I made his lawyer add the amendment to our marriage contract. No sex with other women. It wasn’t because I wanted him for myself. I wanted to punish him, and now it seems like I’m punishing myself.
It’s lust. Pure sexual frustration from living with a man who has enough sexual potency to make every woman—and man—stop and stare. If he wasn’t an arrogant, controlling asshole, I could even see myself falling for him.
I’m glad he’s a jerk. I won’t make a fool of myself by admitting how much I liked our kiss, even if it was barely a brush of lips. I close my eyes and must have nodded off because the vibration of the tablet on the glass table has me startling awake.
“Mama.” I smile as I answer the call.
“Gia, mia figlia.” She rattles on in Italian about the flowers in bloom and her walks around the gardens as if we talk every night and it hasn’t been two weeks since we’ve seen each other.
I’ve never gone this long without seeing my mother, which is sweet and also kind of sad at my age. I’ve lived a sheltered life, yet I’ve seen and experienced more hate, evil, and crime than anyone should ever come so close to.
I can’t help but smile, even though she doesn’t once ask about me or where I am. It’s so good to see her in her element. Boasting about her garden and the vegetables she planted, and then complaining a little about Carla, her housekeeper.
Stone hired a full-time nursing staff to care for Mama, under the guise of landscaper and housekeepers. I assume they’re paid well to work double-duty.
“You like Carla though, right mother?”
“Oh, she’s a lovely girl. Her gravy leaves much to be desired, but she’s a quick study. I’m thankful you found a job that allows you to travel, mia figlia.”
“Me too, mama.” We talk for hours as mama brings her tablet throughout the house, showing me all the rooms, and across the grounds, pointing out the squash and zucchini and where she plans on planting more rose bushes next year. I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s only there temporarily.
It’s dark and late here, but with the time change, it’s barely dinner time in the states. If she notices the black sky behind me, she doesn’t mention it. I take a blanket from the bed and bring it to the balcony, wrapping it around me as I nestle into the lounger. I can listen to mama talk all night.
She repeats most of her stories and shows me things around the house three or four times, but I don’t care. Her happiness and safety are the only things that matter. Marrying Stone has given her somewhat of a life back, and for that, I am eternally thankful.
But in the morning, I’m going to make him tell me everything. Why marrying me is such an important part of his plan.
***
My dick hasn’t stoppedthrobbing since Gia kissed me under the flowery arbor. No. That’s a lie. It hasn’t stopped throbbing since she sipped the poisoned blackberry lemonade I gave her back in San Diego.
I keep my distance, respecting her space, but now she legally belongs to me. Had she not thrown in that stupid stipulation in our marriage contract about me not fucking other women, I wouldn’t be outside her bedroom door right now, demanding she perform her wifely duties.
I don’t knock. This is my house. I’ve let myself into her room a dozen times before. A few hours ago, I had hoped to catch her fresh out of the shower and had visions of bending her over the bathroom counter.
Instead, she’d changed and washed away the makeup and brushed out her fancy hairstyle. It shouldn’t have turned me on seeing her face freshly clean and natural. I prefer my women done up, leaving traces of their lipstick on my cock.
Gia doesn’t give me the same fantasies. Instead, I want her wet from the shower, naked, and sprawled out on the bed. Gia on her knees will be welcomed as well, but the images that haunt me when I’m alone in bed at night are of her draped in thin white satin sheets, not black tight dresses and fuck me heels.
I scan her bedroom. The tableside lamp is on. The bathroom, dark. She spends a lot of time out on the balcony, so it doesn’t surprise me to find her there.
For some reason, it also doesn’t surprise me to see her curled in a ball, fast asleep, the tablet by her side. This isn’t the wedding night I planned on. Not that I’ve ever planned on having a wedding night.
She kissed me. Twice. She didn’t shy away; she wasn’t angry or repulsed. The woman wanted me. It’s easy to tell. I’ve caught her more than once staring at my ass and my chest while we run, and even this evening when I was dressed from head to toe in a suit and brought her the tablet.
She eye-fucks me as much as I eye-fuck her. I’m not a narcissist. I know when a woman wants me, and Gia does. Maybe not at first. Not when I first brought her here. Now, however, all bets are off. I’m not holding back anymore.
I crouch down and scoop her up in my arms. She’s warm and soft and smells like soap and innocence. Gia moans and I curse under my breath. My cock is already hard enough. If she keeps this up, I’ll come in my pants before I even touch her.
Touch her. This is different as well. When I need to fuck a woman, it isn’t about touching her. I do because I’m not that much of an asshole—I love breasts. I love the curve of a woman’s ass—but I limit my connection with women. No kissing. Nothing more than emotionless sex. My cock needs the attention, not the rest of my body.
However, Gia’s body pressed into mine as I carry her to bed makes my entire body hum. Not just my dick. I want to feel her naked tits against my chest. Her long legs tangled with mine. Her hands on my body and my hands on hers.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes still closed, as she feels around for the covers and pulls them over her.
Is she thanking me for the sex that’s coming, knowing it will blow her mind? I undo the buttons on my shirt, and she rolls to her side, keeping her eyes closed.
“That was really sweet of you to give me the tablet and access to my mom.” She purrs again, falling back into slumber. “Best gift ever,” she says softly.