“I want your baby inside of me. Please.”
Always this from the women I slept with. Instead of telling her no, I slipped a condom on, then, seizing her mouth, entered her in a slow, deep stroke.
“Ahhhh,” she sighed out, opening herself up to me even more.
It was a noise that made Rosaria curse in frustration.
I made love to Freja for hours this way. And after, I carried her to the bathroom, washing her, touching her again, until the morning came. I dressed her, kissed her on the lips, and, as I had done with lovers for years, walked her to the door.
She placed a kiss on her palm, setting it against my lips. “Will I see you again?” she whispered.
“If you wish to,” I replied in Italian.
She walked away slowly, too sore for a rushed pace, nodding, dazed.
I ordered Donato to see her home.
When I turned around, my cock still hard, pointing at my wife, she narrowed her eyes at me, tears slipping down her fiery red cheeks.
“You play unfairly,SignoreFausti,” she whispered.
“I play the game as my wife likes to play,” I said, my voice hoarse.
She took a shuddering breath and, gaining control of herself, undressed, throwing the silk to the floor as if it was a waste. She stood before me naked, allowing me to absorb the impact of her—she was a stunning woman, and mine, but she had not offered herself to me the night before to claim. She had offered me another woman in our marital bed so she could watch and critique for her own fantasies.
Rosaria started to tease her nipple, her other hand moving lower and lower, and when she started to pick up the rhythm, her breaths coming in pants, she stuck her finger inside of herself. She drug her juices back up, and I could smell it in the air.
Blood.
Blood that was supposed to be mine to claim.
A sound tore from my chest as if she had stolen my beating heart straight from it.
Her eyes opened a little, a grin on her face, and she gave out a cry of pleasure—one that reminded me of a sob when it was stuck in a woman’s chest—as she orgasmed around her own hand. She lifted it after, sniffing the finger stained with blood, and carelessly wiped it against the void where my heart should be, marking it with an X.
Grabbing her before she disappeared inside of the bathroom, I flung her on the bed, and using my knee to part her legs, I entered her in a thrust that made her scream out against the bedspread. Her blood coated my cock, and the sight and smell ofit made me almost high. I fucked her relentlessly, hurting her as she had desired, and she was so saturated with her desire, it was dripping down her legs, mixing with the blood. Droplets of it landed on the cream marble. When she orgasmed, it was with a ruthless song.
All the times I had fucked and brought Freja pleasure could not compare or compete with this moment. I was inside of my wife.Mywife. And she knew how high her power surged in my life, in my lungs. Because when we were done, and I had exploded inside of her with an inhuman growl, my seed dripping out of her, running down her legs, mixing with the droplets on the floor, it was me who could not catch my breath.
She had ripped any hope out my heart and flew it to the burning sun with wings made of gold.
Chapter 5
A Mistake Was Made
It is the truth, even though the world would find it hard to believe.
I, Rosaria Caffi, a legend in the opera world, am human.
Being human means, apparently, that I can make mistakes.
My first one in the history of my life: inviting that wretched Freja into the bedroom with me and my new husband.
I had met Freja on a private flight from Sweden back to Italy. I had been invited to perform at a charitable event. Thinking Freja would be open to some charity of her own, I invited her into my bedroom on my wedding night. She had been flirting with me the entire flight. I had never been with a woman, or wished to be, but I knew my new husband would need double the pleasure to keep him satisfied. And more than that, to remind him over the years of how powerful he was.
I knew my role in his life.
It was not to play the traditional wife.
