Page 21 of Unholy Union
If Rinaldo Corsini’s to be believed, his daughter is an angel. She’s docile and obedient. She’s…untouched.
Which means tonight will be the first time she’s ever been with a man.
The mere thought gets my pulse racing. It makes the blood in my veins heat up and sends it surging straight to my cock.
I love an experienced woman as much as the next man, but still—there’s something to be said about a virgin that’s undeniably and irresistibly tempting. The thought that I could corrupt her, I could be the first man to feel her and give her that experience, awakens a primal instinct inside me.
And honestly, Sabrina Corsinilookslike she needs to be fucked.
Her posture’s rigid, dark curls cascading over her shoulders. Her lips are parted and glossy.
As the elevator climbs toward the top of the Aman, she glances up at the digital screen to watch the floor numbers. Inthe dimmer elevator lighting, her eyes look brighter than usual. Almost the copper shade of a penny.
My wife is beautiful and tempting.
But she’s also a mystery gift I’m about to unravel and discover firsthand.
Just how honest was Rinaldo Corsini when he signed over his precious only daughter to his worst enemy?
Is she as pure and angelic as he’s claimed?
The elevator dings. We reach the top floor, the elevator jerking as it halts. The doors glide apart revealing mood lighting and plush carpeting. It leads down a quiet hall with only three doors. The third belongs to us, the deluxe penthouse suite that’ll be ours for the night.
I step ahead of Sabrina, finally letting go of her hand so I can scan the keycard. The door clicks, a bright green light flashing on the panel, before it swings open for us.
The suite is as opulent as the rest of the hotel, dripping with evidence of quiet luxuryin every corner you look.
Everything’s curated down to the last fixture.
Wide-plank gray oak floors. Polished chrome. Creamy marble.
There’s a fireplace that flickers blue flames against one wall and another wall made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass, the window frame showing off the city like some live painting of Manhattan at night.
The city glitters, the skyline dark but lit up by thousands of tiny moving dots.
The bedroom’s tucked behind sliding panels, but I can already tell the bed’s going to be massive just from how large the sectional is.
It’s definitely the kind of space meant for seduction and discretion, where the rich and powerful come to enjoy themselves while everybody else is none the wiser.
Exactly where we belong tonight.
It’s up to me to set the tone.
I gently clear my throat and stroll toward the ice bucket that waits for us by the console near the tall windows. The neck of a Dom Pérignon bottle juts out top of the bucket, waiting to be plucked free and popped open. Two crystal flutes gleam beside it, along with a neatly folded envelope that sits in front of it and is addressed to us both.
I flip it open first.
Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Valente. Wishing you a long and prosperous union.
There’s no signature. Just the Aman Hotel logo embossed in gold at the bottom.
I hold the card up, turning it around for Sabrina to see. “Look at that. Even the Aman is rooting for us to succeed, principessa. Sweet, isn’t it? What do you say? Should we toast to that?”
My new wife simply eyes me warily. “Sure, we can toast. To happily never after.”
Sabrina steps toward me, her reception dress fluttering so fluidly it’s almost hypnotic how she moves.
The dress really is so fucking distracting—it’s perfectly tailored to her body just like her wedding gown was.
