AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I think you’d like to fuck me while I’m drunk. We could be so reckless,” she whispers.
“No.” I shake my head, starting to panic. I’ve made it clear how I feel about her drinking.
“Come on, don’t be mad.” She pouts. “I had to do something to make me feel better, I’ve been feeling so sick since you left. I thought I had the stomach flu, but the alcohol’s really taken the edge off.” She lifts her hips off the mattress toget the friction she needs and I quickly stand up and put some space between us.
“You shouldn’t be drinking, what if you’re pr—” I manage to stop myself just in time. “What if something had happened to you while I was out of state?” I run my hands through my hair in frustration, I swear to God every member of my staff will pay for this. They were given strict instructions to follow before I left.
“I thought this was how arranged marriages worked. The husband plays away and the wife gets drunk, we perform for the people that put us together, let them think they did good.” She gets up on her knees and moves to the edge of the bed to be closer to me.
“I can see how mad you are, you want to punish me sobad.” She tilts her head and continues to taunt me. “Dario, I want you to. I like how you make hurting me, feel. I take pleasure in your pain. It’s the one part of our marriage that I don’t have to fake.”
I picture taking her dainty little neck in my hand and fucking snapping it for the words she’s saying to me. This is not the woman I’ve spent four days fucking missing.
I pick up my slacks from the floor and quickly slide them back on, heading out the door and putting more space between us before I do something I regret.
I heard what she just said about feeling sick the past few days, that, along with a missed period is a classic sign of pregnancy. What she did today didn’t just put herself in danger, it could have harmed our baby too, and what's worse about it all, is that she did it unknowingly, and all this is my fault.
MADALINA
Isaw the worried look on his face when I lied and told him I was drunk. He was mad. So mad that he wanted to fuck me like a freight train and make me pay for it. But he couldn’t, because Dario DeMarco strongly suspects that I’m carrying his child.
I’m surprised that I’m the first one down for breakfast, especially since I’ve spent the last half hour hanging over the toilet and waiting to be sick. Last night, I may have taken a little pleasure in seeing Dario panic, but it doesn’t take away the fact that his plan has been successful.
I hear his footsteps on the wooden floor but don't turn around. I can already tell by the pace of them that he’s still angry and I can’t help wondering what he did last night after he stormed out of my room.
“Morning.” I manage a smile for him as he takes his seat. I want to kill him for what he’s done to me, but that's not a thought-out plan…Yet.
“Morning.” He nods politely, trying hard not to show how furious he is.
“Have you already eaten?” he checks, clearing his throat as he pours himself some water from the jug.
“I’m not hungry. I’m feeling a little delicate. Must be a hangover, huh?” I notice how the jug shakes in hand from his frustration before he slams it back on the table.
“You need to eat.” He talks through his teeth as he starts to place some fruit on my plate without my permission and when I quickly pull it away, he growls at me in frustration. “I said you need to eat.”
“And IsaidI’m not hungry.”
“That doesn’t change the fact you need to eat,” he argues, reaching over the table and snatching the plate back out of my hand.
“Dario, you're being ridiculous!” I yell at him.
“No,you'rebeing ridiculous. Drinking? Do you know how dangerous that is for you and our bab?—”
“Our what?” I stare back at him when he makes his first slip-up.
“It’s dangerous,” he repeats.
“Everything you have built around you is dangerous.” I laugh at him, knowing damn well that I’m getting under his skin.
“Not to my fucking wife, it isn’t. I can protect you both from what my family has built, Madalina. I can’t protect you from your own stupidity.” He slams his fist on the table and looks like he’s about to lose control.
“Your eggs, sir.” His housekeeper interrupts us looking sheepish.
“Give them to Mrs. DeMarco,” he orders her, and I quickly stop her before she can place them down.
“I don’t want them,” I tell her in a polite but firm voice.
She turns to put them in front of Dario, instead.
