I’m looking at dresses and blouses, skirts and coats. It’s a bombardment of colors as my fingers trace over fabrics while I pretend to be interested in buying more clothes when I already have a wardrobe bigger than Japan back home. I’ve told Alexius a thousand times that I don’t need more clothes, only to have Mirabella add more items the following day. And now, while laughing and chatting with Milana and Daniela, all I can think of is Alexius and what he said to me before we left the lounge.
“That’s twice you’ve denied me tonight. Now I’ll have to return the favor.”
It’s a threat, a promise, a vow to make me pay for denying him twice. First, when I clenched my thighs together, refusing him access when he had his strong, rough hand travel up the inside of my thigh—yet I eventually welcomed his touch only to squirm in my seat. And second, when I wouldn’t let him make me come while he fingered me at the dinner table with his friends around. It’s not like I didn’t want him to. With every bone in my body, I wanted him to push me over the edge, but I couldn’t guarantee I’d be able to keep a straight face while an orgasm tore through me.
“So,” Daniela started, flipping her red curls over her shoulder as she takes a seat, pouring herself another glass of champagne. “For how long after the wedding did you hate him?”
I balk, not entirely sure what’s happening right now, nervous energy flapping its wings in my stomach.
Milana smiles, slanting a brow as she looks my way. “It’s okay. You can trust us. Both Daniela and I hated our husbands at first, for different reasons—a discussion for a different day. But somehow, these damn men just found a way to rip our hearts open and imprint themselves in every single cell.”
“And drove us crazy with their hot and cold bullshit,” Daniela adds. “Until they finally came to their senses and stopped playing dirty.” She scoffs, and her eyes glaze over as she stares into the distance. “At the beginning, I was convinced our hate for each other would end up destroying us both. It almost did.”
Milana nods in agreement. “I was sure I’d never be able to fall in love with a man like Saint, not after what he did to me. But love works in mysterious ways, I guess. We can’t choose who we love.”
I shrug. “The heart wants what it wants, I guess.”
“Exactly.” She licks her lips after taking a sip of her champagne, placing the flute on the glass table next to her. “So, what’s your story? How did you and Alexius meet? But more importantly, how much did you hate him on your wedding day?” Milana and Daniela snicker, and I know I could become friends with these two women. We seem to have so much in common, and I guess if I choose to have a life with a man like Alexius, I’ll need friends like them.
“Well,” I start, sitting on the sofa across from them, “Alexius and I didn’t meet in what would be seen as a conventional way.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Milana smirks. “I met Saint in a hotel room after he shot and killed who I thought was my friend. Daniela, she met Gian on their wedding day. Nothing about our husbands is conventional, I can promise you that.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “You ladies make my story of a man shoving a black envelope down the front of my waitress uniform seem like a dream come true.” All three of us burst out laughing, the bubbles of the champagne popping on my tongue and making me loopy. “And I hated him a lot on our wedding day. A lot.”
“Ahem.” Alexius clears his throat, and I jump to my feet. Milana and Daniela leisurely look over at him standing in the foyer with Gian and Saint flanking him. All three men have an aura of power around them, their pristine Armani suits emblazed with fluorescent lighting while sex appeal ripples off them in waves that can tip the fucking Richter scale. The other girls hardly seem bothered by the fact that our husbands might have overheard our conversation—and judging by Alexius’ look, he definitely heard.
“Ladies, I think it’s time to call it a night,” Alexius says, tightening his cuffs. Gian merely lifts a brow at Daniela, and she’s on her feet, while Saint simply nods in Milana’s direction and she’s at his side in record time. Talk about a complete one-eighty.
“Alexius,” Saint says, straightening his suit jacket, “we’ll talk soon.”
Our four guests step into the elevator, and Alexius loosens his tie, unbuttoning his collar. “You, too, Maximo,” he orders, and I see Maximo standing to the far right, then swiftly moving to get in the elevator with the others.
The steel doors close, the chime resounding like a gunshot through the room, ripping through the tension thickening with every second that passes. Alexius stares at me in silence, anger and lust warring inside him, as if he can’t decide if he wants to sink his teeth into my flesh or tear my goddamn dress off.
“Alexius, I—”
He places his finger on his lips, a simple act that demands my silence.
His irises drown in blue, gaze fixed on me with a ferocity that could cut glass. With dark brows drawn, and full lips set in a thin line, his demeanor instills equal parts fear and excitement in me, and I gulp, trying to keep my throat from closing. I debate whether I should take a breath or not, hesitant to make a move while his expression remains unreadable.
I should say something again, cut through the tension, but I have no idea what. It’s hard to find the words while he stalks toward me, his every stride purposeful. His presence sucks all the air out of the room. It’s powerful and unmistakable as it wraps around me, instantly going for my throat. My breath. My essence.
I’m incapable of moving when his Italian leather shoes kiss the toes of my stiletto heels. I can hear his steady breathing, the pounding of his heart. Or is it mine? I’m not sure. I’m too entranced, bewitched by this man’s mere presence, how he keeps me captive with a gaze so fucking intense it could crack through concrete.
There’s an uptick in my pulse as he towers over me, his silhouette outlined with the yellow light of the chandelier. I have to crane my neck to look him in the eye, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over my shivering frame. He smells like whiskey and cigars, sex and sin, and judging by the electricity pulsing between us, I’m about to become the devil’s offering.
“Take off your panties.” His voice is low, rough. Sexy.
“Why don’t you take them off for me?”
His hand is around my throat before I have a chance to take another breath. “Do not challenge me, stray. Not now. Just do as I fucking say. Can you do that?” He bites out every word, authority clinging to his cold tone. Nothing has ever sounded sexier.
My throat bobs underneath his palm as I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Good.” He lets go of my throat, and with a snarl, he grabs the fabric of my dress, yanking the skirt up, bunching it around my waist, causing me to gasp. “Now, let’s try that again. Take off. Your panties.”
My breaths are nothing but air of submission as I obey by hooking my fingers in the sides, shimmying the thin layer of lace down my legs, letting it pool around my feet.
His gaze drops, fiery irises flicking over my exposed sex, and I watch him lick his lips, hunger burning behind ripples of blue. His dominion over me, his ownership is palpable, and all I want is for him to grab me and do his worst, fuck me until my body breaks.
Riveted and frozen in front of him, I see his chest rise as he takes a deep inhale as if he’s grasping at his last ounce of self-control.
Cutting his gaze to the open bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, there’s a second for me to breathe, my lungs burning and body aching.
“Is the champagne to your liking?” he asks, but I know he doesn’t give a shit about my answer.
“It…it is.” I can’t even get two simple words out without stuttering.
“On your knees.” It’s not a request. It’s a command, an order, one I feel in every bone.
I kick off my shoes, not taking my eyes off him as tension mounts. It’s palpable, and I’m already wet thinking about the wicked game he’s about to play. That’s what makes it us. That’s how we ignite, by playing games to see who yields the power. And he wins every single time.
As he reaches for the champagne, the ice clinking in the bucket, rivulets of water dripping from the bottle, I lower to my knees. The marble floors are cold and hard, just like his gaze, but there’s a hunger I’ve come to recognize, a need for dominance. He’s angry at me for denying him, but he’s hard for me, too. His dick is pressing against his pants, the hard bulge demanding attention. Does he hate that? Does he hate being angered and turned on by me simultaneously, thirsting for power and dominance over a woman who challenges him?
“Go on,” he urges. “Take out my cock.”
I lick my lips, the light from the chandelier coloring him in every shade of gold. Regal. Majestic. Mine. Alexius is all mine. And right here, on my knees in front of him, I realize he’s not the only one willing to spill blood for us. I’d kill for him. I’d go to hell for him. I know that now.
Lowering my gaze to his crotch, I unbuckle his belt with deft fingers, knowing exactly what I want, ready to take it.
The sound of him sucking in a breath when I reach for his cock, wrapping my fingers around its girth, makes my pussy want to be filled and used. It’s hard, thick, and throbbing in my palm, the swollen head glistening with precum.
“You want to taste it?” He leans his head to the side, studying me.
“Yes.”
“Give it a few good strokes first.” I watch him lick his lips before taking a swig of champagne from the bottle as I pump his cock.
“Now?” I ask, desperate to taste him.
“Not yet. Tease the tip with your fingers first. Gently.”
I swallow hard, doing as he says, smearing the clear liquid all along the head of his dick, watching his cock grow even larger, thicker, engorged to fuck. Ready to fill me to the brim.
Brushing my fingertips around the tip of his cock, I clench my thighs, needing some relief from the ache, and I’m salivating to taste him, to have his cock reach the back of my throat, but he’s determined to make me suffer for it.
Another drop of precum beads. “Lick it off,” he says, and I’m about to lap at it with the base of my tongue when he grabs me by the hair, pulling me back hard, making me wince. “Lick it off using just the tip of your tongue.”
My skull burns. “Alexius—”
“Do as I say.” His words are final, his tone leaving no space for negotiation, and I do as he says, touching the tip of my tongue on the wet droplet, its taste exploding in my mouth, only making me want more. My entire body is set alight, my insides fire, my core throbbing with violent delight.
Pulling my head back even more, he slants his head to the side, studying me, his lips pulled in a snarl. “You’re dying to suck my cock, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I murmur breathlessly. “Please.”
“Touch yourself. Play with your pussy while on your knees, and I’ll think about letting you swallow my cum.”
Bastard. He’s hellbent on punishing me for denying him earlier, dragging it out, making me suffer with the need for him.
“Is your pussy wet?” he asks as I reach down and slide a finger between my folds.
“Yes.”
“Good. Move your hips while you play with yourself. Get those fingers of yours soaked.”
“God,” I moan, closing my eyes, teasing a finger along my clit, his grip on my hair tightening. I’m so fucking horny, it only takes a few strokes for me to teeter at the edge, ready to come. But I know him. I know this game we’re playing—one we’ve played so many times before. I know the rules.
“I have to come,” I whisper.
“Stop,” he demands, and it takes everything I have to stop touching myself. “You don’t get to come yet.”
“Alexius—”
Tipping the bottle in his hand, he pours champagne all over his cock, the gold liquid spilling down the front of my dress and seeping into the fabric of his pants. The scent of alcohol and sex explodes around us, and I moan loudly as he rubs his champagne-coated cock along my lips, teasing me into a fucking frenzy. “You want this, don’t you?”
I nod. “Please,” I beg, my entire body trembling with need.
“Where do you want it? In this pretty little mouth of yours, or inside your greedy, wet cunt?”
God. I want it everywhere. I want to taste it on my tongue and feel it inside my pussy at the same damn time.
“You have two seconds to answer me before I step away and deny you my cock.”
No. God, no. “Mouth,” I answer hastily, desperately. “In my mouth.”
Alexius growls as he pushes past my lips, plunging into my mouth, reaching the back of my throat with the first thrust. I’m not prepared to take him this deep and gag around his length, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes.
“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he orders. “Open that throat of yours and swallow my cock, you little slut.”
I moan at the way that word rolls from his tongue. He knows I love it when he calls me that, when he degrades me, makes me feel dirty and wicked. A moan vibrates up my throat and around his cock, and his groan fuels me to suck him harder, faster, deeper. He tastes sweet and intoxicating as I lick the champagne off his shaft, lapping the bubbly liquid from his length.
“Look at me when you have my cock in your mouth.”
I flick my gaze up to his, my eyes tearing up every time he hits the back of my throat.
“Do you like my taste?”
I hum around his thick girth, and he bites into his bottom lip.
“You want to suck me dry while I fuck this perfect little mouth of yours? Get me ready to blow my load down your throat?”
“Hmm-mm.”
“That’s my girl.” He moans when I take him all the way to the back of my throat. With his grip still tight behind my head, he moves me in rhythm with his thrusts, picking up pace, his movements becoming quick and erratic. The taste of him, the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth, it’s divine, and I can’t get enough, wanting all of him. Every single fucking drop. I feel him tense up, and I know he’s close. I can taste it. All he needs is my palm around his length, pumping while I suck him hard.
“Don’t swallow,” he commands before a growl tears from his throat, his cum bursting onto my tongue. It’s too hard not to swallow, too much, but I try anyway, jizz spilling out the corners of my mouth.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses while I continue to work his cock with my palm.
I’m a hot mess on the floor, clenching my thighs to relieve the ache when he reaches for my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. His fingers are in my mouth, swirling and getting coated with his cum as he forces me back until my naked ass is against the edge of the couch.
I cry out when he slides his cum soaked fingers inside me, my pussy so slick and wet. “Open these fucking legs wider,” he orders, jerking my thighs farther apart, adding a third finger to fuck me with. The wetness between my legs slaps and swishes against his palm, my pussy a wreck for pleasure. It’s complete chaos. Madness. A flurry of lust and lack of control, both of us spiraling, grunts and groans slamming against the ceiling.
“Alexius, I’m going to come,” I say with desperate breaths, my hips moving in rhythm with his hand between my legs. But just when pleasure is about to explode, he pulls back, his fingers leaving my cunt cold and empty, my body trembling as it teeters at the brink of release.
“What are you doing?” I’m breathless. Aching. And I want to rage. I want to fucking scream, my body buzzing in agony. My hips are still fucking moving, for Christ’s sake.
A wicked grin settles on his face, and he brushes his cum-coated finger along my bottom lip. “You denied me twice tonight,” he murmurs, dragging his finger up the side of my face. “This is strike one.”
