Page 18 of Hostile Vows
Stuffing his hand inside my pants, he angles his wrist, pushes my panties to the side, and drags his fingers in the shameful, slick heat awaiting him.
“Hmm…” he grunts. “Just as I thought.” White teeth sink into his full lower lip as his fingers skate over my swollen clit, sending lightning bolts through me.
Rather than explore any further, his throat contracts as he swallows, and his hand slowly exits as if he’s struggling to remove it. “Your new husband will be one lucky bastard. I knew that wasn’t one-sided, Sin. After sampling what you have to offer, he’ll lose his fucking mind over you.”
“Husband? You… lied to me…” My pulse races as he loosens the leather belt. “How dare you, André fucking Souza… You promised me I wouldn’t have to marry Acer. You promised!” I yell at him, his deceit crushing my heart while his cum dries on my face.
He exhales, stiffly governed as if practicing the art of self-mastery, a savage creature learning a new method of hunting. The smell of him, so earthy and smoky, mellows into a warm scent like the glowing embers of a peat-burning stove at last call.
“You’re no longer engaged to him… as promised.”
His lungs expand, the inhale deep, and the hot exhale hinting woody, sweet notes of whiskey.
“What are you not telling me?”
My skin involuntarily prickles, the sensation luring me into open water where I’ll surely drown.
“If the foreplay is as much fun as the fucking…” Teasing lips move next to my ear. “… I look forward to clashing control with you.”
“What have you done?” I hold my breath, aware of his movements, how his t-shirt worships every muscular curvature as he pulls up his boxers, followed by his jeans, and grabs the corner of the quilt.
Moonlight casts him in both darkness and liquid silver, giving him an out-of-this-world duplicity. A devil kissed with remarkable beauty.
“I’m the husband you'll crawl to. The man who won your hand in a poker game before I fucked your greedy mouth.” He sweeps up the last dregs of cum on my face with the Sapori quilt. “You're free from that motherfucker, Acer, and as a bonus, you’re marrying me instead. Once the speedboat returns with our rings and a wedding officiant, you’ll becomemywife.”
My veins run cold. “You’re kidding me? You wouldn’t… This is patriarchal bullshit. I don’t want to marry anyone, especially notyou.”
He was never interested in me before he found out I was Frankie’s sole heir. This is underhanded mafia tactics.
“It’s too late. I won.” He angles away and on my next strung-out breath, he adds, “Wash your face. I’ll wait upstairs while you pack your shit together.” Our eyes lock. “You might have escaped Acer, but there’s no way you’ll get away from me a second time.”
8
SINÉAD
“Asshole!” I scream after André, watching his muscular physique exit my airless cabin.
My lungs finally deflate, but my mind conjures all sorts of visual hate crimes intended for my so-called father, who’d tossed my life into the middle of a poker table. One minute I’m set to marry an old banker, the next I’m handed over to a notorious cartel leader.
Frankie has no honor or moral code, nor does the arrogant asshole who’d marched into my room as if he owned the world.
I’ve become an insignificant woman controlled by men. My restricted life boiled down to blood cells and whispers of power I’d never have. My erratic heart slams against every rib with so much force, one of them is bound to split in two.
I’m completely disarmed and wearing damp panties that were purchased by an unknown servant. The sense of my own deception leaves me lost in the aftermath of André’s cruel game.
It’s infuriating how he stirs an unworldly reaction from within me. For some crazy, illogical reason, I was turned on by the very man claiming me as his wife, as if tormenting me is a sick fantasy he’s suppressed all these years. Frustration heats the liquid fury gathering behind my eyes—tears that I’d never let fall.
Criminals like him choose to stay on their unholy thrones where the laws are invisible, and dominance is a way of life. I’m nothing to André, other than an heir to an underworld I never want to step foot in.
I swivel on the spot, looking about the room for an escape I’ll never find, almost laughing at my shadowy reflection in the mirror. My skin glows as if the moon has gifted me with its radiance, while my face rests in the darkness where my future lies.
There’s not much to pack other than a toothbrush and the blister packs of birth control Frankie’s doctor had prescribed. That’s it. The clothes hung up in the wardrobe were bought for me by another stranger. I have nothing of my own here other than these leather pants and the top I’ve rewashed in the basin, rejecting the Sapori feminine standards. I’m a tomboy, not a Barbie doll.
“André tells me you’re happy with the new arrangement.” Frankie appears in the doorway, crosses over the threshold, and casually slides a hand into the pocket of his pewter-colored chinos. “He’s better-looking than the American. I’ll give him that, even if his thoughtless, psychotic traits are lethal.” He expels a jet of air from his nose as if he’s cracking a joke. “André emulates his late father, Elias. That man was a bloodthirsty son of a bitch with a temper like a stick of dynamite. Much like Elias, you never quite know where you stand with André. You’re always walking on ice, waiting for it to crack, and just when you think you’re about to sink into the coldest, darkest waters, he pushes you over a cliff edge instead.” Frankie moves further into the room like a snake slithering through long grass. “I guess that’s a bit of fatherly advice. He’ll make you think you’re special,picciridda,and then he’ll wipe his hands clean. Where Acer would be molding clay in my hands—André is an activated grenade.”
“You bastard!” Rage propels me forward like a reckless warrior navigating a battlefield. I draw back my shoulders and glare up at him, fully aware his obedient lapdog, Pup, has moved into position beside me.
“Spare yourfatherlyadvice. You gave that title up the day you walked out on my mother. I’m a Quinn. My blood flames with Irish heritage, not spineless Sapori. I swear this to you, Frankie… One of these days, the last thing you’ll see will be my face as I’m hacking my way through your jugular.”
