I’d held onto it, the last reminder of the only parent who had loved me. Why had I given it to her? Why had I carried it around with me since I’d met her? Had I subconsciously known that the occasion would present itself, and had wanted to be prepared? No matter. It is done. No going back now. Not that it means anything, of course. An empty gesture. It had been the most convenient solution to send a message to the Mafia that this is serious. They’ll believe I’ve swallowed their bait. They’ll see me as a sitting patsy, ready to be reeled in by them. Really, it’s a way to lure them into reveal their next hand… Meanwhile I have more pressing matters. Namely, a wife who insists on baiting me, throwing her past in my face, daring me to do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t—fuck her like I mean it.
Do I want to go through with it? Am I so taken in by her that I’ll throw all caution to the wind and transform this into a real wedding night?
She draws herself up to her full height.
I jerk my chin in the direction of the massive four-poster bed. The best money can buy, of course. I had it flown in from Russia. It belonged to some fucking Czar or the other… The fuck I care? I’d seen it at Christie’s and wanted it. The only piece of furniture in the entire suite that I had chosen. All with an eye for my relaxation, of course. I smirk.
The pillars are made of solid oak and wide enough for the purpose I have in mind.
I hadn't meant to sleep with her tonight, but she had eviscerated my carefully calculated control, something she is surprisingly skilled at doing. Too bad. She'll have to cope with the fall-out. She is going to need all that gutsiness she's shown so far to get her through the night.
"Don’t keep me waiting," I snarl.
She pales, then marches across the room to the closest post.
"Lean in, Gigi. Wrap your arms around it."
She does.
I approach her and she stiffens.
I press my palm into the small of her back and her entire body trembles. I apply enough pressure for her breasts to flatten against the surface of the post.
"Stay there," I growl.
She stands motionless.
I step toward the walk-in closet, choose a couple of ties, then turn and stalk toward her.
"What are you doing?" She half turns.
"Don’t," I command.
She pauses, then faces forward.
I cup the back of her head, turn her face, until her cheek is pressed into the wood.
"Like that. Don’t want to hurt you now, do we?"
"You’re concerned about me?"
"Only because you’re my property. You serve a purpose."
"And what’s that?"
"Haven’t you figured it out, Gigi?"
I reach over her, twist one tie around her wrists. She stiffens. "Why are you—?"
"No questions," I snap.
She purses her lips together, gazes up at me as I test the knots. Good. There’s enough leverage for her to move her wrists, so the blood circulation will not get cut off. At the same time, it’s secure enough that she can’t escape.
I step back, then twist the other around her eyes. "No, Saint—"
"Any more talking and I’ll stuff your panties in your mouth."
She wheezes. "B…but."
"Take what’s coming to you. Don’t you want to show me how good a submissive you can be?"
"You’re supposed to be taking care of my needs, you asshole."
I slap her butt.
"What the fuck—?" she howls.
"Language Gigi."
"What?"
"If you want to curse, I prefer alphahole, I’ve told you that. I won’t repeat myself again. And taking care of your desires is exactly what I’m doing.”
"Not," she huffs.
"Don’t mock it ‘til you try it, darling."
She firms her lips.
I step back, then survey my handiwork. Her back is stiff, her shoulders straight. Good. I want her to fight this. Need her to resist this. Hope she understands that this is the only way. For her? For me? Of course, I am being selfish. I get off on her pain, on how I’ll feel when I have her broken and begging and trusting only me to take care of her needs. That there is no going back now. I am her salvation. Her only hope. She has to give up her secrets to me, has to tell me why she is here. That is the only way for me to accept her… And I want that. I drag my fingers through my hair. More than anything else.
Turning, I march to the desk by the window, rummage around in the drawer, until I find what I am looking for. Clasping the pair of scissors, I walk back to stand behind her.
"Wha…what are you going to do?"
"Shh," I lean forward and lick her lips. "Trust me."
"Why…why are you saying that?" She swallows.
"You’ll see." I squat down, then take the scissors to the hem of her dress. I drag the blades upward, cutting through the fabric. I straighten, snipping away at the cloth and it parts all the way to the neckline. A final snip and the dress parts.
"If this is some warped way of punishing me—"
I laugh. "Punishing? I haven’t even started, my lovely wife."
She swallows. "Don’t…don’t call me that."
"Why not?" I switch the scissors to my other hand, then drag my knuckles across her ring.
Her fingers tremble.
"We were just married."
"I was there, you…you brute."
"Finally, your vocabulary is expanding."
I step back, then cut through the sleeves. The dress pools around her feet. Another snip, and her bra drops off. I return the scissors to the drawer, then turn back to her. The long slender column of her back meets the flare of her hips. Her long, toned legs end in those fuck-me stilettos she so favors.
I move closer. "The first time I saw you, I swore I’d have you naked and begging for my touch."
"Fuck you."
"You bet, but first—" I reach down, tear off her panties.
She screams. Her entire body curves. Her butt trembles. Her thigh muscles
