Page 14 of Arranged Pleasures

Rounding the front, I watch my husband’s stealthy body move effortlessly in his power suit. Opening my door, he sticks in his hand, and I take it, stepping out. Okay, I’m in a tennis skirt and a basic V-neck, and my husband looks like he walked out of a GQ ad. Suddenly I’m highly aware of how unprepared and underdressed I am.

“I wish you would have told me to dress nicer, I look out of place.” I mess with my outfit, and he ceases me. Grabbing my hands he firmly plants them in his and against his chest. Valet unloads our bags.

“Keys are in the car.” The young man leaves us.

“In a matter of an hour the only thing that will make you out of place is the unholy fucking things I am going to do to your ass, tits, pussy, and hell when I fuck your face.” He pauses, trying to calm his growing erection I feel against my stomach. “My cock is so fucking hard and ready to treat you like its own fucking cum slut.”

My smile leaves and I gulp. I’m not new to his degradation, but I am never going to get used to it. Especially on nights like this. Without another word, he takes my hand, and I follow behind him.

An employee takes our bags and disappears, I am sure he knows where to take them. We enter the all-white lobby with black and gold accents. It smells familiar. Oddly familiar. Too familiar. It takes me a moment and I keep taking in inhales.

“Cherries and honeysuckle. It’s a custom scent I had made. Now our guests get to know what fucking heaven smells like.” My two scents I always mix. My heart flutters rapidly in my chest; it could nearly be mistaken for cardiac arrest.

“Il mio re,” I coo, squeezing his hand tighter in mine.

“You mean more to me than breathing, remember that tonight, Emelia. Remember that I respect and love you beyond measure in this world. Because tonight,” he pauses, leaning down and putting his lips to my ear. “I am going to fuck you like you are just a toy and meant for being fucked like you’re nothing.” I gulp. We have straddled lines like this before. Nico will degrade me, but quickly praise me. We never took it to a place where he and I forgot we’re lovers and partners first.

You getwhatyou ask for, Emelia.

“Mr. and Mrs. Valiente, welcome in, it is nice to have you both here together. We have your suite prepared, bags are already on their way up. I am here if you need anything.” The gentleman who approaches us reminds me a lot of Giulio. He is very inviting and seems to be highly aware of my husband and how to avoid pushing hot buttons. I read his name tag.

“Mr. Coleman, I’m Emelia, it is wonderful to meet you.” This is a nice break from what Nico and I are doing. Can you combust into thin air if there is too much lust? Is that a thing?

“It is lovely to meet you, Mrs. Valiente.”

“Emelia, please,” I ask. Nico squeezes my hand, letting me know that he disagrees with me letting this man call me by my first name. I have changed a lot over the years and understand the importance of my life as a Mafia wife, but I didn’t lose all of me. Emelia is my name and not everyone has to bow when I walk in. They can save that for my husband.

“Your suite is ready; your admin code is activated. Enjoy your stay,”

“Thank you, Mr. Coleman. Also, if guests complain. Move them floors and comp a night.” I physically shiver, my spine going cold. I am a loud lover, as is my husband, but that loud? What exactly does he have planned? My stomach wild with butterflies and deep, unadulterated lust. I need him. Now.

“As you wish, sir.” He leaves us with a nod and moves swiftly back to the front desk.

“Either you plan to torture me or make me even louder than normal.” I lay my head on his arm as we make our way to the elevator.

“Torturing you is the plan; it will make the pleasure better.” He groans in my ear.

Well, my body is officially a full-on inferno.

“Yes sir.”

The elevator pings and the cart empties then we enter. He enters a code and the elevator closes, taking off. It skips all floors, not one stop in the fifty-floor building. I bet that code prevents it from stopping on other floors.

We don’t speak and I will admit, it feels like the first time. There is no way to truly explain it or tap into my body as deeply as I need at the moment, to figure out why this very instance feels like I am going to be with Nico for the first time.

The doors open to the most stunning hall. The floors are all black and gold marble, worth more than what the entire building cost, I am sure. There are deep emerald-green benches in suede with gold squared legs and armrest. The mirrors adorning the length of the hall are oval and rimmed in a gold distressed frame. Real white roses are in each sconce also lining the wall, they are clear, with a gold base and rim securing the glass vase to the base. And that smell—cherries and honeysuckle—invades my senses, yet again.

“Nico—” I go to tell him how stunning the place is but he pulls from me and severs our contact. I look at him confused, suddenly he seems distant and cold. Pulling out his phone, he calls someone. I wait eagerly for him to say something or come back to me, but there is an eeriness to his aura. His energy has completely shifted from inviting—to stranger-like.

“Giulio. Cut the cameras on the fiftieth floor, Luxor suite hall.”

I gulp. He finally looks at me and his eyes are dark and menacing. Oh god. My palms begin to sweat. Here we go.

“Done? Good. Thank you.” Ending the call, he puts the phone in his pocket, never taking his eyes off me. In fact, he is studying me, my face, my body, and everything about me. It almost feels like he could read my thoughts if he keeps at it.

“Nico?” I step up, but he steps back.

“You will do for the night. Clothes off.”

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