Keeping his bride

Mateo

VIRGIN. INNOCENT. MINE.

The last word roars inside of my mind, but I don’t let it stay. I immediately push that thought aside. Because if she becomes mine, it will change everything. And I can’t afford to have her as a liability. I’ve built my empire from the ground up, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of my desecrated family and eventually securing my own place in the world. I will not have it crumble for a woman. Especially not one that I paid for.

I can’t get the image of her at the club out of my mind. At first, my intention was to simply scare her out of her panicked state. But the moment the sweet smell of her arousal assaulted my senses, I was a fucking goner. It sparked a dark, primal urge from deep inside of me. I had to taste her. I had to give her pleasure.

My body was shaking like an addict with the need for her. She’s like a drug tailored for my specific tastes. And if I don’t quench my thirst and feed my addiction again soon, I feel as if I might go mad.

If she had told me no at the club, I would have stopped. It would have taken every ounce of strength in me to do it, but I will never force a woman. I may have done a lot of fucked-up things in my life, but that’s where I draw the line.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

But when all I heard were her staggered breaths and panicked whimpers, I continued. And when she finally begged me not to stop, I think she needed me just as much as I needed her in that moment.

As I stand under the hot spray of water, I tug on my hard cock, closing my eyes and remembering the taste of her. Fuck, I never want to wash away her essence. My dick is hard steel in my hand as I work my fist up and down my length. My balls tighten to the point that they’re almost painful, and then I groan out low and deep as my release shoots against the tiled wall.

My entire body shudders with that release. It feels like years of pent-up frustration even though she’s been here for a much shorter period of time. Fuck, that woman is going to be the death of me.

Rinsing off, I step out of the shower and dry off. I slip on a pair of boxers and walk into the dark bedroom. Aria is already in bed with her back turned towards me. Sighing, I slide under the blankets and bring my arms up, resting my head on my hands and staring up at the ceiling.

The orgasm satiated me to an extent, but I’m wide awake. I realize we haven’t even talked about what happened earlier tonight. Not about the panic attack over someone who kidnapped her, hurt her; nor me tasting her sweet cunt and making her come on my tongue. In fact, she refused to talk to me at all after we left the club.

The entire night replays over and over again in my mind as we lie in bed together. Aria is huddled on the other side, pretending to be asleep, but I know she is as alert as I am. I’ve grown accustomed to knowing the sound of her slipping peacefully into slumber and also to knowing when she’s awake, like right now.

I turn on the lamp by the bed, dowsing the room with a soft amber glow. “The man who took you and tried to rape you. Tell me his name, Aria,” I command.

I’m assuming she’s going to flat-out refuse, just like she does with everything else, but then she turns on her side to face me. “There’s nothing you can do,” she tells me, surprising me. “He’s untouchable, like he’s been for years. He might even be in prison again by now. Or at least I hope so anyway,” she says. And then she adds, with sadness dripping from her tone, “No one can get to him. Not even my father could.”

I listen to her words and pick them apart carefully. Her father must be a powerful man, but so is the man who assaulted her. I stare into her amber eyes in the soft lamp light. I can still see the panic and the fear inside them, and it makes my muscles tremble in anger. “His name,” I demand through clenched teeth.

Aria sighs dramatically, and I can hear her resigned tone when she finally says, “Constantine Carbone.” Rolling back on her side to face the wall, she tells me, “No one has ever been able to bring him down. Like my brother always said, he has more money and power than God,” she resolves.

I turn off the lamp and lie awake for a while after she’s done speaking. I listen to her breathing even out as she eventually falls asleep. And then I listen to her whimpers as she fights through a nightmare. I can only assume she’s dreaming about the bastard that kidnapped and sold her. The man who attempted to rape her.

Possessiveness that really has no business being there in the first place suddenly wells up inside of me. My blood is boiling by the time I throw back the sheets and climb out of bed.

Whoever this man is, he will be dead soon. I don’t give a fuck who he is or where he is hiding or how powerful he pretends to be. He is not untouchable in my eyes. The moment he laid his hands on Aria, his fate was sealed. He’s a dead man walking.

Aria

THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up in bed alone. I reach over to feel the sheets beside me, and they are ice cold. Mateo hasn’t been here for a while. I vaguely remember our conversation before I fell asleep. He wanted a name, and I gave it to him willingly. And, hell, if he can do something about Constantine, then so be it. Lord knows that monster certainly deserves everything coming his way.

Giving Mateo any kind of information felt wrong, though. But I was so exhausted, mentally and physically, after what had happened, that I gave it up willingly. Also, I knew he would just keep pressing until he got what he wanted. If Mateo is anything, he’s definitely relentless.

My thoughts turn to what else happened last night. I swear I can still feel Mateo’s tongue between my thighs. The orgasm he gave me was so powerful, it felt like my soul was leaving my body. I’ve never felt like that before; and while it thrilled me beyond belief, it also scared the hell out of me. I can’t afford to fall under whatever spell he’s trying to put me under when the crystal-clear, blaring fact remains – he’s my captor.

Clenching my thighs together, I groan out in frustration before tossing the sheets aside and climbing out of bed. I take a shower to clear my mind and get ready for the day, dressing quickly in worn yoga pants and a plain, black t-shirt. I frown at my reflection while I brush through my hair, but it’s not like I can do anything about my wardrobe choices. If I were home, I would have a closet full of dresses, outfits, and shoes that would make even the biggest socialite green with envy.

After my hair is dry, I venture out of the room and down to the kitchen. There are several guards on the way, but they don’t even so much as make eye contact with me. I can’t help but wonder if they were instructed to ignore me by Mateo. I wonder if they would pay attention to me if I ran, though. The thought crosses my mind, but only for a split second before the phantom scars on my back remind me why I will never run or misbehave again.

When I enter the kitchen, one of the cooks is busy making breakfast, and there’s a smorgasbord of food on the center island. When the older woman sees me approaching, a big smile graces her pretty, wrinkled face. “Por favor,” she says, motioning towards the food.

I smile at her and take one of the pink and brown seashell-looking breads from the counter. I tear off a fluffy corner and pop it into my mouth. The flaky, buttery crust hits my tastebuds first and then a sweetness that’s divine, and I hum in approval.

The woman seems pleased by my reaction. “Concha,” she says while pointing to what’s in my hand. “Good?” she asks.

I emphatically nod as I put another piece in my mouth.

“Bueno,” she tells me, motioning for me to say the word.

“Bueno,” I repeat.

She smiles appreciatively. “Muy bueno. Very good,” she says with a thick accent.

“Muy bueno,” I agree.

She points to herself and tells me, “Esmeralda.”

“Aria,” I respond.

She says something in Spanish, but I don’t understand a word of it. “I’m sorry, I don’t -.”

“She said ‘beautiful name for a beautiful girl,'” a deep voice says behind me.

I turn to see Mateo sitting in the corner of the room. I’m not sure how long he’s been here. He looks immaculate in a black-on-black suit, shirt, and tie. His eyes look tired, however, like he didn’t sleep much last night.

I glance back at Esmeralda, but she’s back to busying herself with making breakfast. Nervousness gnaws at my belly as I sit down on a nearby stool and pick at my concha. Just seeing Mateo makes my thoughts turn to last night. I stare at his mouth, the same mouth that gave me so much pleasure. And then I quickly tear my gaze away when he smirks, because I’m convinced he can read my mind and hear all the dirty thoughts I’m thinking right now. I stare down at my breakfast, completely focusing on it while I eat.

“I have a few people coming to see you today,” Mateo explains, surprising me. I’m about to ask him who, but he cuts me off by saying, “They’re going to get your measurements and fit you for a new wardrobe.”

My eyebrows crease in confusion, and I stare down at the clothes I’m wearing. Why would Mateo suddenly care what I wear?

“I’m sure the slim pickings you have right now aren’t up to your standards.”

What would he know about my standards? I think to myself, but I keep quiet. Instead, I simply say, “Thank you.”

He gives me a nod before he stands, his form towering over me. “They should be here within the hour.” And with that, he walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Esmeralda.

The delicious smell of eggs frying in a pan wafts over to me, but I’m suddenly not feeling very hungry. Mateo’s unexpected knowledge of my supposed standards has me on edge and wary. Did he figure out who I am? Did I accidentally let something slip that could have led him to my last name?

Constantine.

I told him about Constantine last night, but how would he link him to my family? Gnawing on my lower lip, I suddenly wish I had a cell phone. Some way to Google his name to see if it leads to anything about me or the Vitale name.

Turning to Esmeralda, I ask her, “Do you have a phone?”

She cocks a brow at me and shakes her head.

Damn. Even if she does understand me and has a phone, I doubt if she would let me use it. And I can’t even think about her punishment if she did help me out. I don’t want anyone else to ever go through what I went through down in that basement. Just the memory of it has my hands shaking. I almost drop the rest of my bread, but I hold on tightly and finish it quickly, not wanting to waste it in front of Esmeralda.

I feel numb, like I messed up. Did I unknowingly put my family in danger by giving Mateo the name of the man who kidnapped and sold me? If that’s the case, then I’ll never be able to forgive myself.