looking at the man who made it happen.
He reached between us and found my clit with his thumb, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation was too much. The stretch, the public eyes, the heavy weight of the ring on my finger, the knowledge that Camilla’s safety hung on my obedience, everything crashed together.
I came with a shattered cry, walls locking down around him so hard he cursed under his breath and drove into me even deeper.
My vision whited out. My thighs shook violently around his hips.
He fucked me through it, relentless, cold, precise, while my orgasm milked him.
The watching men made no attempt to hide their reactions now.
Low groans, the wet sound of hands on cocks, the creak of chairs as bodies shifted for a better view. Matteo Ventura did not care. He simply kept moving, using my aftershocks against me, grinding deep until the oversensitivity tipped back into fresh, impossible need against my will.
“Again,” he said against my mouth, voice controlled. “You’re going to come again. They’re going to watch a stranger force it out of you a second time.”
“I can’t. Please. It’s too much. I don’t even know who you are,” I hissed.