“There you go,” he says, slowing just enough to kiss between my shoulder blades.
His fingers continue to work, and it feels good, great, fucking fantastic, but my mind doesn’t fog from it. I don’t feel that overwhelming ecstasy you see in the movies and stars don’t burst behind my eyes. Maybe it’s because I’m an expert, myself, at making me orgasm, or maybe it’s because I’m still angry, still feel betrayed, and yes, I’m even a little sad.
I come again, harder this time, and when Settimo’s fingers leave me and he picks up his pace, there isn’t any pain anymore. His cock massages my insides, and my breaths quicken. I don’t know if my walls adjusted or if my mind just decided to numb the pain, but for the last few minutes, I think I might actually like sex. Even though all it’s done is curse me.
Settimo stills and digs his hands into my hips as he comes. He glides his hands over my back in a gentle caress before pulling out. His cum leaks onto my thighs.
I take sharp inhales through my nose and grind my teeth, fighting back the tears I know are inevitable.
Settimo steps away, and there’s silence. Tension squeezes the space between my shoulder blades, and I don’t think it’s just in my head. I open my eyes and push myself off the wall. I turn and shove my dress back down to my thighs. I don’t know if I’ll bother with the panties.
My eyes go wide as I stare in absolute horror at the blood that glistens Settimo’s cock or the red spots that dampen his boxers.
He stares down at it with his palms open in front of him. There’s blood on them too.
He looks up at me, confused, and he waits like he’s expecting an explanation.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice sounding like someone shoved sandpaper down my throat. I clear it and smooth my dress. “I swear, I thought I was off my period.”
He nods without saying a word and shrugs out of his pants, careful not to touch the material with his hands. He removes his boxers and uses them to clean himself up, and then he tosses them to the ground. He pulls back on his slacks and only now does he look at me.
“I really am sorry,” I say, fighting back tears.
Sorry? Sorry for what? For giving this man your virginity?
That’s what happens when you pop someone’s cherry. You get messy.
But Iamsorry. Not for him, this man I don’t know and will never see again. I’m sorry for me.
He frowns and closes the distance between us. He cups my chin and kisses me on the lips. My eyes stay wide open.
“I don’t give a shit about a little blood. That was fucking great, and I really needed the distraction. But I have to go now.” He kisses me again, then gives me a wink and a smile as he backpedals a few feet. “See you around.”
He turns and walks away. Only when he’s out of sight do I let the tears fall, ruining a face of makeup I’ll have to wash in the repulsive bathroom’s sink.
And still, I think I prefer this over my wedding night.
2
ALEX
Heads turn as I step into the nave. I’m late. I arrived an hour early, and I’m still late.
My cheeks get hot, and I push my sunglasses up my nose. They shield my red, puffy eyes but can’t hide my embarrassment.
My head swings left and right as I search for my father or Paolo in the packed pews. The church has one long aisle with pews all the way down on either side, so it takes me a minute to find them. When I do, I regret ever walking in here. They’re next to each other, with Paolo facing forward and my dad turned glaring at me.
I scurry to the pew and hurry to sidestep to my dad, mumbling apologies as I go. There’s barely enough room for me, and Paolo and my dad both have to scoot so I can sit between them. Pretty sure they weren’t saving a seat for me.
Paolo faces forward, quiet indignation radiating from him, but Dad doesn’t let me off that easily. I feel his glare but don’t turn his way. Instead, I gaze at the priest, watching as he speaks with his hands and goes on about the typical funeral stuff. Minus the part about the deceased being a good person.
“Alexa,” Dad sneers, his voice a hot whisper.
I turn his way and frown. A couple people glance over their shoulders at us. “I had to go home and change my dress. The one I had on ripped.”
His eyes are wide in disbelief, and he shakes his head. “What is wrong with you?”
“Enough!” It’s Paolo’s angry whisper this time, and when I whirl my head his way, I lower my shoulders like a scared dog. His face is pinched, and a vein throbs in his forehead. He’s had silent disdain for me since the day we met, but I’ve never seen him angry.