Chapter 13 Caterina
Caterina
The mixture of rejection and vulnerability I feel during the shower is weighing me down after a stressful day and an anxious two years, but I refuse to let it show when I step out of the bathroom dressed in pajamas.
Screw Aunt Celia’s other shower gift, the slinky nightgown to match the horrible panties.
Alessio is leaned against the headboard, shirtless, looking at his phone and taking up a surprising amount of space for such a large bed. I pause, not sure what to do or say.
“If you think I’m going to sleep on the floor of my own bedroom, you can think again,” he says without looking up.
I nod and walk around to the far side he’s left me. Furthest from the door, it’s the side I would’ve chosen, but I suppose that doesn’t matter to him. My jack knife sits on my nightstand, the pearl on the handle glimmering in the lamplight. He obviously picked it up and put it there.
“I approve of the inscription - blood for blood.” I shiver and he smirks. “Tuck it under your pillow if you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to walk around on eggshells, and I don’t expect you to like everything about me, but I won’t tolerate lies from you, Caterina.” His voice is deadly as he levels me with a glare. I nod, unable to speak.
Moving toward the bed, I try to soothe my rattled nerves.
How can he speak as though I’m supposed to be relaxed around him?
He’s shown himself to be scary and unpredictable.
He would’ve shot Nico in cold blood today if I hadn’t stopped him.
On the other hand, I cling to the hope he doesn’t really want to harm me.
Even if he dislikes me, he saved my life earlier.
I pull back the covers to climb in and freeze.
Mr. Whiskers, my stuffed kitty I’ve had since I was three, stares up at me with his black button eyes.
I’d packed him last week, not wanting him left on some forgotten shelf in an empty bedroom, but hadn’t thought much about him since then.
I’d planned to put him in a drawer full of clothes meant for Chicago winters where Alessio would never see him.
“Found that in one of your suitcases while you were in the shower.”
“You went through my things?”
“Had to check for more concealed weapons. Between that and the book of fairytales I found, I should send you down to sleep in the fucking nursery.”
I should dare him to do it. But I can’t bring myself to fight or provoke him further when all I can think about is how this is my second night in Las Vegas, I’m far from the only home I ever knew and married to a man who wants my brother dead at the very least, and a ragged stuffed animal is the only piece of home I have to comfort me.
Curling up on the very edge of the bed, I hold Mr. Whiskers to my chest, struggling to hold in the sobs that want to come. It’s a losing battle.
“Are you going to cry for long?”
The first of several great, gasping sobs escapes with his question. My head and stomach hurt from trying to control them. I wish I could disappear. Alessio presses his palm against my back, and I flinch so violently I tumble off the bed.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, leaning over the edge and heaving me back up as though I weigh nothing at all.
Once I’m back in bed, he climbs over me.
Panic kicks in. Every reflex is primed, ready to fight and ready for pain…
until he plops Mr. Whiskers down on my chest and rolls back to his side.
“Calm down. I’m not forcing you to do anything.
Dry your eyes and, for fuck’s sake, let me sleep. ”
He extinguishes the lights and, while his tone was harsh, his actions cause that little spark of hope I shouldn’t wish for to rekindle. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I stroke the fuzzy head of my old stuffed kitty, soothing myself until sleep claims me.
***
When I wake, dawn is peeking through the curtains.
I’m warm and comfortable though my eyes are matted from dried tears and my abdomen twinges with a familiar ache.
Mr. Whiskers is still nestled against my chest while I’m pressed against a solid mountain range…
of man. Oh. He’s not facing me, but I evidently rolled in my sleep and my arm is slung over his hip. Oh shit.
Gingerly, I move my arm back and try rolling the other direction. “Awake at last?” His voice is gravelly. Enticingly so.
“Yes, I…” I clear my throat. “How did you sleep?”
“Like shit,” he huffs, rolling to his back.
“Not used to sharing a bed.” My face grows hot and not just because he basically admitted he didn’t enjoy sleeping next to me but also because of the way the sheets are tented over his hips.
“What are you looking at, kitten?” he asks. He caught me staring.
“Um… you.” My cheeks blaze with fresh heat when that same dangerously sexy smirk from last night in the bathroom appears.
It leaves me flustered. “You might not be used to sleeping beside someone, but you were my first kiss yesterday. I’ve never been around a man like this.
I’ve never seen one naked except for you.
” Something darkly pleased appears in his eyes.
“I’ve never even touched a man, not intimately. ”
“Well, as a married woman, why don’t you rectify that?” He throws back the covers. The blast of cooler air makes me shiver. Or maybe it’s the sight of his raging erection pressed against his boxer shorts. “Grab your knife. It might bite you,” he taunts.
Bolder in the morning light, I’m in no mood for his taunting.
I am a Morelli, and I am stronger than either of us knows.
I sit up, laying Mr. Whiskers aside and pushing my hair back.
Then, I bring my hand to hover over the waistband of his boxers.
Our eyes lock, and I see the challenge in his. He doesn’t think I’ll do it.
“My brothers always called me Curious Cat. I’ll admit I’m curious about some of your parts,” I tell him as I peel back his boxers.
He grins over me using that term again as he lifts his hips to aid my progress.
Free of restraint, it bounces up, the head thick and engorged with blood.
The silver ring through the end is the first thing I feel compelled to touch.
“If you yank on that…” he growls in warning.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Despite being married to a De Luca, I’m not feeling particularly suicidal this morning.”
Dark humor lights up his eyes and, carefully, I trace the curve of the ring downward. But, when I reach his heated flesh, I feel compelled to look away. God, he’s like a bonfire. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m willingly doing this.
“Look at me when you’re touching me.” The murmured words send a flutter down into my chest and a fissure of arousal racing through me, cracking apart my fear. That ache between my legs from earlier grows more intense and my stomach cramps up.
Swallowing hard, I wrap my hand around him, gauging his size, wondering how the hell he’s going to fit inside of me.
My mother wouldn’t even allow me to use tampons for fear of it somehow possibly breaking my hymen.
He’s enormous compared to that. It’s the oddest balance of soft and hard, too.
The skin is so velvety, but he’s iron underneath.
My eyes slide up his body, wanting to see his expression.
I note the way his stomach muscles tense ever so slightly when I rub downward.
I repeat the motion and his jaw is clenched.
It gives me that same sense of power the knife gives me when I hold it.
“Thank you for indulging me.” I release my hold on his cock as if I’ve been petting a neighbor’s dog, but my palms are sweaty, and my heart is pounding. He growls in irritation. He’s disappointed I let go. That pleases me more than he might guess. “There were a few other parts I was curious about.”
One corner of his mouth tugs upwards, and it makes my heart pound all the harder. Back to exploring, I touch his chest, his shoulders, his abs, admiring his muscles, bewitched by his strength. He lays back on his pillow, pretending it doesn't matter to him what I do, but I know better now.
On the inside of his left wrist, I see a burn scar, an ugly thing partially hidden by one of his tattoos. There’s a similar one on his right wrist. “What’s this from?” I ask, lightly touching one.
He grips my wrist so fast and hard I yelp. “Leave that be.”
With a frightened nod, I retract my hand. Alessio sits up, his fierce look from a moment ago ebbing away like the tide. He gently strokes my wrist, an apology of sorts. “You have parts I’m curious about as well, wife. If you’re brave enough…”
Well, wasn’t that the unexpected magic phrase? I stiffen my spine and lay back on the bed. “You can touch me, but I don’t want to have sex.”
“Ever?” he asks, half a scoff and half a groan. “You can’t really expect that to-”
“Not this morning, not yet,” I clarify.
“When then?”
I bite my bottom lip, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. He’s been humoring me, but I can’t keep him at arm’s length forever. I’m not certain I want to considering how much I liked touching him. “Soon?”
“You sound as convinced as a woman deciding to get her nipples pierced on a whim,” he chuckles.
“Ouch?”
“Lie back, Caterina. Nothing I do will hurt.”
I expect him to touch my breasts or maybe even shove his hand down my pajama bottoms.
Instead, he rubs my bottom lip again like he did last week in the bridal shop.
How can I feel that everywhere? He explores more of my lips and then my cheeks, traces my eyebrows and nose.
His touch is gentle, surprisingly so. But, it’s lighting fires under my skin, fueling a burning need I never knew existed in me.
The warm, slightly rough feel of his fingers, I want him to touch more of me.
His fingers caress my throat and the bit of chest left uncovered by my top.
The pangs of desire grow more and more difficult to ignore.
I wiggle my hips, needing to find relief, and he’s fighting a smile.
“Did you need to go to the toilet, Caterina?” I shake my head.
He makes a humming sound. He knows I’m turned on.
For what feels like ages, he remains in the same areas before moving on to my shoulders.
Every new part of me Alessio touches welcomes the sensation of his simple caresses.
I’m relaxed and receptive to more, I realize, something I wouldn’t have pictured possible a day ago thinking of being in bed with this man.
When his fingers graze over one of my breasts at last, I gasp and press my thighs together.
His blue eyes flick up to mine, and he determinedly unbuttons my top, pushing it back to expose me.
I’m surprised that the desire to cover myself never appears.
“These parts I’m particularly curious about,” he rumbles, and I can barely hold back a plea for more.
But he doesn’t touch them yet. He hoists himself up, his fists on either side of my shoulders as he leans over me.
Lowering himself, little by little, he comes closer until his lips meet mine.
This kiss, our third, is the best yet. It’s full of heat and hunger like the first, but there’s that hint of sweetness to it like the second. Is kissing always this lovely?
I run my fingers through his hair, losing myself in the sensation. His prickly yet soft chest hair rubs across my breasts, stimulating my nipples. A moan slips free of my mouth. His hips buck against me, and the way his erection rubs over my nub makes me moan again. Louder.
But it also makes me push at his chest. “I need to breathe and… this is too fast.”
“Too fast?” I can tell he considers this the opposite of fast, but he doesn’t say anything hurtful this time. “I won’t fuck you, alright? We’re just touching. You’re even more beautiful looking so thoroughly kissed.”
I can only trust his word though my lips do feel swollen.
I give him an uncertain nod and, with a dark smile, he slides back down the bed until his mouth can capture one of my nipples.
Immediately, my back arches, and my heels dig into the mattress.
Why did no one ever tell me this felt so good?
With gentle suction, he runs his tongue around the bud and then does the same to the other, his ministrations igniting a powerful quivering ache deep within. I feel like I could climax…
I squeak when Alessio bites down on my nipple, just enough pain to promise a darker pleasure, and then his hand is suddenly slipping down into my pajama bottoms. With a gasp, I allow him to spread my thighs with ease.
No one’s ever put their hand down there except me.
I’m not sure if I’ll like it. Too fast, too fast, too fast. Yet, I can’t get the words out.
“So wet, kitten.” He strokes my slit, hovering near my clit and robbing me of my senses. I want more. “Do you want to come?”
My mouth falls open even though I’m not sure of my answer.
The next instant, my eyes widen in horror when he pulls his fingers free of my pants. They’re all bloody. “What did you do to me?!” I whimper. I never thought the briefest swipe of his fingers might do that.
He gives me and his fingers a puzzled look before sitting up and laughing. “Fucking hell, what timing.”
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks - the twinge in my abdomen earlier, the cramping sensation. “It’s just my period,” I whisper, mortified. I started the pill last month but with everything from the wedding I wasn’t paying attention to my cycle. I burn with humiliation.
“Relax. As I understand it, you’ll survive.” Then, Alessio locks eyes with me and licks his bloody fingers clean.
“Oh, my god!” I shriek, disgusted. “You’re gross!”
He falls back on the bed laughing so hard he might pee himself over my reaction. I spring out of bed and see the tell-tale splotch of blood on white sheets, like the red rose petals on white carpet yesterday for all to see.
Looking through a suitcase for clean clothes, I ignore the asshole I married who’s still amused by my embarrassing predicament. I’ve barely started toward the bathroom when someone knocks on our door. I freeze, staring at Alessio like a deer caught in headlights.
“It’s just Bibi and probably a maid coming to collect our sheets. Looks like our fathers will get bloody ones after all.”
“OH MY GOD!” I shriek again, storming into the bathroom and ready to die there before I face him again.