Page 43 of Immoral

The voice in my head telling me it's no longer last night and to stop this before it goes any further gets shut down. My insatiable desire for him wins, and my body submits to him again. I lock my hands behind his head and sink onto him, gasping as his erection slides against my already overstimulated walls.

He keeps one palm on my ass cheek then returns to fisting my hair with his other hand. His mouth moves across my chin, over my lobe, then to the spot on my neck he always marks as his. The moment his teeth dig into my swollen flesh, sweet chaos shoots right to my pussy.

"Oh God," I whisper, arching into him.

He flicks his tongue against the spot, sucks it, then bites harder.

"Gianni," I cry out, my voice cracking, yet everything about it sends me into a deeper tunnel of beautiful oblivion.

In a quick move, he flips me over, bringing my thighs to my chest. Then his hands are on my cheeks, his thumbs stroking my chin, and his dominant gaze locked on mine. His cock slides over my clit, working me into a frenzy until an earthquake rips through me, destroying my ability to control anything in my body.

Like everything Gianni does, he sees my high through, taunting it, extending it, repeating it until I'm sweating and writhing underneath him.

Then he reenters me. His thrusts are slow at first, plunging deeper and deeper until I'm so full of him, I can't tell where either one of us starts or ends.

The room disappears. I can't see straight. He uses every part of his body, controlling me with perfection, as if he knows how every move, every touch, every thrust into my body makes me feel.

I never stop quivering, at times shaking so hard, I can barely breathe. When he detonates inside me, he growls into my ear, "My wife."

His words create a vicious pool of panic swirling with happiness in my aftermath. I don't release him, keeping my arms tight around his shoulders, attempting to take deeper breaths but unable to.

I'm unsure how much time passes until he tries to pull his head away from my neck, but I only squeeze tighter. The ceiling seems to move closer. No matter how hard I try, air continues to feel stale in my lungs.

He breaks from my grip, sitting up and pulling me with him. His palms hold my cheeks. His voice is full of worry, but everything is dizzy. "Tesoro, what's going on?"

I can't answer. I've never experienced anything like this before. Pain shoots through my heart.

Why can't I breathe?

I'm Mrs. Gianni Marino.

What have I done?

"Breathe, Cara," he barks out.

His harsh tone snaps me back to reality. His dark eyes come into focus. He models how I should take in oxygen, and I begin to follow his lead.

A long time passes before the pain leaves my chest and the air feels fresh. When everything is normal again, Gianni strokes my cheek, questioning, "Has that happened before?"

"No."

Something passes in his expression. I'm unsure what it is, but the urge to get away from him overpowers me. I slip out of his grasp and jump off the bed. "I'm going to shower."

His expression intensifies. "Cara—"

"I don't want to talk about this," I blurt out and high-tail it to the bathroom. I shut and lock the door, not trusting for one moment he won't barge in and step into the shower with me.

I turn the water on then put my hands on the counter and study my reflection in the mirror, wondering what just happened. When steam begins to fog up the glass, I step under the warm water.

All the brands of shower products I use are in front of me. Once again, I wonder how much of my current predicament Gianni planned.

What Gianni wants, Gianni gets.

But now he's mine, so maybe it doesn't matter how this happened?

He's only mine until he gets bored. Then what happens?

Visions of my future don't ease any of my worries. Gianni isn't a man who believes in divorce. He would fight me and do whatever he could to stop me from leaving him. I'd become the woman I never want to be, the one who has to stay in a marriage knowing her husband is cheating on her but can't leave—especially if we had a baby.

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