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“Gia.” He repeats my name, a command, and a shiver runs down my spine despite myself. My breath catches, and I toss my head, pulling the tie free that’s holding my hair up. I see his gaze darken as my hair falls down in thick, heavy waves around my damp shoulders.
“Should I get on the bed?” I lower my voice, making it softer, huskier. “I’m all wet.”
Something dangerous glints in his eyes. “What do you want, Gia? We can stop, if you’ve changed your mind.”
His pants are still clinging to the edge of his hips, that deep cut of muscle and the dark trail of hair that dips into them visible, just the base of his cock showing. It’s a challenge, one that I know he’s throwing out because it’s an escape for him. If I tell him no, he can retreat and continue to tell himself that this isn’t what he really wants. That taking my virginity, fucking me, is an uncomfortable duty that he’ll get around to eventually.
Fuck that. He doesn’t get to treat me that way. Not when he’s undone my whole life in order to put his own ring on my finger.
I walk to the bed, biting my lip at the sensation of the cool sheets against my damp, flushed skin. Salvatore pushes his pants the rest of the way down, letting them hit the floor, and I swallow hard as his cock springs free, the tip slapping against the hard muscle of his abdomen, leaving a faint damp gleam against his skin. I lie back against the pillows as he strides towards me, following me onto the bed as he kneels next to me.
His hand slips between my thighs, pushing my legs open as he moves between them. This close, I feel another small tremor of fear at the size of his cock, rock-hard and visibly throbbing, milky fluid pearling at the tip. He reaches up, wrapping one hand around himself and squeezing as he parts my legs. I feel a flood of hot arousal as I watch him catch that drop of pre-cum with his thumb, spreading it down his shaft as he groans low in his throat.
I lean up, reaching out to touch him. I want to feel the soft hair on his chest, scratch my nails down the ridges of his abs, feel that hot, straining flesh under my palm. But Salvatore pushes me back, his hand catching mine and moving it to one side.
“Hands at your sides, Gia.”
I frown up at him. “What if I want to touch you?”
He strokes himself once more, letting go of his cock as he exhales, his breath hissing between his teeth. “This is about consummating our marriage, Gia, not pleasure. We’ve been over this before. Lie back.”
His voice is a low growl, and I see his cock throb again, more pre-cum dripping down his shaft as he leans forward on his knees. His hand slides up my inner thigh, sending another flush of heat through me, and I gasp softly.
I try to reach for him again, and his grip on my wrist is rougher this time as he pushes my hand away, pinning it firmly to the mattress for a moment before letting go.
“I’m going to prepare you, like I did last time,” he says roughly as his hand skims up my thigh. “So I don’t hurt you when I’m inside of you.’
The words are cold, clinical. But the heat that floods through me is neither of those things, anticipation curling deep in my belly at the thought of his fingers on me, his tongue. “How are you going to prepare me?” I whisper, arching my hips upwards, my eyes widening. I see his jaw tighten, his cock twitch against his abdomen, and I know I’m getting to him. The pleasure I get from that is almost as strong as what I remember from how his hands felt on me last time. “Will you use your mouth?”
Salvatore’s breath hitches, just for a second. His lips press together, and he lets out a slow breath. “Don’t make this difficult, Gia,” he murmurs, nudging my legs further apart as his fingers stroke over the soft folds between them, and I see the pulse of his cock as his thumb parts me, pressing against my clit.
I moan, arching upwards at his touch. One brush of the pad of his thumb against me, and I know I want more than just this. I want to find out what all of it is like.
And if he doesn’t give it to me, he’s going to find out the meaning of difficult.
Salvatore
I’m hanging on by a thread.
I’ve never known sexual frustration like what Gia makes me feel. Every inch of my body feels wound tight, muscles rigid with the effort of holding back, my cock hard to the point of pain. I want to tell myself that it’s just deprivation, but I’ve gone longer than this most recent dry spell without sex before, and been fine.
It’s her. It’s been her since I took off her wedding dress one button at a time. Since I saw her undress in our suite the night of our wedding, and found that the stubborn, willful, fiery woman I married was nothing like the girl I thought I walked to the altar.
The desire I feel for her feels like a living thing, churning through my veins, burning me up. I bite back a groan when I slide my fingers between her thighs, feeling her slick heat against the pad of my thumb, her body instantly responding to the touch.
If she’s so responsive to just that, what would it be like to pleasure her the way I want to?
I want her desperately, and it’s only getting worse. We’re in this bed now because she’s right about one thing—I will need an heir, and if the tension between us stays the way it has been for all of this vacation, I’m going to lose my mind. I wondered from the moment she walked out of the bathroom on the private jet in those shorts and little yellow blouse if I’d made a mistake. Here, I can’t put distance between us the way I can at the mansion. There’s not enough space to cool down when she winds me up.
The last thing I should have done was take her to a tropical destination. I should have taken her to fucking Antarctica, where she’d be buried under five layers of clothing. Instead, she’s in this huge, white-sheeted bed, damp and gorgeous, the scents of salt and lemon and chlorine filling the room, writhing under my touch as I rub my thumb against her clit.
Just take her virginity and get it over with, I growl at myself. If I can control my own fucking lust, I can make it about the duty that it’s meant to be, and not my own pleasure. I run through all my justifications in my head—that I married her to protect her, and as long as she’s still technically a virgin, she could still be stolen back. That a don needs an heir, and it’s her job as my wife to provide that. That if I get this over with, and give her what she’s demanding, she’ll let it go.
She will have won. That’s what really matters to her in this scenario, I tell myself, struggling to keep my thoughts from blurring. She’s squirming against my hand, panting, and my cock throbs, hard enough to nearly bring tears to my eyes. I need to be inside of her more than I need to breathe.
Give her what she wants. Then this will be over, and we’ll be able to have the physically distant marriage that I planned for—perfunctory sex to get her pregnant, and nothing else.
The thought of sex with this woman being reduced to perfunctory makes my body rebel in every part of me. But I’m stronger than my own desires. I’m not an animal to be ruled by my lust.
