Page 11 of Brutal Union
When he finally pulls back, I collapse against the door, legs unable to hold me. He rises slowly, and I can see the prominent bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the expensive fabric. He presses his mouth to mine, and I taste myself on his lips, sweet and shameful, as he claims this kiss like he's claimed everything else.
"You taste like mine," he says against my mouth. "Like you were made for my tongue."
I expect him to take me then. To free his cock and fuck me against the door. My pussy clenches at the thought, still pulsing with aftershocks. But instead, he steps back, leaving me trembling and desperate.
"Where are you going?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
"To shower. Alone." He adjusts himself through his pants, his cock clearly thick and hard. "Your punishment for the wine wasn't the orgasm, principessa. It was showing you exactly what you'll be missing. What you can't have until you beg for it properly. Not just my tongue, but my cock. All of it."
"You can't just…"
"I can do whatever I want. You're my wife." He pauses at the bathroom door. "When you're ready to admit you want me to fuck you, when you're ready to beg for my cock like you begged for my tongue, I'll consider it. Until then, you can lie in my bed, dripping and empty, remembering how good I made you feel."
The bathroom door closes with a soft click. Through it, I hear the shower turn on, and I know he's in there stroking that thick cock I felt pressed against me, denying me even the sight of it.
I collapse onto the silk sheets, my pussy still clenching on nothing, still dripping with arousal despite three orgasms. The bed smells like him, that damned citrus that makes me want to crawl into that shower and drop to my knees. Every few seconds another aftershock rolls through me, making me gasp and clutch the sheets.
The bastard. He ate me until I screamed, made me call him husband while I came on his tongue three times, then walked away, leaving me desperate for more. My pussy aches to be filled, to feel that thick cock I only got to press against through fabric.
What would Alice think if she saw me now? Her strong sister who promised to protect her, spreading her legs for the enemy, begging him for more while she came on his tongue. The shame burns hot, mixing with the arousal that won't fade.
Through the bathroom door, I hear his groan, low and satisfied. He's coming without me, denying me even that.
But as I lie here in his bed, my pussy still throbbing from his mouth, I make myself a promise: Marco Rosetti will be the onebegging before this is over. He'll beg to fuck me, beg to taste me again, beg for things he doesn't even know he wants yet.
He thinks he's won by walking away.
He has no idea what kind of war he just started.
5 - Marco
Four days of her fighting me in every way except the one that matters. Four days of cold silence and heated glances, of her sleeping on the furthest edge of my bed while I lie awake, cock aching, remembering her taste. Tonight’s family dinner at the estate will either break her or forge her into something stronger.
"She'll break in a week," Sofia's voice cuts through my thoughts before Valentina even enters the dining room, carrying the casual cruelty that runs in Rosetti blood.
I pause in the hallway, one hand on Valentina's back, feeling the tension coil through her body at my sister's words. The black dress I chose for her fits perfectly, hugging curves that make my mouth water despite the circumstances. Four nights since she came apart on my tongue, calling me husband, and I still wake hard from dreams of her taste.
"Your family's charming," Valentina murmurs, chin lifting in that defiant way I'm learning means she's preparing for battle.
"They're testing you." I guide her forward with pressure between her shoulder blades. "Consider it a compliment. They only bother with people who matter."
The dining room opens before us, crystal chandelier casting light across the mahogany table where my entire family waits. The scent of garlic and basil from Maria's cooking mingles with expensive cologne and perfume. Dante sits with Ana, her pregnancy showing more each day. Luca lounges next to Faith, who clutches his hand like an anchor. He rarely leaves herside now that she’s pregnant, although she is only showing the smallest amount, a tiny bump and glowing skin.
Alessandro studies his wine with calculated boredom while Nico stands by the window, ever watchful. And Sofia, my baby sister who kills with a smile, tracks Valentina's entrance like a predator sizing up prey.
"Welcome to Sunday dinner," I announce, pulling out Valentina's chair. "Fair warning, principessa. This family eats their own when bored."
Alex raises his glass in mock salute. "We prefer to call it character building."
I take my seat at the head of the table, Valentina to my right where I can touch her, protect her, remind everyone she's under my protection. The warning is clear in how I position myself, how my hand rests on the back of her chair. She's mine. Anyone who forgets that will remember why I became Don at twenty-five.
"The infamous Bernardi princess," Sofia says, her smile sharp as glass. "Father would roll in his grave seeing you at our table."
"Probably," Valentina agrees, reaching for her water with steady hands. Crystal clinks softly as she sets it down. "But then, he's been rolling for a while now, hasn't he? Since the Morettis joined through Ana."
A surprised laugh escapes Luca. Even Dante's mouth curves slightly, the closest he gets to amusement these days. My chest swells with something dangerous I refuse to name, watching her navigate my family's minefield with natural grace.
"Oh please," Sofia continues, twirling her wine glass. "A Bernardi princess raised on weakness and luxury? She'll break within the week. Maybe less."
