The young woman’s hands were shaking. Even from here, I could see it—the bouquet trembling, roses quivering.
Nerves, maybe. Even Bianca Lombardo might be nervous on her wedding day.
Except I didn't believe that.
The bride moved closer. Halfway down the aisle now. The veil obscured everything—face, expression, eyes.
My mind drifted.
Tonight. After all this ceremony and performance. My penthouse, ninety floors above Manhattan. The bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a city that belonged to me.
Finally alone with my new wife. One of the benefits of marrying Bianca Lombardo was that she would surely understand the… necessities of our relationship.
I'd been celibate for months—unusual for me, but necessary. Couldn't risk complications during the alliance negotiations. No mistresses who might become liabilities. No one-night stands that could be used as leverage. Just work. Strategy. Building toward this moment.
The abstinence had been strategic. It had also been torture.
Tonight, that ended.
I imagined it—in the car, I would pull her close, my lips brushing her ear.
“You’re mine now,” I’d murmur, my voice rough with a need I couldn’t quite place.
She would shiver, her breath hitching as I pressed her against the leather seat, my hand sliding up her thigh. Her dress was a barrier, but I’d tear it apart if I had to.
My fingers found the edge of her lace panties, damp with anticipation. I smirked, my thumb brushing her core, feeling her shudder.
“Wet for me already?” I whispered, my breath hot against her neck.
Her eyes closed, her lashes fluttering as she tried to pull away, but I held her firm.
“Cesare, please…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Don’t fight it, Bianca,” I growled, my lips trailing down her jawline. “You’re mine now. Mine to claim, mine to possess.”
At the penthouse, I didn’t wait for the elevator. I carried her, her legs wrapped around my waist, her lips hungry against mine.
The door slammed shut behind us, and I was relentless, backing her against the wall, my mouth devouring hers. Her hands tugged at my suit, desperate, and I let her, my jacketdiscarded, my shirt unbuttoned as those perfect, expensive nails scraped my chest.
I lifted her, her legs locking around me, her core grinding against my throbbing cock.
“Fuck, Bianca,” I groaned, my lips trailing down her throat, her collarbone, lower.
I kicked the door open to the bedroom, the city lights a dazzling backdrop as I laid her on the bed.
Her dress was a hindrance, and I ripped it, the fabric tearing with a satisfying sound.
Her perky breasts spilled free, her nipples tight and begging for my mouth. I took one, sucking hard, my tongue swirling as she arched, her moans filling the room. My hand slid between her legs, her pussy wet and hot, her clit throbbing under my touch.
“So fucking tight,” I muttered, my fingers sinking into her, her walls clenching around me.
I stripped, my suit discarded, my cock hard and ready.
She watched, her eyes dark with desire, her lips parted as I crawled onto the bed. I kissed her again, deep and demanding, my tongue tangling with hers as I positioned myself at her entrance.
“Ready for me?” I asked, my voice a low growl.
She nodded—
