I tilt my head to deepen the kiss, and the sound of our wet kisses fills the room. His fingers tangle in my hair as his lips claim mine with more force. I clutch his damp hair in my hand, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.
Without breaking the kiss, he slides the robe off my body and gently lifts me.
He turns me around and lays me down on my back against the bed. His trail of kisses moves toward my neck, his fingers slipping under the straps of my lace nightgown.
As his lips explore my body, trailing lower with every kiss, he pulls the short gown off me. Now, with nothing but a lace thong between us, I’m writhing beneath him.
His hands settle just below my hips, and through the delicate lace, he presses a wet kiss against the soft flesh between my thighs. My legs go weak. I press my hand against his head and call his name.
He moves up my body, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of me, one hand braced beside my head. The other slips beneath the delicate lace of my panties, starting a sweet, torturous rhythm against my clit.
I run my hand over his chiseled chest, tracing down to the V-shaped line at his lower abdomen. He nips at my bottom lip, and I arch my hips into his hand, desperate for more.
I want him. With everything I have, I want him.
I want his heavy weight pressing me down. I want to feel him, to be filled by him. I want to journey to a city of sin and pleasure and lose myself in desire.
But first I need to get this question out of my head.
Cupping his face in my hands, I kiss him deeply, letting my lips linger against his. I suck on his warm lips one after the other, losing myself in the moment.
But as I gasp for breath, consumed by lust, the stupidest question I could possibly ask escapes my lips. “Tony, what happened in Italy after we left? Is Carlo okay?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know how stupid they were. But it’s too late—the arrow’s already left the bow, the bomb already triggered, now detonating inside him.
At first his hand freezes on my body. The vein in his neck bulges. His jaw clenches so tightly I can hear the grinding of his teeth.
The storm of anger and hatred in his eyes churns my heart, twisting it painfully. I can’t bear the coldness of his gaze, so I look away.
I stumble over my words, trying to fix the mess I just made. “Tony, I just…I need to free my mind, to lift this weight off my shoulders.”
He exhales heavily, slowly pulls his hand out of my panties, and gets off the bed without a word. Without looking at me, he lights a cigarette, walks to the balcony door, and opens it.
Turning back toward me, he takes a long drag, then exhales a thick cloud of smoke, his face partially obscured by the haze.
“Off your shoulders…or off your heart?” he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.
His whole body radiates threat. Being completely naked only makes me feel more vulnerable.
I sit up and reach for my robe on the floor. I try to stay calm, but my heart races like a bird trapped in a hunter’s net. Gripping the collar of my robe tightly, I murmur, “I know I didn’t choose the best time to ask. I’m sorry, but—”
“You’re right.” He cuts me off, the mask of composure still firmly in place. “Asking about your dear husband’s well-being while you’re fucking my fingers doesn’t make much sense, does it? If there was an award for the most tactless woman alive, you’d win it hands down, princess.”
Even though his words cut deep, I swallow the insult because I know I brought this on myself. Still, I make a desperate attempt to explain.
“Try to understand, Tony. For the past two weeks, I’ve been eaten alive by the consequences of what I did. I can’t stop thinking that innocent people might’ve gotten hurt because of me, and it’s killing me. I just need to know if Carlo and Emily are okay, not because I care about them, but because of the guilt I can’t shake. Even asking about them now is selfish, I know. I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I never see you. I don’t know when you’re home or when you’re gone. You come back late at night; we don’t even share a room.”
He exhales a thick cloud of smoke, a mocking grin curling at the corner of his lips. “Would you have preferred sleeping in my bed, sweetheart?”
His gaze and voice drip with so much contempt that I can only stare at him in despair. Holding his cigarette between two fingers, he gestures toward his king-sized bed and says,
“I’ve fucked plenty of women in this bed. Women from all walks of life—models, actresses, politicians, businesswomen. The one thing they all had in common was that whatever they were outside this room, they left it at the door. Once they stepped inside, they had only one role, Antonio Bruni’s whore.
They’d please me in this bed, get dressed, pick up the personas they’d left behind, and walk out. None of them had the privilege of spending the night in my bed. No one was ever granted that honor.”
He takes another drag before adding, “But you, princess, are different. You’re my whore outside this room too. I won’t deny you’re more special than the rest. Fucking you is the same as fucking your beloved husband.”
His words twist my heart into a painful knot, and as his lips curl into a sinister smile, my tears blur the sight of him. Without my permission, they stream down my cheeks, and my entire body burns with the fury coursing through my veins like molten fire.
