Page 93 of His Bride

“Are you scared, Giana?” His voice is like a serpent, slithering into my ears, venomous and cruel.

“No.” It’s a lie, and I’m not sure I sound convincing.

“I think you are.” He flexes against my ass, and my eyes roll closed, disgusted at the feel of his hard cock. “I think you’ve been lying all night.” I stiffen, and he jerks my head to the side so he has access to the my neck, sliding his tongue across my flesh. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I squeeze the stem of my glass tighter, his one arm reaching around, his palm covering my breast, and I suppress an anguished moan.

“You should learn that a little bird shouldn’t play with a lion.” His fingers tighten around my breast, causing a sharp intake of breath. “The sooner you realize that, the better the outcome will be…for you.”

This time he rolls his hips so hard, so deliberately, I lose my footing. But he steadies me by tightening his arms around me, squeezing my breast.

I want to retch, acid rising in my throat, but I swallow it down. “I’ve come to accept my father’s arrangement. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“What I want is for you to want me.” His hand dips low and he cups my sex, ice bursting through my bones. “I want you to want me the way you want him. I want you to serve me the way you served him.”

“Caelian?” I grit, his fingers circling like he thinks he found my clit. “That’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t serve him. I’m not a prisoner, Aurelio. Not to him, not to you, not to anyone.”

“But you’re daddy’s little brat, aren’t you? This pussy is meant for trade.” He’s rubbing my sex harder, and I feel my defiance drain out of me, hating his touch, hating the violation of his hands on my body.

“Maybe, but your currency's not worth shit,” I manage to say, my voice stronger than I feel inside.

He chuckles, and it’s a savage sound that bounces off the opulent walls. “Your father seems to think it is.”

My blood stalls, my heart screeching to a halt.

“All it took was a little pressure,” he presses down, searching for my slit through my dress, “and your father cracked. His preciousCristiano seems worth more than you, I’m afraid. And we knew Caelian would never help your father again.”

“What are you talking about?”

He swipes my hair upward, and licks down the back of my neck, chills erupting across every inch of my skin. “When he went to beg for help to protect Cristiano, we knew your husband wouldn’t budge. Everyone played so beautifully into my plan.”

My muscles stiffen, and I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting the tang of blood on my tongue. “What…what plan?”

There’s some momentary relief when he removes his hand from between my legs, only to settle it on my waist, winding up the fabric of my dress. “Caelian refused to help your father because he hates the man, and you stepped up just like your father and I knew you would.”

My heart hammers.

“You know, you’re definitely a feisty one. But so predictable, Giana. You did exactly what I wanted you to, stepped up to save your brother by sacrificing yourself,” the skirt of my dress is around my waist now, “to me.”

I swallow hard, the reality of his words sinking into me like poison.

That’s why my father was so accepting of me divorcing Caelian only to marry the man he tried to save me from in the first place. That’s why he didn’t do anything to help me the night he heard me cry for help. He’s been Aurelio’s pawn all this time.

My mind races, the pieces coming together in a stomach-turning revelation. All of this was masterminded by him. Caelian,Cristiano, my own father, me…all mere players in this sadistic game he wove so cunningly.

Uncontrollable shaking seizes me as his fingers trace my hipbone, the sickening intimacy of his touch forcing a whimper to escape my lips.

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, both from fear and the feeling of betrayal—betrayal from my father, but even more so, from myself. I had been so blind to see what was right in front of me. That which Caelian had said to be true all along.

“You, pretty Giana,” he says, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “you're the queen in this game of chess. A queen who fell right into the trap of the enemy king.” His fingers snake into the sides of my panties, and I try to jerk free, no longer playing this game with him.

“Let go,” I spit out, but he only chuckles darkly in response.

“As I said. Feisty,” he murmurs again, amusement and something far more sinister curling around his voice's edge.

“I said let go of me.” The glass falls from my hand, shattering on the marble floor. Everything shatters except for the stem, and my eyes zero in on it, the sharp point gleaming sinisterly in the dimming light.

“Relax, Giana.” His voice is a low rumble, a predator's purr. “You know you want this.” Abruptly, he tightens his hold around me and starts to shove my panties down, and I’m clawing at his arm, scratching his flesh, all the while keeping my eyes on the crystal stem.

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