Page 69 of Wicked Sinner
“I’m going upstairs. Good night, Caesar.” I get up before he can say anything else, heading to the stairs quickly and hurrying up them.
I’m exhausted, but it’s not even dark out yet, so I go and take a bath. I sink into the hot water, closing my eyes and trying not to think of Caesar downstairs, of what we could be doing tonight if I just gave in, what that one night together was like, what feels like forever ago.
I feel my body clench at the memory, desire sparking along my skin despite myself. Caesar and I were a one-night stand, andthen enemies, and now temporary allies, and how I feel for him after all of that is so confusing that I can’t untangle it all. What I do know is that we don’t have a future. Not one that makes sense to me, not one that works for me. But as for anything else…
My hand drifts down through the water to brush between my thighs, and my cheeks flush as I feel that I’m wet for reasons that have nothing to do with the water, slick and needy for something I can’t allow myself to have. I brush my fingertip over my swollen clit, sucking in a breath through my teeth at the pleasure that ripples over my skin, and I try not to think of Caesar as I start to stroke my finger over that sensitive spot.
But it’s impossible not to. He’s in the same house as me, just downstairs, and it would be so easy to ask him for another night like the first one we had together. My mind floods with the memories of that night—of the way he felt in my mouth, the taste of his cum, the feeling of his tongue between my thighs, the way he felt filling me up like no other man ever has. It was perfect… he was perfect. And now I’m never going to experience that again.
Because I have a feeling that if I let him have even one more night, it could all too easily spiral out of control.
My body tenses, the pleasure building as I roll my finger over my clit, remembering how good his mouth felt. No one else has ever done it that well, made me come screaming their name like that. My hips arch up into my hand, my breath coming faster as I slide closer to the edge, and I tip my head back against the rim of the bathtub, wanting the orgasm. I want to come, to feelgoodagain, and I know if Caesar walked into this room right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from asking him to touch me.
But thankfully, he’s not here. He’s not anywhere near this room. All I have is the memory of what it felt like to be with him, and I let myself fall into it, headlong into the pleasure thatcrashes over me as my orgasm hits and a long, soft moan spills from my lips.
I lay in the bath for a long time after, letting the hot water sink into my muscles. I wait until it gets dark, and then I dry off and walk out into my room, stopping at the window to look at the lights of Miami gleaming beyond it.
I’m Caesar Genovese’s wife now.
But not forever.
18
CAESAR
The sound of Bridget's door closing echoes through the penthouse like a gunshot.
I sit there motionless for a long few minutes, thinking about what my wife just said to me.My wife.It should mean so much more than it does, and yet, to me, it still feels like it means everything.
It’s not over. It means that much, at least. She’s mine for now, and maybe I can still convince her to stay. The only way I was ever going to get this far was by agreeing to let her go, if that’s what she still wants at the end of this.
But first, I have to deal with the threat. Have to solidify my position in Miami. Then, once Bridget is safe, we’ll deal with the possibility of ending our marriage.
For now, sheismy wife. And for now, nothing can change that.
Wife. The word should feel strange, foreign, but instead it settles into my chest with a satisfaction that catches me off guard.
She's mine now. Legally, officially mine. The ring on her finger proves it, the certificate we brought home with us makesit real. But the closed door upstairs is plenty of proof that a piece of paper doesn’t mean I have her—not really.
I clean up, frustration coiling through me as I go to make myself a drink and retreat to my office. I try to get some work done, and when that doesn’t happen, I go to the gym, taking out my frustrations on the treadmill and weights. By the time I’m done, it’s dark outside, and I’m still sporting half an erection just thinking about the fact that Bridget is upstairs.
I can’t stop picturing her in that goddamn dress she wore. She picked the one that I bought for her to wear out to dinner on purpose, I feel like, to taunt me. To remind me of that night that went nothing like I hoped it would—a way of reminding me, maybe, that this relationship isn’t going to turn out the way I’d hoped it would, either.
It feels like I’m going out of my mind with need. I wanted to devour her at the altar, to lay her over it, yell at everyone to get out, and claim her then and there. My cock hardens at the thought, straining at the front of my basketball shorts with frustration as I grab my discarded suit from the rack I threw it over before my workout and head upstairs to my room to shower.
My footsteps slow as I pass by Bridget’s door, the desire to go inside throbbing through me. My cock twitches, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep walking. To not think about her inside that room, about the bed that I could fling her onto, about all the things I want to do to her in it.
It’s fucking impossible. It’s my goddamn wedding night, I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and my wife is so off-limits to me that she might as well be in another country. I throw the suit onto the bed the moment I walk into the room, kicking the door closed behind me as I drag my shorts down with one hand and my shirt off with the other, immediately wrapping my fist around my aching cock.
I need to fucking come. I’m going to need to, more than once tonight. Bridget is on the other side of that wall, and it feels like I need to be inside her more than I need to breathe.
My hand slides roughly up and down my length, thumb flicking the piercing in the tip as my breath turns ragged almost immediately. I’m already close just from the thought of what I could be doing to her right now, the image of sliding that silk dress up her hips, bending her over the bed, and spreading her legs wide. I picture myself rubbing my pierced shaft over her clit until it’s tender and swollen and she’s dripping for me, teasing her with it until she’s begging me to slide inside of her, to fill her up?—
The orgasm hits almost without warning, my balls tightening as I feel my cock swell in my fist and spurt over my hand. I cup my palm over the head, a groan tearing from my lips as I come hard and fast, every muscle in my body rigid as the orgasm washes over me. It feels like a desperately needed release, but it’s not enough. Even after the last spurt of cum hits my palm and I stagger to the shower to clean up, I’m still half-hard, my body aching for more than just the feeling of my own hand stroking my length.
I linger in the shower, all too aware of the fact that my cock won’t go down, my thoughts still full of Bridget. I pour myself another drink and try to read after I slip into bed, but I can’t think of anything but her, until I’m rock-hard again and have to stroke myself to a second climax just to have a chance of getting to sleep.
She wants me. I know she does. I can see it in the way her breath hitches when I get too close, in the way her pupils dilate when I look at her for too long. But she's built walls around herself that I'm not sure how to breach, at least not without becoming the kind of man she already thinks I am.
