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The sound of his name on my lips seems to jolt him out of whatever fog he was in. His expression goes cold, and he moves off of the bed, shaking his head as he takes a step back. “That’s enough,” he says, his voice thick and rough, but firm.
“What do you mean, enough?” I demand, my voice turning suddenly high and petulant again. “We haven’t?—”
“Look.” He gestures towards the bed, the space between my thighs. “It’s good enough to prove that the marriage is consummated. We don’t need to go further.”
I blink, pushing myself up slightly. I see what he means almost immediately—there’s a splotch of red blood on the white duvet, barely the size of a quarter, but enough to prove that I’m no longer a virgin.
“You bled.” Salvatore bends down, reaching for his shirt. “You won’t need to suffer any more of my attention tonight, Gia. That will be proof enough that you’re mine.”
I stare at him, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. A moment ago, I was angry that he was going to be my first, that I was being forced to accept him—but now I’m angry for an entirely different reason. “You’re going to cheat me out of my wedding night again?” I nearly shout, my voice high and sharp with disbelief.
He’s forcibly married me, demanded we consummate it, awakened the first taste of pleasure in me, brought me to the cusp of unlocking all of the mysteries I’ve only imagined so far, and now he wants to stop?
My emotions are a flustered tangle. Now, I want to keep going, to find out if it could have continued to be that good. And I’m confused as to why Salvatore, who so clearly is aroused, would stop before he has his own pleasure.
“That’s enough.” Salvatore is buttoning his shirt, his expression closed off and hard. “I’ll leave you be for the night, Gia.”
Anger surges through me. I’m furious that I’m being managed, told what to do, treated like I’m something to be maneuvered, and then told to be silent when my opinion isn’t wanted. “What?” I mock, pushing myself up as I glare at him. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep it up long enough to come?”
Salvatore gives me a look that says I’m being ridiculous. And I know I am—all it takes is one look at the strained front of his trousers to know that there’s no question about his virility. An unexpected shiver of desire goes through me again, a longing to know how this all ends, and I narrow my eyes. “You can’t leave on our wedding night.”
“I can.” Salvatore gathers his tie and jacket. “What needed to be done has been done. We’re finished here. In the morning, I’ll take you home, and we can discuss your new role.” He strides towards the door, his attitude dismissive, and I want to scream. To throw something.
He pauses, just before he opens it. “Good night, Gia,” he says calmly. And then he’s gone. I hear the door lock behind him, and I know there’s no escaping.
I’m all alone on my wedding night. And I’ll stay that way until tomorrow.
When my jailor will return to take me to my new prison.
Salvatore
I can’t say that I regret what I’ve done. Not when I believe that it is necessary for Gia’s survival. For her future safety.
But for god’s sake, does she have to make it so fucking difficult?
I hadn’t expected her to be grateful, or even to fully believe me. It was clear from that afternoon when she came into my office that Pyotr managed to thoroughly make her believe he wanted her for herself. That theirs was some kind of forbidden romance. But I hadn’t realized just how deeply that went until tonight.
It’s a struggle to get my emotions under control as I go into the bedroom adjoining Gia’s. I hadn’t intended to spend the night with her—this isn’t a marriage of love, or one where I expect us to share a room and a bed. The quicker it was over, and the sooner she saw this as the necessary arrangement that it is, the better.
Or so I had thought.
Things had spun out of control. I grit my teeth as I close the door behind me, rubbing the flat of my palm over my stubborn erection. I’m angry that I let an eighteen-year-old girl’s taunts get the better of me. That I let her foolish fantasies about Pyotr make me jealous, as if I’m a deceived lover instead of her guardian and protector.
That, when it came down to it, I wanted her with such ferocity.
My cock throbs, refusing to ease. My pulse throbs along with it, beating hollowly in my throat, and I stride to the bar, pouring myself another shot of cognac. I down it in one gulp, and pour another.
A small part of me feels guilty for leaving her alone on her wedding night. She’s no doubt confused and emotional, still angry from what happened today and frustrated with the way the night was so abruptly cut off. But with the proof of the consummation there, I couldn’t bring myself to go further.
I’ll have to, eventually. In order to get her pregnant, I’ll have to finish what we started tonight. But I can’t do it while I want her as badly as I do right now. The guilt will eat me alive.
I need to cool down first. When emotions have settled, and I have a clearer head, I’ll be able to make it about the business of getting an heir, and nothing else. I’ll stop as many times as I need to, I tell myself, if it means not fucking her in the throes of lust.
I’m a grown man, not an animal. I can control my own desires. And when I have myself under control again, I’ll finish taking Gia’s virginity.
I toss back the second shot, pouring a third. It’s easier said than done. My head aches. My cock is hard to the point of pain. And I can’t stop thinking about the woman in the next room—my wedded wife—lying naked in bed, still wet between her thighs.
Fuck. I undo my belt angrily, flinging it to the floor, jerking down my zipper. My cock pushes free of my briefs and trousers almost immediately, impossibly hard, nearly touching my abdomen. I wrap my hand around it, hissing at the contact against my sensitive skin.
