The dim light of the room cast long shadows as he chuckled, a low rumble that rippled through the air. His fingers, rough against my skin, began a slow dance, the friction building heat. I could feel the anticipation, a tightening coil in my stomach. The air was thick with the scent of his cologne as he whispered, “Thank you,wife,” his voice a silken threat, right before his hand met my flesh with a stinging slap.
“One.”
His hand slammed down, a stinging blow to my left cheek, the air vibrating with the sharp crack. A gasp escaped me as my hips lurched, and my breath hitched in my chest.
“I warned you there’d be consequences if you broke the rules,” he said, his voice colder now, more deliberate.The flash of the first strike made me flinch, a searing fireball blooming on my skin. My breath hitched, the sharp sting a creeping vine, coiling heat simmering just beneath.
“Two.”
Another landed, the slap that was a sharp crack in the quiet. My hips jerked again, fingers digging into the cool sheets. His palm met my flesh, a fiery sting blooming with each strike, the heat of the spank fanning out. By the third, my thighs quivered. My skin throbbed where he’d marked me, yet beneath the pain was a slow, pulsing ache, drawing me in.
The cool cotton of the mattress met my hot forehead, fingers clenching. Every nerve blazed, breath a harsh rasp in the close air. I craved more, didn’t want the searing heat to cease.
By seven, slick heat pulsed between my thighs—hips shuddering, a ragged gasp escaping my lips as each slap drove me further into yielding. Only the frantic drum of my heart and the searing ache of pleasure remained, vulnerable and exposed, utterly his. A desperate need consumed me.
The rasp of his zipper sliced through the quiet, a hushed whisper that stole my breath. A chill snaked down my spine as he ripped my offending panties from my body before his fingertips brushed against my clit, lingering, a brand of heat.
He didn’t hesitate. He drove into me—hard, deep, with no warning. My body jolted, the sudden stretch ripping a cry from my throat. One hand locked around my hip, holding me in place; the other slid between my legs, fingers finding my clit with practiced pressure. He didn’t hold back—every thrust full of heat and intent—each thrust ruthless, unrelenting, his pace brutal in the best way.
I couldn’t breathe, caught between the relentless drive of his thick cock inside me and the circling drag of his fingers that lit me up from the inside out. I fought the rising tide of pleasure, a desperate battle against my own biology. This was the opposite of everything I believed, of who I was supposed to be, and the knowledge burned hotter than any sensation he inflicted.
I tried to keep myself upright, but my arms were shaking, barely holding me. My mind screamed for me to pull away, tofight, but my body, a traitorous thing, clenched tight around him, too full, too much—and yet somehow, not enough. The thought of him stopping, of this intense, forbidden sensation ceasing, sent a wave of panic through me. It was a horrible, sickening realization that a part of me craved more, a part of me had already made a choice I would carry like a brand.
He showed no sign of relenting, not in the slightest. His intensity persisted; each forceful thrust elicited a raw, unrestrained sound from me. My body vibrated with an overwhelming sensation, a blush spreading across my skin, yet he remained unfazed.
With a deliberate motion, he slid his arm beneath my thigh, elevating my leg to rest on the mattress’s edge. A choked sound, a blend of surprise and frustration, escaped me as he plunged into me with even greater force. Stripped of stability and agency, I was consumed by the friction of his body and the searing intensity of his touch still caressing my most sensitive spot. I was utterly undone, conquered. He held me captive in that vulnerable posture, my body yielding completely, and continued to possess me as if driven by an insatiable pursuit of an exclusive conquest.
His hold on my hip became a crushing pressure, a painful imprint, as his movements grew erratic, losing their cadence in a surge of his own desperate hunger. I sensed the change within him, the choked gasp of his breath, the rigid tension of his frame pressing against mine, driving with an intensified force, relentlessly pushing us toward the precipice. Then, he sank completely within me, a profound, unwavering immersion as his climax washed over him.
I experienced its arrival—the initial throbbing, dense and warm, then successive waves. He remained plunged within the deepest point of my soul, his grasp still a vise on my thigh, theother hand a firm anchor at my waist, securing me precisely as he desired.
There was no warning, no time to brace against the sensation of him pulsing inside me, the heat, the weight, the sheer possession of it, and I came undone again. My body seized around him, tensing hard, a full-body quake that stole my breath and dragged me under. My head dropped to the mattress, arms collapsing, a moan slipping from my lips as my orgasm tore through me, slow and overwhelming.
I lay there in the aftermath, every nerve raw and humming, unable to make sense of my own swirling emotions. The room was thick with the scent of our joining, a tangible fog that clung to my skin. Even as his weight lifted from me and his hands finally released their hold, I felt the imprint of him everywhere, inside and out—everywhere I would carry it, whether I wanted to or not. Then I felt the bed dip, and he leaned over me, voice low against my ear, as he murmured devilishly, “Wicked girl. You came without permission.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Massimo
Six months later...
“Would you sit down?” Cesar groaned, but I barely heard him over the dull thud of my heartbeat. I wore a path in the rug, restless energy clawing at my insides. Ever since Miranda left for her final medical assessment—the one that would decide if all her years of study and sacrifice meant anything—the house had felt emptier with each passing minute. Each tick of the clock reminded me of the last time I waited like this: the night she was late coming home from Chicago Memorial Hospital, headlights never appearing in the driveway, and me clutching my phone, praying for good news. I couldn’t stop reliving it, anxiety growing sharper with every circuit I made, the sense that I was trapped again on the edge of everything that mattered.
I glanced at my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. My frustration boiled over, and my voice came out sharper than I meant. “She should have been home an hour ago.” My words snapped through the air, tension riding on them, but I couldn’t stop myself. I saw her face in my mind—determined and brave, and it made the waiting all the harder.
“Jesus, Massimo,” Aurelio piped up, his sigh heavy, but not unkind. “She told you it could take most of the day. Be patient, brother.” His words had barely settled before Emanuelle cut in, always ready to keep things moving.
“Guilio, you’ve been through this,” Emanuelle said, turning the focus. “How long did it take you?”
Guilio, my grumpy brother, huffed out a resigned chuckle and checked his own watch, as if it might reveal a different answer this time. “Times were different back then. It took me at least five hours.”
I couldn’t help it—there was a sharp, desperate edge in my voice. “See!” I snapped at Cesar. “She should have been back by now!” The panic in my chest twisted tighter, and suddenly everyone was talking at once.
Cesar just rolled his eyes, thumbing his phone, but before he could issue one of his practiced reassurances, his expression changed. “Wait—Luca just texted. She’s done. They should be home within the hour.”
Instant relief and new questions collided. “Did he say how she looked?” someone blurted.
“Was she smiling?” Another voice jumped in before the last question faded.
