Page 41 of Coerced Wife

As he promised, I’ve never come harder.

My body collapses in my bonds, completely boneless.

Little aftershocks run through me when he switches off the toy and throws it aside. I’m only halfway aware when he pulls out the plug and allows his release to gush down the insides of my legs and the crease of my ass.

He’s on top of me before I can drag in another breath, kissing me like a feral animal while filling me carefully with his cock. He braces himself on his arms to keep his weight off me, driving into me with long, lazy strokes, but it’s as if my body has been maxed out on pleasure and the receptors have shut down.

“Yes, fuck, Anya,” he groans, thrusting deep before stilling.

His cock grows impossibly thick inside me before more warmth bathes my pussy.

He rests his forehead against mine, breathing as if he’s the one who’s been tortured with a delayed and overstimulating release. “Only you can do this to me.” He kisses my lips reverently. “Only you can make me come twice in a row.” Hooking a curl behind my ear, he says, “Don’t worry. I didn’t harm you or the baby. I checked with Nicole. She told me orgasms are good for the baby because they make you feel good. All the toys I used are safe.”

Unable to string together a sentence, I close my eyes and give myself over to the bliss in which I’m floating, a deep, merciful void where sins don’t exist.

And then he ruins it by saying, “The engagement party is next Friday,tesoro. If you don’t choose a ring and a dress before then, I’ll choose for you.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Saverio

When I have to be at the club, Anya works at Antonio’s old desk in my office. The arrangement more than suits me. Safety precautions aside, I like to have her close to me, preferably within my hand’s reach, and my hands always seem to reach for her as if they have a mind of their own. I can’t go a minute without touching her, even if it’s just to smooth my palm over her silky red hair or to brush my knuckles over the growing curve of her stomach.

I study her from where I’m working, my gaze constantly drawn to her. She’s lost in the numbers, her lip caught between her teeth and her eyebrows pulled together. She’s wearing one of the dresses I bought for her, a form-fitting blue one that shows off her small bump. I like showing off her pregnancy. It makes my chest expandwith pride, the mere sight of her round belly filling the empty spaces inside me with warmth.

My treasure is angry with me, and although her discontent beats wrong in my chest, I don’t regret my decision. I never intended on trusting a woman again, let alone dragging another one to the altar. I don’t trust Anya because I shouldn’t. If she gets the chance, she’ll escape me. If she could, she’d tell the truth and have me arrested for Lewis’s murder.

But if giving her my surname protects her, there’s no question about doing it. The possessive part of me wants this. The part of me that’s just found the woman who awakened my slumbering libido wants to tie her to me. For good. Forever. A different part of me wants what only she can give me, something I’ll otherwise never have.

And as the countdown to our imminent union advances, she makes no move in either choosing a ring or a dress. I’m giving her all the choices I can, the only ones she has, but she’s making a very clear statement by choosing nothing. My words of last night upset her. I felt it in how rigid she turned in my arms when I gave her my ultimatum. Nevertheless, she dozed off quickly after that. Mercifully.

After I fucked her raw, she was exhausted. I made a stunning mess of her, marring her pale skin with bite marks and scratches from my stubble. She still has the hickeys on her neck and shoulder to show for it. Hence the silk scarf she wears today. Sadly, it’s not one I used to tie her up. The thought of her wearing that improvised rope around her neck makes me hard. It was only last night that I fucked her with a V-plug and a vibrator, yet I’m starving for her again.

I push the lust down. She needs time to recover. Nicole is having a field day with my sex questions. She probablyhopes my dick falls off so that she doesn’t have to answer the hundred and one inquiries I text her every day.

At six, Anya is still typing away on the laptop I gave her. The keys make a clacking sound as her fingers fly over them. She doesn’t look up when I push to my feet, take my jacket from the back of my chair, and pull it on.

I go over and stop in front of her desk. Still, she doesn’t acknowledge me. She continues to type as if her life depends on it. I press a finger on the back of her laptop screen, pushing it closed.

Finally, she lifts her head to grace me with a glare. “I’m not done.”

“You’ve been going at it for hours. You need to eat and rest.”

The set of her mouth is obstinate. Cute. “I’m not hungry or tired.”

I take her laptop and zip it up in the computer bag.

There.

End of discussion.

She scowls. “You’re a control freak, Saverio De Luca.”

I grin. “You’re a workaholic, Anya Brennan.”

She wheels back her chair and crosses her arms. “Speak for yourself.”

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