Page 29 of Revenge
Abruptly, he stops, slipping his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth to suck.
“I control your orgasms now, Dahlia. You don’t come without me giving them. Understand?”
“Yes,” I nod. I would agree to anything he said at this moment.
He wanted to prove he controls me and my body, and he has.
I pant, unable to move, my hands limply resting on my ribs. He studies me a moment longer, then nods. “Good girl.”
My belly flutters. I don’t care about his praise. I mean, I shouldn’t. But somehow, it still has an effect on me.
“You may dress and move around the yacht as you please.”
I should hate his presumed authority over me, but instead the words wash over me. I imagine I detect warmth in his tone, but it’s probably just the reverberation of bliss from my orgasm.
“Go to hell,” I manage to mutter as he steps out of the room.
He pauses and looks back in, and my pussy clenches as if anticipating further torture. But instead, amusement flickers on his expression. “Keep fighting me, little wife. I enjoy taking you in hand.”
Chapter Six
Antonio
Fuck. Me.
My wife emerges from our bedroom in a sexy, slinky red cocktail dress. It hugs her curves, with an open triangle cutout at her breasts and a short hemline that shows off her long, shapely legs. Her hair is curled, and she’s wearing fake eyelashes and red lipstick. There’s a softness about her face, like she’s still riding the high from the orgasms this afternoon.
I’ll say one thing–what she lacks in charm, she makes up for in looks. Our children will be beautiful.
I shouldn’t think of baby-making, though, because my already blue balls grow heavy.
I stand from the table where I was going over the books. “You look beautiful.”
There’s a flicker of surprise on her face. I remember the same flicker at her debutante ball. As if she finds the compliment unexpected. Although surely she must be complimented every day of her life.
Perhaps it’s that she doesn’t expect it from me–the cretin.
I extend my hand. “Ready for dinner, Principessa?”
Hours ago, I had food sent to the room and left outside the door with a knock. There’s no way I would risk my server entering the bedroom without me there to ensure he didn’t look at her. I was told she barely touched the food, though.
“Yes. I’m starving.”
For some reason, it pleases me that I get to be the one to feed her. Like it satisfies some biological caveman need to provide.
I escort her to the dining room where the table is already set for us, and my men bustle around to light candles and pour wine.
I lift my glass after hers has been poured. “To my wife. Who tastes as exquisite as she looks.”
Dahlia rolls her eyes and drinks without clinking my glass.
“I enjoyed watching you come undone this afternoon.”
A visible shiver runs through her. “This isn’t polite dinner conversation.”
I give her a stiff smile. “And yet here you are, the yacht princess, married to a man who doesn’t give a fuck what you think is polite.”
She recoils slightly, and I regret my sharpness. I was enjoying seeing her soft and relaxed. I don’t need to poke her this way. Not after she surrendered to me this afternoon.