Page 45 of Bitter Poetry
“I’m aware that you lost one,” he says. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to wear something Dante gave you now.”
My breath hitches. The necklace feels like a fiery brand. The risk I take in wearing it, should Ettore realize, sets my legs quaking.
“Lie for me.”
Fool that I am, I have.
Ettore opens the case and shows me the bracelet. It is diamond studded and unquestionably more expensive than the simpler, elegant one Dante gave me for my graduation.
Ettore is making a statement. One that I’m forced to comply with as I allow him to clasp it around my wrist. He traces his fingers over it, his eyes darkening before he lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the back.
“We will be husband and wife very soon,” he says, drawing me closer and sliding his fingers into my hair.
He smiles.
My return smile feels wobbly. My stomach is all at sea, and my heart is beating too fast.
“It might be appropriate for you to thank me, your husband-to-be?”
“Thank you,” I stammer over the words, feeling trapped and deeply uneasy. “It’s beautiful.”
His smile only grows. “I was thinking in ways more than words.” His fingers curl around the back of my neck, and he applies downward pressure.
I’m confused, stumbling forward slightly before my eyes widen.
“I do?—”
He pushes harder now, and I drop to my knees. My cheeks burn and my mind turns blank. His crotch is right in front of my face with a telling bulge.
I’m confused as to how I came to be on my knees. And utterly overwhelmed.
“I-I thought… Wedding… After.” The words come out disjointed.
I swallow nervously.
His fingers are still in my hair, holding me there and preventing me from rising. He uses his other hand to undo the buckle of his belt and his zipper.
“The wedding is a formality,” he says.
My mind is full of white noise. I try to shake my head, to jerk away, to unpeel his fingers from my scalp, now holding my hair so tightly that my eyes begin to water. My mumbled protest is cut off when he pushes his cock into my mouth and straight to the back of my throat.
I gag. He grunts approvingly, pulls out, and pushes back in.
His taste is in my mouth. It’s so shocking that I completely disconnect.
I let it happen.
Distantly, I acknowledge that my lack of resistance pleases him, and his thrusting turns erratic.
He stills, filling my mouth. I choke on it. He pulls out. I cough and spit it out.
His low chuckle arrests me from the daze.
I’m on my knees, my cheeks damp from tears, and my chin covered in his cum and my saliva.
He cups my chin and chuckles again. “You’ll do better next time, yes?”
I think he wants me to nod, so I do.
