Page 33 of Wedlocked

My hand shook a little as I held the blow-dryer and hot air gusted over my head. “What’s stopping you?”

“Besides the fact you were a virgin just a few days ago?” he growled.

I shivered, goose bumps puckering my skin. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“While you’re my wife I’ll always care.”

I turned off the hair-dryer and put it on the vanity, then tied my hair into what was becoming my trademark long ponytail. “I could enjoy being married to you,” I conceded. And as his eyes widened behind me, I sashayed out of the gorgeous bathroom and back into the bedroom, then into the walk-in closet.

All our clothes had been put away. Clearly the maid had arrived while we’d taken our time in the shower. It was only lucky she hadn’t shown up while my husband had been busy fucking me while I was chained up on the bed.

I was unhooking the evening gown from its hangar when Ethan stalked into the closet after me. A white towel was wrapped around his lean waist, one that highlighted his naturally golden skin thanks to his Italian heritage, the dark sprinkling of hairs that trailed from halfway down his chest to disappear under the towel.

I quite liked the fact he wasn’t covered in ink, the tribal tattoo on his thighs my own private art show, at least for as long as our marriage lasted and for as long as he was faithful. I sighed fitfully. Marriage didn’t mean he wouldn’t stray. He was the crime boss, the don. It was universally presumed he’d continue to overindulge in every vice available.

Women. Drugs. Alcohol. Gambling.

I sniffed. No doubt he expected me to stay faithful while he fucked countless women. But if he thought I’d sit back and ignore his indiscretions he had another thing coming!

“How did you know that dress was the one I wanted you to wear?” he asked.

I shrugged. “You’re a man, aren’t you? As this is the sexiest gown I own now, I guessed this was the one you wanted me in.”

He didn’t say anything when I drew the dress over my head and waited as he zipped me up at the back. It wasn’t until I picked out the matching thong that he stepped close and put his hand over mine.

“No underwear,” he rasped. “I want to know you’re bare underneath.”

I gaped up at him. “Seriously? You want me to flash my privates at every man in the casino?”

“Let them know what they’re never going to have,” he said huskily. “You’re mine, angel. They can salivate all they want, none would dare to touch you.”

I shuddered, both in denial and shameless arousal.

His eyes darkened. “I want you to be in a constant state of self-awareness. I want your bare thighs rubbing together and your pussy leaking as you imagine what I’m going to do to you when we return.”

I dropped my underwear to the floor as I turned to face him. “And just what exactly are you going to do to me?” I asked, my heart thrumming and liquid heat rushing to my core.

Shit. Was I actually considering not wearing underwear? Of course I was, I was daring enough to do just about anything. It wasn’t like I’d ever shied away from a challenge. I loved the adrenaline of going against what society expected.

His smile was dark, devilish. “I’m going to chain you up, on your belly this time. Then I’m going to use a flogger on your tender ass, your back, before I rub the end of the flogger along the seam of your pussy until you come. And finally, I’ll use a toy to make you come even harder. I want you to orgasm so many times you’ll be close to passing out. Then I’ll claim you, wife, and you’ll never think about another man again, because I’ll be all you’ll ever want or need.”

I panted, desire a tight bud in my stomach that threatened to unfurl into a blossoming flower. I couldn’t want this! My husband wasn’t a good man. He craved my complete surrender. He’d use me and then he’d discard me. Yet no matter how wrong that was…I’d already surrendered my body to him.

Chapter Twenty

Ethan

I stepped into the elevator after my gorgeous wife, adjusting the crotch of my black pants so that my arousal wasn’t as uncomfortably restrained. I’d always been sexual, but the attraction I had for my wife was next level. I was almost tempted to pull out my white dress shirt to cover the bulge.

It served me right. It was my own masochistic fault. I’d commanded her not to wear panties or a bra. Big fucking mistake! I might as well have told her to suck my dick. I couldn’t help but now conjure up a million corrupt thoughts about what I’d like to do to her while she was still in her dress.

That at least a hundred of those ideas were of us in this very elevator while I filled her with my dick wasn’t helping my present predicament.

The elevator stopped its downward trajectory. A second later it pinged and the doors slid open, framing a glittering expanse of the casino. One level of it, anyway.

A young brunette woman walked past in a tight, white gown as she hung off the arm of an elderly man in an expensive suit. Another woman, who appeared to be solo, hurried toward one of the gaming tables in nothing but ripped jeans, a fluorescent yellow crop top and heels, her dark hair hanging down her back.

I looked at my wife. None of them compared to Sabrina, she was absolutely stunning. Not only did her maroon gown show off her curves, knowing the long ribbons of fabric just barely concealed her pussy made my mouth water.

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