Page 46 of Cruel Heir

I slide my fingers into Lucia’s hair, wrapping it around my fist, and I see that fear in her face again. “But I’m not going to let him have you,principessa. I won’t let him do away with the heir that I plan to make sure that you’re carrying for me. And I will doeverythingin my power to pay him back for what he’s done to me and my family. I will make him suffer the way my father did. The way he has made others suffer. And thenIwill be the one who chooses how the Sicilian Family goes forward.” I smile down at her, feeling her quiveringagainst me, the pleasure of it spreading through me with a buzzing warmth. “You asked me if I planned to go back to Chicago,principessa. The answer is no. We will be staying right here, you and I. And when all this is finished, you and I will be the ones who rule.”

I release her hair, but Lucia doesn’t move. She looks almost as if she’s about to faint. “You’re going to kill him,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “That’s what you’re planning. Not to ask for power. You wanteverything.”

“I deserve everything.” I brush my knuckles against her cheek, seeing the blood on my hand standing out starkly against the paleness of her skin. “And I almost have it all, with you. But you will be the reason I get the rest, in the end.”

“I won’t help you,” Lucia whispers, and I laugh, bending my head to hers.

“You already have,” I murmur.

And then my mouth crashes down onto hers.

15

LUCIA

The moment Andre kisses me, I wrench away from him. I don’t know how he thinks he can touch me like this, how he can get away with it after what he’s just said to me. After he’s tried to make me believe that my father is more concerned with politics than with saving me.

I don’t know how he thinks he can make me want him, when he’s tried to shatter every last bit of hope that I have.

His hand grabs my chin, dragging my mouth back to his. “So we’re back to this, are we?” he growls, pushing me up against the counter, his hips grinding into mine. “I can go back to being rough with you,principessa, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Andre,stop—” I try to speak through the kiss, but his mouth is hard and hot on mine, demanding and hungry. The memory of why I was in his room at all comes back to me, and I feel myself flush hot with shame, remembering that I’d wanted him. That I’d thought I would surprise him, a peace offering of my own, when he came home. That I would come to him instead of making him find me.

I’ve never regretted anything so much—except maybe walking out into that fucking garden the night of my debut.

“No,principessa,” he murmurs, reaching up with his other hand tograb at the front of the thin chiffon blouse I’m wearing. I’d discarded the cardigan I’d had on, and I shiver despite the warmth of the room, trembling as Andre’s fingers curl into the neckline andyanks.

The tissue-like material rips, tearing down the center as he snatches it away from me, leaving my breasts bare. He palms one of them, his hand rubbing roughly against my nipple as he yanks open the fly of my pants, the button hitting the tiles with a small noise as he rips them downwards. “I want you naked,” Andre growls, his fingers sliding into my pants, delving roughly between my bare folds. My face burns hotter, remembering the night a few days after our wedding when I shaved for him, something that I’d never done before. Now I do it every few days, making sure to pick my battles, to not give him a reason to complain over something that costs me nothing to do.

But now I wonder if it hasn’t cost me something, from the sneer on his face as he kneels down in front of me, his fingers spreading me open. If that acquiescence, like all the other small ways I’ve given in, haven’t added up to make me start to fall for a man who should have always been my enemy. If I haven’t pushed that line further and further, letting myself go farther than I should have, until suddenly, I’m nearly at Andre’s side.

His tongue delves between my bare folds, hot and lashing. This isn’t foreplay, it’s possession. It’s a reminder that my body belongs to him, that he controls it—that he controlseverything, even my pleasure. That no matter how hard I try to resist as I clutch the countertop with shaking fingers and try not to buck against his mouth, he will drag the pleasure out of me. He will make me succumb.

“I want you wet for my cock,principessa,” he growls against my skin, sucking my folds lightly into his mouth as his tongue slides over my clit. “And you’re going to come for me. You can’tnotcome for me,dolcezza.”

Tears spring to my eyes, but I can’t say anything. There’s no argument that I can make. Already my legs are trembling, my thighs quivering as he braces his arms against them, spreading my folds as his tongue lashes and curls around my clit, lips fastening around it as hesucks my flesh into his mouth. I can feel myself throbbing, feel my knees quiver as they nearly give out,hearthe cry that slips out of my mouth as the orgasm crashes over me, hot and hard, my arousal flooding over his tongue. My legs nearly buckle, and I catch one glimpse of Andre stripping off his pants as he stands, of his thick cock slapping against his abs before he spins me around to face the mirror, one hand pinning my wrists behind my back as he pushes between my thighs.

“I’d fuck your ass again if I weren’t in such a hurry to get you pregnant,” he growls. “Or if I thought I could hold back long enough to fuck you in both holes. Butgod, I need to come,principessa.” He kicks my legs open with one foot against my ankle, his hips thrusting hard as he drives his cock into me to the hilt, filling me so roughly that I let out a scream that’s half pain, half pleasure. “You always drive me to the very brink, you know that, Lucia? I’m halfway to coming before I even get inside of you. Halfway to strangling you before I ever touch you. You make me wonder if I shouldn’t have just killed you that first night, and then you make me so goddamn glad that I didn’t.”

His hand wraps around my throat, tilting my head back as he looks at me in the mirror, his hips jolting me forward with every thrust. He forces me to watch as he fucks me, his fingers around my neck holding me in place, making me see what he’s doing. I can’t look away from the pleasure-glazed expression on my face, from the glossy look in my eyes, from the way my skin is flushed with desire. I can’t not see the way my lips shape a choked moan every time he sinks into me, bending me forward over the counter, his other hand still gripping my wrists as he keeps me pinned beneath him.

I’m going to come like this. He hasn’t touched my clit, but it doesn’t matter. Every thrust inside of me pushes me closer to the edge, his hand on my throat and the restraint on my wrists driving me out of my mind with pleasure. With one last desperate attempt to escape my body’s endless betrayal, I try to wrench out of his grasp, but it’s impossible. Andre’s hand tightens around my throat, my breathing stuttering as I gasp for air, half from the pressure and half from the pleasure coursing through me. I feel myself tighten aroundhim, pulling him deeper, rippling around the length of his cock as he groans.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,dolcezza. Squeeze me, just like that—god, I’m going to fucking come—”

He surges against me, thrusting sharp and hard, and I feel his cum spill into me just as I fall over the edge into my own orgasm. I bite my lip, trying not to cry out, but I can hear the strangled moan and see my expression in the mirror as Andre’s face goes taut with his pleasure. He thrusts into me once more, holding himself there, and I try not to let the tears fall as I meet his satisfied gaze. He comes back into focus, his skin streaked with blood, and I feel like an idiot for ever being afraid for him. For ever thinking that it was his.

Andre lets go of me, stepping back, and I clutch the edge of the counter with one bruised wrist as I try to catch my breath. “I hate you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from the pressure of his hand on my throat, and Andre chuckles.

“Be that as it may,” he says, turning to step into the shower. “You want me, too. And you can’t seem to make yourself stop.”

—

Andre is his usual self all throughout dinner, as if the conversation in the bathroom never happened, as if he hadn’t told me that I’m all but worthless to my father and then fucked me. He asks about my conversation with the other wives, listens as I tell him that I liked Carla and Bea well enough, that Rosa is hard to read, and Annette is more than a little rude.

“Don Gaeta is a difficult man,” Andre says, taking a bite of his steak. “I imagine it makes his wife difficult, too. They don’t get along all that well, from what I hear.”

“According to them, no mafia wife gets along with her husband.” I raise an eyebrow, cutting a piece off of mine as I look at him coolly. “So I suppose we’re a normal married couple, then.”

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