Page 41 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Instead of kissing me, Dante put enough space between us to bring a cannoli to my lips. I tried to take it from him, but he pulled the treat away. “If you want it, you’ll eat it from my hand.”

I licked my lips, aware that whatever game we were playing would likely ruin me all over again. Ignoring the warning bells sounding in my head, I opened my mouth. Dante slipped the cannoli past my lips, and I took a bite, closing my eyes as I savored the crunch and sweet cream.

“Mia piccola fantasma,” he whispered. “You fucking glow in the moonlight, just like an apparition. Haunting me.”

“Only, I’m real.”

“Painfully so.” Dante’s words were nearly inaudible. He offered me another bite, and while I chewed, his free hand slid down my side, gathering my nightgown and drawing it up my thighs until he could slip underneath. His fingers brushed over my center. “You’re already wet.”

I nodded. Dante’s tongue darted out, flicking at the corner of my mouth, licking up the cream there. Then his lips were on mine, hard and insistent. His fingers plunged inside me, but he captured my cry with his kiss.

He was as intense as any other task he performed, expertly working my body, pressing against my clit as his thick fingers stroked my front wall.

“Dante,” I gasped as he hit the perfect spot.

His chest rumbled with a growl. “Going to make you come for me.”

“Promise?” My breathless laugh turned into a moan as he stroked more firmly in answer. I clenched around him, my head falling back as he kissed and licked down my neck. He’d set me on fire, and fuck, I wanted to burn with him.

My orgasm washed over me, wiping all thoughts from my mind as I shook, then slumped against the kitchen island. Dante pulled his fingers from my pussy and held them up in the moonlight, smirking as he saw my release. Then, he held my gaze as he sucked them clean. An orgasmic aftershock shot through my body.

He popped the last of the cannoli into his mouth, and I reached out, grabbing his hand and licking cream from his index finger, then sucking the digit into my mouth.

Dante let out a pained groan. “Fuck, Olesya.”

I released his finger with a pop, only to whimper when he fisted the hair at the nape of my neck.

“On your knees, wife,” he demanded gruffly, forcing me to the cold, hard floor. “Take me out.”

I lowered the waistband of his black silk pajama pants, and his thick cock sprang free, bobbing in front of my face.

“Suck.” It was a demand and a plea in a single word.

I leaned forward, my tongue darting out to swipe the drop of precum from the slit in his cockhead. His fingers tightened, pulling my hair and making my scalp burn.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he growled.

I sucked him into the wet heat of my mouth, my tongue gliding on the underside of his cock and circling the head when I pulled back. He used the fist in my hair to guide me in the rhythm he wanted.

Looking up, I watched as he brought his fist to his mouth, muffling the grunts and groans as he thrust deeper, forcing past my throat and making me struggle to suppress my gag reflex. He pulsed his cock there until tears ran down my cheeks, then pulled back so I could suck in air.

“Fuck,” he rasped, holding my head with both hands. “Take my come down your throat.”

It was the only warning he offered before shoving his dick down my throat and snarling as he poured himself into me. There would have been no use resisting had I wanted to. He held me there until I’d swallowed every drop, then pulled away with a gasp, like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

Dante’s eyes were conflicted when he stared down at me, taking in my disheveled appearance. Running a hand through his dark hair, he panted, tucking himself away and rushing out of the kitchen.

I collapsed on the floor and wiped the last salty drops of semen from my lips. My hair was mussed, my cheeks tear-stained. I regretted ever meeting Dante Neretti.

Because I liked what he’d done to me.

Chapter Thirteen

Martina spoiled us—even more since Mamma died. She made it to the kitchen before dawn and was always bustling around the space, waiting to make our food. After all, food was love.

The week was shaping up to be tedious, as times of unrest often were, so I took time to enjoy the simple pleasure of Martina’s pastries and coffee that would hopefully keep me going for a few hours. The weekend wouldn’t bring a much-needed break, but it was only three days until Sunday. I marked my weeks by the day because I had to cling to something. One day to mark my achievement of making it through the previous seven.

Sleep was a rarity, my father’s men calling at all hours since the bulk of the family business had been piled on my shoulders. Every time I closed my eyes, I either had nightmares, dreams of Olesya taunted me, or somebody woke me up mere minutes after I’d managed to sink into unconsciousness.

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