Page 113 of Hate Mates

“Let’s go with white.” I cock a brow. “Since you’re still a virgin.”

She lifts her cup, taking a slow sip before setting it down, not saying a word.

“I wonder what daddy-dearest would think if he knew you were unable to perform your most basic duty as a wife. Pleasuring your husband.”

“Judging by the vile taste I still have in my mouth, I’d say your pleasure was well taken care of.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” She stands then walks around the table with a confident sway, coming to a stop behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I seem to remember how quickly you managed to make yourself come simply by saying—” she leans close to my ear, her perfume teasing my senses, “‘You want my cum, don’t you, wife?’” My cock swells instantly, her lips brushing against my skin. “‘You want my baby inside your belly.’”

Raw, undiluted lust floods through me, a violent, aching pulse that grips my spine and tightens my balls.

With her thumb, she traces a trail of heat down the side of my neck—a simple touch threatening to unhinge me.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the thought of impregnating me gets you off…husband.”

“Fuck,” I curse, and my fingers squeeze the coffee cup, the ceramic giving way with a sharp crack before I even realize I’ve shattered it.

Hot liquid splashes my palm, shards digging into my flesh, but the pain is useless in numbing the need to fuck this new fight out of her.

“Careful, husband,” she rasps. “You wouldn’t want to hurt those precious hands of yours since they bring you such great…pleasure.”

FOUR

Ottavia

The first time I fall in love with Vincenzo Del Rossa, I’m nine years old.

It happens at one of my father’s endless gatherings, where children are expected to be small versions of their parents—polished, obedient, ruthless.

I escape the ballroom, my stiff shoes sinking into the damp earth of the garden, drawn by a sound too soft for anyone else to notice.

A bird. Small, fragile, its wing bent at an unnatural angle, its chest rising and falling in frantic little shudders.

Its dark, glossy feathers shine in the sunlight, and a sharp ache blooms in my chest, an unbearable helplessness pressing against my ribs.

I drop to my knees beside it, careful not to startle it, my hands hovering uselessly. It’s suffering. Hurting. Dying. And there’s nothing I can do. The thought crushes me, makes my throat tighten with the urge to cry.

I can’t leave it. I can’t let it die.

“You’re wasting your time, Ottavia,” Roberto sneers, stepping onto the gravel path beside me.

Ricardo stands next to him, watching with that same hollow amusement he always does. “It’s just a bird. What do you think you’re going to do, nurse it back to health like a fairytale princess?”

I swallow, my fingers curling into fists on my lap. I hate them. I hate how easy it is for them to mock me, to make me feel small.

“Let’s put it out of its misery.” Roberto grins, then nudges Ricardo. “I bet I can crush it with one foot.”

I shoot to my feet, stepping between them and the bird. “No.”

Roberto laughs. “What are you going to do about it, little sister?”

“I’ll tell Father.”

His smile vanishes. We both know the consequences of being caught behaving like children. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

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