Page 32 of The Kingpin’s Bride

“Stop,” I gasped. “Please. I don’t even know you.”

I wasn’t sure I even wanted him to stop anymore.

He hummed against me in answer and the vibration shot straight up my spine. My bound hands flew to his hair of their own accord, fingers twisting in the dark strands. I meant to push him away. Instead they held on.

He pulled back just far enough to speak, lips shiny, voice rough and controlled. “You don’t need to know me. You only need to feel what I do to you, wife.”

He slid two thick fingers into me in one smooth thrust. The stretch burned. I was so tight it almost hurt, but the burn melted almost immediately into something darker that made my inner walls flutter and clutch around the intrusion against my will. He curled those fingers and found a place inside me that made white sparks explode behind my eyes. My hips jerked. That was it for my virginity, the thing I’d protected fiercely.

In the crowd, a man openly adjusted the front of his trousers. Another leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the place where Matteo’s fingers disappeared into me.

“There,” my husband said, voice cold. “Your body knows. Watch how it opens for me.”

“Don’t make me come,” I whispered, but the words came out thin and high while my walls tightened around his fingers.

He sucked my clit again and crooked those fingers harder. The dual sensation was devastating. My hips lifted off the platform, chasing the pressure even as my mind screamed that this was wrong, that there were dozens of men watching, that Dario was somewhere in the dark, that Camilla’s safety hung on my obedience.

None of it stopped the heat building under my skin. The stranger was doing this on purpose. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers was calculated to force a response out of a body that had never been touched like this before. He was cold about it. Detached. And somehow that made the unwilling pleasure sharper.

The pressure built too fast, too sharp. My thighs clamped around his head. My back bowed.

A broken, high cry ripped from my throat as the first orgasm crashed over me, violent, humiliating, public. My walls locked down around his fingers so hard he had to work to keep moving them. He licked me through every pulse, every aftershock, until I was whimpering and trying to close my legs against the oversensitivity.

The crowd was no longer quiet. Low murmurs, the rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of at least one man stroking himself openly in the dark. Matteo did not look at them. He simply rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, eyes locked on mine.

Then, he freed himself from his trousers.

Thick. Hard. Already leaking at the tip, the head flushed dark. The sight of it made my stomach drop and my empty pussy clench around nothing. He wrapped one hand around the shaft and stroked once, twice, slow and deliberate, while the entire room watched. Then he dragged the head through my folds, coating himself in the wetness he had forced from me, and notched himself against my entrance.

I felt every inch of the blunt pressure.

His eyes were impossibly darker, the cold mask firmly in place. There was no heat in them for me as a person. Only the focused intent of a man who had decided to break a body open in public and make it thank him for it.

He fisted the chains that bound my wrists and yanked them above my head to keep me secure in place as he prepared to rip my virginity from me. Then he pushed in.

The stretch was brutal. I was tight from the orgasm, fluttering, and he was thick enough that the first thick inch burned like fire. My back arched. He did not stop. He kept pressing forward, slow and relentless, forcing my body to take him while the entire underworld watched.

Men in the front rows shifted again. One cursed under his breath. Another’s hand moved faster between his legs. The stranger ignored all of it. His focus stayed locked on the place where his body disappeared into mine, cold and precise, even as sweat began to gather at his temples.

“Fuck,” he said, the word the first real crack in that icy control, quiet. “Tight pussy. Taking your new husband’s cock like it was made for this moment.”

He bottomed out with a final, deep thrust that punched the air from my lungs. I felt him everywhere, stretching me, owning me, the heavy weight of his body pinning me open. Tears streamed down my temples. The chains dug into my wrists as I clenched my fists above my head.

Somewhere in the crowd a man groaned openly. Another laughed, dark and breathless. The auctioneer had gone completely silent.

Matteo stayed buried to the hilt for three long heartbeats, letting every watching pair of eyes see the exact place where his body disappeared into mine. Then he pulled almost all the way out, so far that only the head remained inside me, and slammed back in.

The sound was filthy. Wet. Obscene.

My cry echoed off the high ceiling. He set a merciless rhythm, deep, hard, claiming strokes that rocked the platform beneath us and forced broken sounds out of me with every thrust. One of his hands pinned my bound wrists above my head. The other gripped my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me while he fucked me in front of the Five Families. His face stayed almost expressionless. Only the tight set of his jaw and the controlled power in every thrust betrayed how deliberate he was being. He was turning me on… and doing it on purpose. Every angle, every grind against my clit, every deep stroke was chosen to force pleasure out of a body that did not want to give it.

“Take it,” he said against my mouth, voice cold. “Every inch. They’re watching me fill what I bought. Make me proud, wife.”

I hated how my body started to respond again, how the sharp burn melted into something darker that made my inner walls flutter and clutch around him, how my nipples tightened and my clit throbbed every time his pelvis ground against it.

“There,” he murmured. “Your body knows better than you do. Clenching around a man who you don’t even know.”

He shifted the angle, hitting a place deep inside me that made white sparks explode behind my eyes. My back bowed.