Page 14 of Brutal Union
She dries her hands with deliberate care. "Back to the penthouse prison?"
"Back to where you belong," I correct, guiding her toward the door with a hand on her back. "But you're learning to navigate it well enough. Tonight proved that."
The drive from the compound to the penthouse passes in tension thick enough to cut. She sits precisely in the middle of the backseat, maintaining distance even in the confined space. But I can smell her arousal growing stronger with each mile. The sweet musk of it mixing with her perfume until my cock aches from the knowledge. Her thighs press together, a tell she doesn't know she has. Her breathing grows shallow as we near the building.
She knows what's coming. What's been building for four days.
Tommy parks in the private garage, and I dismiss him with a look. The elevator requires my keycard, trapping us in the small space as it rises. Forty floors of her trying not to look at me, trying not to acknowledge the heat between us.
I catch her reflection in the mirrored walls. Lips parted, pupils dilated. Her nipples are hard points against the black dress, visible even in the dim elevator light. She shifts her weight, and I know her pussy is dripping wet. Probably has been since I touched her wrist in the kitchen.
"You're trembling," I observe, moving closer until she's backed against the mirrored wall.
"I'm not."
"Liar." I cage her with my arms, not touching but close enough that she feels my heat. "You're trembling because you know what happens when we get to the penthouse. Four days of sleeping beside me, smelling my cologne on the sheets, remembering how my tongue felt on your clit."
Her breath hitches.
"Four days of waking up wet," I continue, voice dropping to a growl. "Hating yourself for wanting what only I can give you."
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" I lean closer, my lips almost brushing her ear. "I can smell how wet you are. It's been driving me insane all evening. Sitting through dinner, knowing your pussy was dripping for me under that dress. Watching you clear dishes while your nipples stayed hard, begging to be sucked."
She turns her face away, but I see her reflection. Eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. Fighting her own desire and losing.
The elevator climbs higher. Thirty floors. Thirty-five. Each number on the display brings us closer to the inevitable.
"When those doors open," I tell her, "you have a choice. You can spend another night touching yourself while thinking of my tongue. Or…"
"Or?"
"Or you can admit what your body already knows. That you're mine. That you've been mine since you came on my tongue calling me husband. That you'll be mine until the day one of us stops breathing."
Floor thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.
Her eyes open, meeting mine in the mirror. "You will never touch me again. Not like that."
The elevator reaches forty. The doors begin to open with a soft chime.
"Then I'll wait." I step back, giving her space. "I'm very patient, principessa. But we both know how this ends."
6 - Valentina
“You need clothes suitable for my world, principessa.”
Marco's voice fills the Escalade as we pull up to an unmarked boutique on Michigan Avenue. The storefront gleams with understated wealth, just etched glass and a single mannequin wearing what looks like liquid silk. Twelve days since he stole me from the altar. Twelve days of sleeping beside him, breathing his cologne, waking with my body aching in need.
I press myself deeper into the leather seat, Mother's rosary beads cutting half-moons into my palm. "I have clothes."
"You have rags from your father's house." He doesn't look at me, just signals to Tommy and the bodyguard in the front. They exit smoothly, Tommy's hand checking his concealed weapon before taking position by the door. "Nothing suitable for being Mrs.Rosetti. Nothing that shows the other families who you belong to now."
The title burns. Mrs.Rosetti. As if saying it enough times will make me accept it, make me forget I was supposed to marry Liam O'Brien instead. My nipples tighten at the memory of Marco's tongue between my legs, making me call him husband as I came. I shift in my seat, hating how wet I already am.
"I refuse to play dress-up for you."
Now he turns, those dark eyes finding mine with predatory focus. "You'll do exactly as I say."
