Even without the assurance that this was love, or could turn into it, my cock was hard. I was attracted to her and wanted her beneath the sheets with me. In that way, she would be mine alone, unless something changed after the night, and come morning, the lawyer would add the stipulation that we would take other lovers.
I did not want them.
At least not then.
I wanted this volatile creature to submit to me in ways she had never submitted before. Even if she loved power, control, fame, and the adoration that came with it, those things could be a foundation for our beginning. My life thrived on most of those dark things, and I could deliver them to her, if only she would be willing to take the tender side of my heart in her hands and feed me the passion I craved.
Slowly, carefully, I leaned down and set my lips against hers. It would have been a chaste kiss that built into something…wild. The kindling for the flames that would burn down our marital bed.
I hissed out a breath as her teeth sunk into my bottom lip. She released me a second later, a smirk on her face at the damage she’d done. Blood dripped down my chin. She came in close and licked it up, all the way to my damaged lip, and then tried to kiss me again. I pulled my face away, looking down at her.
She gazed up at me with lies in her eyes—she was playing the innocent part. She swiped a smear of blood and, moving slowly, ran it down the length of her gown, stilling over her heart. “Now this will feed my romantic king’s passionate heart, won’t it? Your lifeblood staining the fabric of your queen’s wedding gown—forever.”
“You are a brilliant actress,” I whispered.
“You have no idea,” she whispered back.
I grinned at her, half of my lip already swollen, and she blew me a kiss.
“If my king will allow it, I request a bath now.” She batted her eyelashes at me. It looked as if my blood had stained her lips and smeared on the side of her mouth, but it was her lipstick. She wore a cover that would hide the blood. She was keeping the symbolism my family was known for alive in her own way. “Before I deliver him a gift he will never forget.” She laughed as she held the gown close to her chest and moved toward the bathroom, disappearing behind its doors.
I moved toward the window, feeling as if I was a Roman king who had just married a woman not for love, but for strategic reasons. I wondered if our fucking would only produce heirs, and nothing more. I downed four glasses of cognac and three shots of whiskey before my eyes closed and I lost myself to the sound of her voice.
She was singing while submerged in the tub. Occasionally, the sound of splashing would intervene with her breathtaking aria. I longed to hear her hit that note while I hit something so deepinside of her, it would cause her to react naturally and sing out her truth.
A knock came at the door.
I turned toward it, wondering who the man was who had balls big enough to disturb me on my wedding night. Unless war was on the horizon, and we only had nightfall to move, I should have been left with my new wife undisturbed. I closed the door to the bathroom as I moved toward it.
Donato.
My head soldier stood straighter, his shoulders squared, his face turned into a mask of steel. “Your wife,” he said, “instructed me to bring a gift to your room, Signore Fausti.”
I nodded.
He nodded and took a step back. Out of the darkness, the same woman Rosaria had been laughing with during our reception stepped forward. She was wearing a French maid’s costume. My eyes narrowed on Donato’s. He kept his on mine but did not even blink.
“I am your gift,Signore,” she whispered in a Swedish accent. She tucked her finger inside of her lip, tilting her head, giving me an innocent look.
“Entra,” I said, moving to the side so she could enter. She smelled like cheap perfume, but she was beautiful enough to overlook it. I’d wash the scent off her body, replacing it with a scent far richer than she’d ever known.
Mine.
Donato faced me until I closed the door in his face, the wood shutting with a softclick, and when I turned, the woman in the costume was standing next to my wife. Rosaria’s hair had been pulled up, the black-as-night tendrils curling around her face. She was flushed from the hot bath. The bridal white lingerie glowed against the tan color of her skin. Her eyes shimmered a wicked shade of green in the flames of all the candlelight.
“Your gift,SignoreFausti.” My wife smiled at me. She had reapplied the red lipstick, and her teeth were as white as the silk onher body. “Freja and I.” She pulled Freja in by the hip, and they both stared at me expectantly.
“Is that so,” I murmured, rubbing my chin. “My wife is giving me two women on our wedding night.”
“Enough to fulfill your desires,” she almost purred at me, “especially my Fausti King’s desires. He is insatiable, or so I have heard.”
“You finally got something right, my wife,” I said to her, but I was looking at Freja, who it seemed could not decide if she wanted to run into my arms or out of the room. “I am insatiable.”
Two long strides and I fisted Freja’s long blond locks in my fist, pulling her mouth to mine, and kissing her until her whimpers had turned into moans and her knees were starting to give out. With my free arm, I wrapped it around her, lifting her from her feet, and carrying her to the bed. I gently laid her down, and using my teeth only, undressed her down to her bra and underwear.
My eyes lifted to find my wife’s eyes. She stared at us, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her nipples as hard as pebbles underneath the thin material. She had an expectant look on her face. As if she expected me to leave Freja and attend to her needs.
I grinned at her and shook my head. “Have a seat, my wife. Get comfortable. You will only watch the show from the audience.”
