A harsh knock on the front door pulls me from the impending orgasm dreamland I’m floating in; Elia’s thrusts stutter, and he presses as deep inside me as he can go, freezing, his tip nearly puncturing my womb. His front is flush with my back, curled over me in a somewhat protective manner, and I force my body to relax and not read too much into the situation.
If someone’s at the door, I can only assume he doesn’t want them seeing me naked. Despite the promises made when we first wed, I don’t fool myself into thinking this is anything more.
I can’t afford that theory. Don’t want to acknowledge what it might mean.
He rolls his hips again, a rough move that sends my pelvis into the counter, eliciting a squeak from my throat. The doorknob rattles, the banging continues, and he pushes my hair over my shoulder and licks a trail up the back of my neck, nibbling lightly.
My vision blurs at the sensation, like being pricked by tiny needles coated in liquid ecstasy.
“Elia,” I whisper, frantic, as the lock unlatches to the front door; the movement seems to happen in slow motion.
Without answering or removing his body from mine, he turns and tugs me to the opposite end of the island. We drop to the floor, and then he’s rolling, slipping out of me and propping his back against the cabinets.
“Ride me,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes are half-lidded, blazing with a fiery lust I feel all the way to my toes. Stretching his legs out, he yanks me down on top of him so I’m straddling his thighs, finally seeing his cock in the light for the first time.
And what I see gives me pause.
“You’re not wearing a condom.” I bite my lip at the creamy arousal coating his dick, which twitches slightly under my perusal. Yep, he’s definitely bigger than I imagined, with thick purple veins and a slight curve to the right. It’s a wonder he even fits inside me at all.
“So what? I’m clean, and I know you are, too.”
I press up on my knees, putting distance between our genitals. My breaths come in sporadic bursts, matching the tempo of his. “What do you mean, youknowI am?”
He tsks. “Mio amore. Did you think I wouldn’t do my homework on you prior to establishing a legal, committed relationship?”
“That’s extremely creepy.”
Hands come up and grip my hips, squeezing lightly, trying to coax me down. “It’s creepy to want to protect me and my assets?”
“I signed your stupid prenup. It’s not like I get anything if this goes awry.”
He frowns, clearly not understanding my sudden voracious anger.Yeah, well, join the club, bud.
Men don’tgetme, though it’s never stopped them from trying to.
Elia peers up at me, and suddenly there’s a softness in his stony eyes. “If this were a normal relationship, you must know I’d give you everything I have.” He brings his hands up, cupping my jaw, and my body melts into his.
At least, as much as it can without reconnecting, because I’m weak for this man, and we barely know each other.
“Besides,” he continues, dropping my face and reaching around to cradle my ass, “what do you need my money for, when you’re the daughter of a senator?”
I glance over the countertop at the front door, which has ceased opening for the time being. Maybe Benito thought better of coming in. “I’m not getting an inheritance.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” I half-laugh, tipping my chin down to look at his face. I want to run my tongue along his dark stubble, want to fold myself up and let him consume me, and that worries me because I’m on a mission here.
I’m supposed to be using him, not the other way around. He’s not supposed to confuse me, make me feel things.
But the way he stares at me has me reconsidering everything, and that does me no good. Not getting revenge means not reclaiming my power. My body.My innocence.
It means the stains on my soul won’t ever be washed out, replaced by the blood of those who’ve wronged me.
“If my father even has any money left at this point, he’s certainly not giving it to me. Not after I disobeyed him and married you.”
My husband blinks, fingers flexing into my skin. It’s almost like we’re not still naked, dripping with our need for each other—like all of this is ordinary. “Your father’s not a good man, is he?”
The hard glint in his eyes tells me he suspects more than his question might initially let on, and I don’t have the energy to fight him on his hunches. Instead, I shrug. “None of the men I know are good men. Some are just better at hiding it.”