"Looks like someone enjoyed sucking my dick."
Denying it would make a liar out of me, so I say nothing. Damiano crawls onto the bed, between my legs. He kisses me as he lines his cock up.
With tenderness that lulls me into a false sense of security, he strokes my face before thrusting inside me with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
He doesn't wait for me to adjust to his size. This isn't making love and we both know it.
This is Damiano staking his claim on me with his trademark ruthlessness.
He pushes my knees back to my chest as he pounds into me. His face is beautifully savage as he takes what he's decided is his due. If I had an ounce of sense I would put a stop to it but I don't.
Right now I can think of nothing but the pleasure I'm chasing.
As he drives into me at a frantic rhythm, I try to match his pace. In the end, all I can do is go along for the ride as he punishes me in the most delicious way possible. My fingers scrabble at the bedsheet as pressure at my core builds.
"Come for me," Damiano grits out. "Right. Fucking. Now."
My pussy clenches as a wave of ecstasy sweeps over me. Damiano pulls out of my quivering body and his seed splatters across my thighs.
He immediately rolls off me, his harsh breathing the only sign he was affected by what we just did. I sit up and glance down at him. He stares right past me, looking at the ceiling.
"I should go," I say after a moment.
Damiano says nothing. His hand flexes against the sheet, then he nods so subtly I almost miss it. I'm not sure if it's agreement or permission for me to leave. Either way, I'm not about to stay.
I clamber off the bed, pull on my shorts and hurry back to my own room.
The emptiness I feel is surprising.
Sex, for me, has always been an act of connection, an intimate act to deepen a bond.
As incredible as being fucked by Damiano was, it meant nothing to him. It hasn't brought us any closer. If anything, it's left me even more uncertain about the future.
Will marriage to him mean locking myself into a lifetime of physical fulfilment at the expense of my emotions? Can I live like that? The fact that I’m not certain is terrifying
With that depressing thought on my mind, I climb into bed and settle under the covers. I roll onto my side, close my eyes and try to fall asleep.
EIGHT
Violetta
As I slowly wake froma fitful sleep, the first thing I'm aware of is an unfamiliar feeling between my thighs. The discomfort is a reminder of what happened last night, how ruthlessly Damiano claimed my body.
I sit up and wince as the pressure on my backside brings back memories of that spanking. Though the experience was humiliating and painful, I can't honestly say I didn't get some enjoyment out of it.
I wouldn't want such punishments to be a daily occurrence, but it might spice things up once in a while.
I only wish Damiano had spoken to me afterward.
The man is totally unreadable so I have no idea what he was thinking. When he raised the topic of marriage, he framed it as a means to an end. His brother would get the land he wants, he would get a wife and one day an heir. It was purely a matter of convenience.
Then he fucked me as if he wanted to mark me as his, and that makes me wonder if there's more to the idea of him marrying me than he let on. The possibility unnerves me.
Pondering the inner workings of Damiano Volante's mind is not for the faint-hearted and I, for one, can't do it on an empty stomach. I get out of bed and have a lightning-quick shower, making sure not to get my hair wet since it takes so long to dry.
If I was at home, I'd throw on yoga pants and a t-shirt, but Damiano always dresses immaculately and I don't want to feel like a slob next to him. There's enough of an imbalance between us as it is.
After some internal debate, I opt for cream pants and a pale pink chiffon blouse. I look in the drawer of the dressing table and find my makeup is all there. I don't bother with it, but I do run my brush through my hair.
