Page 84 of His Bride

I can only imagine the whispers and gossip going around—Mrs. Caelian Del Rossa is the plus-one of another man, but the divorce isn’t final yet.

I tried to convince Aurelio and my father to wait, but neither of them cares. As far as Aurelio is concerned, Caelian’s humiliation only adds to his victory. A part of me thinks he’s doing this to get a reaction from the Del Rossas—to have them make the first move. Pride and all that shit. If they act first, he has every right to react as he sees fit. Violence and bloodshed.

Aurelio still isn’t back, and I’m silently thankful for that. He’s probably in a room somewhere snorting cocaine and fucking hookers. I really don’t care. Another half an hour, and I’ll leave without him, go home, and drown in a pool of pity, only to do this all over again tomorrow, slap on a perfectly composed face and continue playing my part in this perpetual theatre of charades—mafia princess version.

Tired of keeping up appearances and suffocated by having to maintain a facade, I slip into a darkened corner, lean against the wall, and shut my eyes.

The coolness of the stonework seeps through my dress, grounding me, reminding me of the reality underneath all the layers of pretense. I’m still trying to steady my breathing when I feel him, my instincts spiking as his imposing figure towers over me like a shadow.

He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head with one hand.

“Caelian.”

“I’m done playing, love.” His face is inches from mine.

“I’m not—” He puts a palm over my mouth, shutting it, then leans closer.

“Seems like you need a little convincing.” He slides his thigh between my legs, forcing them wider. “So, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to give you my cock, right here right now?—”

My eyes widen, and I try to speak, but it’s all muffled against his hand.

“Then, after you’ve come to your senses, you’re going to leavewithme—whether it’s willingly or not. Nod if you understand.”

I shake my head.

“Well, that's too bad,” he says, his face splitting into a wicked grin. “Guess you’re going to have to scream, then, which will only gather us an audience because I will fuck you in front of them. And the fun part,” he leans closer, lips brushing against my cheek, “no one will stop me because you’re still Mrs. Del Rossa.”

His hand leaves my mouth and trails down to the hem of my dress, hiking it up my thighs without breaking eye contact. My body is already primed for him, my blood sizzling while my skin burns. And the second I feel his fingers brush along the edge of my lace underwear, then slide in, parting my folds, the world blurs.

“You're drenched, love.” His voice is rough with a hint of satisfaction. “Now, be a good girl and wrap your legs around me.”

A moan escapes me when he pulls his touch away from where I need it most, only to slip his arm around my waist, his handunder my ass, lifting me, while he unzips his pants with the other.

I’m already panting, my breath hot and rapid as I wrap my legs around him. His body is so close that I can feel every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, and I’m lost in a haze that’s made of only him and nothing else.

The lust, the desire, the need is overwhelming; it’s intoxicating and possesses every thought, every action, and the ache is everywhere at once. In my flesh. My bones. My marrow.

“Caelian,” I rasp, breathless, “I need you.”

“I got you, love.”

With his hand on my ass, he pulls my panties taut and to the side, and I grab his shoulders when the head of his cock nudges against my entrance.

With a single thrust, hard and deep, the thick length of him stretches me in a way that is all too familiar but still manages to steal my breath.

His response is a guttural groan that vibrates against my skin, sending waves of pleasure rippling through me, and his other arm wraps around me, both hands on my ass, lifting and lowering me onto him.

“Oh, Christ,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “You're so fucking wet and tight, and mine.”

Then our lips crash, tongues dueling, teeth clashing, moans drowned. His taste, like good bourbon and sin, sears a path down my throat, my insides coiled, begging for release.

He withdraws, only to plunge back in, each motion tugging me further into his orbit. I dig my nails into his back muscles, urging him on. The pleasure is maddening, every nerve ending alive with sensations that send me soaring.

“Caelian,” I moan into his mouth, my voice hitching as his rhythm increases, and his hips thrust up, driving himself even deeper, and I can't help but cry out.

His grip on me tightens, and his movements become more forceful, his breaths rapid spurts against my neck. And the pressure, the stretching, the pounding, it all comes together in an exquisite symphony of pleasure.

I’m grabbing at his back, pulling him close, needing him closer, needing…more.

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