Page 23 of Unholy Union
I help myself to a couple truffles while I’m waiting on my bride. I’m about to start on the charcuterie next when the panel doors slide back open and she reemerges.
I look over my shoulder, then do a double take. She’s no longer in the dress she wore at the reception. That dress is long gone, replaced by almost nothing at all.
In the best fucking way possible.
Sabrina stands before me in bridal lingerie.
But not just any bridal lingerie—it’s the kind that immediately wipes out all thought. The kind that makes my cock stand at attention and ignites the most feral, carnal urges inside me.
Sabrina Corsini—SabrinaValente—looks like a fucking goddess in every sense of the word. It’s clear whoever designed this lingerie modeled it from her dress.
It’s made up of delicate beads and sheer lace molded perfectly to her body. Every curve is accentuated, from how her tits look encased in the beaded bra, spilling over the edges, to how the little panty hugs the flare of her hips.
My eyes track it all for several seconds, drinking her in.
Sabrina’s dark curls hang over her shoulders and she stands waiting for me, a few inches taller in her heels.
I’ve never given a fuck about lingerie. Giada tried to wear it for me once during our short-lived fling, and I told her to take the shit off.
It was a waste of time. But this… this is far from it.
Sabrina is a work of art like this. Almost too good to ruin.
Almost.
I scrub my jaw, trying my damnedest to play it cool. “Well, aren’t you a sight to behold?”
My voice is huskier than usual, lower and thicker before I can even regulate it.
I start toward her and she holds her ground, eyes glittering brightly. If she was nervous before, those nerves have vanished.
Now she’s confident and sexy. She’s seductive and coy, waiting for me to take her.
I’m more than happy to oblige.
“You said nothing about a change of wardrobe,” I say.
Her lips quirk in shy fashion. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes.”
“I’d say you succeeded.”
I finally reach her, my hand landing on the dip of her waist. Her skin is warm and unspeakably soft, almost to the point of being unreal. I lean toward her, and she merely smirks wider like she’s amused by how she’s drawn me in.
“You make me a little nervous,” she murmurs.
I’d already picked up on it earlier.
Her nerves. Her uncertainty.
All things that pointed to the fact that maybe Don Corsini was correct—his daughter was as pure and innocent as he claimed.
I grin as I loom closer, my head bowed over hers. “Do I, principessa?” I ask. “And why is that?”
“Because… you’re the kind of man who takes what he wants. And I haven’t figured out if I should be flattered or afraid.”
“I would say it doesn’t matter at this point. We’re already married.” I cup her chin and move closer, swooping in for a kiss, but she turns her head away.
“There’s some things you should know.”
