Page 13 of Mafia’s Fake Bride

Some wedding, she thought as she climbed into her own car. That was the most… boring kiss he’d ever given her. That kiss was also the saddest one he’d ever given her. Even he knew this was wrong, but he had it in his head that it was necessary.

Tears stung at her eyes but she swiped them away carefully, she didn’t want to smudge the makeup she’d only learned to apply so recently. This emptiness would be her life now, this sadness would always be with her until she could find a way to get out of this marriage of convenience. Or whatever it was, she couldn’t decide.

He’d forced her into it - it was an arranged marriage and it was a marriage of convenience. Not so easy to define, yet it all came down to the same thing, she was now his wife. And he was her husband.

They hadn’t spoken a lot over the last couple of weeks, just texts about the wedding, a short meeting where she brought him the papers he needed to pay the bills she now owed, and to apply for the marriage license. They hadn’t discussed what he expected from her after the ceremony, or how long this sham was supposed to last.

They were questions she wanted to ask him, but even as she stepped into the house a short while later, something held her back. She thought she might be afraid of the answers he gave, or that the questions might make him angry. As a new wife, a wife who barely knew who her husband really was, she didn’t want to rock the boat too much.

“I’m in the dining room, Marie,” he called out to her and she followed the sound of his voice, slowly. Each step was like the tolling of a bell, a bell that pronounced her doom.

“Hello,” she said softly as she came in and saw a full meal on the table. It was barely lunchtime, but the cook had obviously been busy.

“Have a seat, Marie, and eat. You look pale.” He directed her to the chair beside him.

“Thank you.” She ate quietly, the spicy heat of the seafood jambalaya the only thing she noticed about the meal. She drank the crisp glass of green wine he poured for her and then poured herself another.

She heard him set down his silverware and she looked up to see he swiped at his mouth with a red linen napkin. He’d finished his meal, now what?

His hand came out, took her hand, and turned it so that her palm faced up. His fingers stroked at the pulse point in her wrist, and she took a deep breath to try to steady the way that pulse raced. The question he asked changed everything about that moment, made her pulse race even harder.

“Do you trust me at all, Marie, after what I’ve made you do?” His eyes were cloaked behind a mask of curiosity, but some hint in his voice, some warning, made her body respond instantly with hot desire.

He still wanted that from her then.

“I’m not sure, Matteo. I trust you with my body, of course, but the rest of me? I don’t know.” Always honest, even if it made his eyes tense at the corner.

The tension disappeared behind a smile, a seductive smile, meant to put her at ease. It made her body tense with excitement, but not fear. That was the domain of her heart, and that she quickly put behind a wall.

His fingers moved, left her sensitive skin before he stood up and shut the dining-room door. “It’s our wedding day, Marie, time to celebrate it the best way we know how.”

He pulled her up from her seat and she followed him as he moved down the table, to a place that was free of the dishes. “Bend over.”

She wanted to protest, she wanted to ask him for more than a quick fuck in the dining room, but she didn’t question it. She was his now, and he wanted to prove it. Instinct told her that.

Without a word, she bent over the table and gasped at the coolness of the varnished wood. The soft rustle of silk against cotton caught her attention and she wondered if he was undressing.

“Give me your hands.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Her body responded with liquid heat that surged in her veins, straight to points she now wanted him to touch.

Somewhere, a part of her wanted to protest, wanted to say it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but another part was excited about the way he’d taken control. A bigger part of her wanted his attention however it came and would drop her to her knees if it meant he touched her.

She moved her hands behind her back and tried to settle on the table comfortably. Something pulsed from her chest, straight down between her thighs, when she felt the silk of his tie wrap around her wrists. The bond wasn’t tight, but she wouldn’t be able to break free if she wanted to.

There was a hint of danger there, in being bound, bent over a table, and at his mercy. Still, she wasn’t afraid. She was… aroused. Curious. Eager for more.

And also, very fucking confused.

Her body was in overdrive and her brain went quiet as his fingers let go of hers and moved down her body. The way she was bent over pushed the crinoline out, her lower half must have been on display to him, but she didn’t care. She was hungry for his touch, suddenly, starving for it.

They’d only slept together once before the wedding, but her body had remembered his touch every day since. In her dreams, he touched her, loved her, made her scream his name, and now he was there. He stepped away slightly, paused, and she knew he was looking at her.

What a picture she must make: her skirt pushed up by the crinoline, her bottom covered in silky lace, the garters that held up her white stockings on display for only him. Only for Matteo. She was his wife, and he was about to make it legally so.

“Matteo,” she murmured quietly, but he shushed her.

The sound of his belt being loosened, the slow way his zipper came down, and the sound as his pants fell to the floor made her want to slide her panties out of the way just enough for him to slide into her, she was so eager for him. “Please.”

That was all, nothing more, just a please, but it held so many other words. Please fuck me, please make me come, please end this torment.