If I try to leave, I lose everything. My income. My safety net. My best friend, and possibly my family. My whole life, including my cat.
No, the only choice here is no choice at all.
I’ll have to remain Mrs. Cassandra Bellanti.
Lifting my chin, I steady myself for the words about to come out of my mouth.
“Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll be your wife and I’ll do as you ask.”
His smile looks almost genuine, if not for the coldness in it. He comes toward me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Good. From here on out, you are a tool to be wielded by me in any fashion I see fit, until such a time as you are no longer useful. You will doanythingto keep their trust, do you understand?”
“I understand,” I say.
I’m miserable, and I make no attempt to hide it.
“Meraviglioso. Wonderful. Now I’ll kiss the bride.”
24
CANDI
My kneesinstantly weaken at the hungry look in Armani’s eyes as he pulls me up off the bed.
I stumble as he claims my mouth with his, walking me backwards to the center of the room. His kiss is hot, fierce, aggressive. It has nothing to do with love or even like, and everything to do with possession and dominance. I’m not sure how to feel about it. All I know is, I can’t catch my breath, and my pulse is racing so fast I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
Stepping back, he assesses me, and then makes a slow circle as I stand there trembling in my leggings and camisole, the same outfit I had on when I left the spa yesterday. My heart thrums in anticipation of what he’s going to do.
He comes back around to stand in front of me, not bothering to look me in the eye as he drags his fingers from my collarbone to the center of my chest, squeezing my breasts hard and then letting them fall. I get the distinct sense that in this moment, I’m just a body to him. A plaything for him to exert control over. When he reaches down and lightly touches my hip, I jump at the contact. My nerves are jacked. I don’t know what to expect or what’s coming next.
“You think you know who I am?”
“I—I don’t know,” I stammer.
“You have no idea,” he says cruelly. “But as my wife, you’re going to learn.”
This time, when he stalks behind me, it isn’t just to look. When his palm smacks hard against my ass, I jump again, gasping harshly—with fear or desire, I don’t know. An appreciative sound rumbles from his throat.
Tensing, I brace for the next round of punishment that I can’t see. Armani makes slow work of tracing the curve of my buttocks, the backs of my thighs, and the small of my back. What started as light trembles through my limbs become stronger until I’m shaking. I can’t control it. My fear response has been activated, but there’s no denying that it’s tangling with a heavy dose of desire.
I feel his breath on the back of my shoulder, his finger tracing the spaghetti strap of my camisole tank. He steps even closer, his body heat warming me as he brushes my hair over the opposite shoulder. His nails scrape the nape of my neck, causing a zing of discomfort.
He lets out a sigh, and then seems to go completely still. I think he’s done with me, that he’s about to step back—and then, without warning, his hand wraps around my throat. A moan catches in my throat as he squeezes gently. Palm pressing, fingers gripping. It’s uncomfortable, but not oppressive. I can breathe with a little effort, but each inhale only serves to highlight the feel of his restraint on my body. He squeezes harder.
Instinctively, my hand covers his to pull him away, even as a rush of euphoria floods my veins. My pulse picks up even more, a deep throb pulsing between my legs. He doesn’t let go.
With his free hand, he grips the waist of my leggings and yanks them over my hips, pulling my underwear down too. Sliding his hand over my bare ass cheek, he grips it hard. I wince even as goose bumps break out over my arms at the rush of pleasure. I’m trapped between his hands, completely at his mercy, and my brain doesn’t know what to do. My body responds positively, yearning for more, even as the urge to struggle pumps through me.
“Work them down,” he commands, his voice a rumble in my ear. “All the way.”
It takes a second to understand what he’s asking. Slowly bending over, my bare ass exposed, I slide the pants all the way down. They bunch at my ankles, and I step out of them, then rise to standing once more. All I have on is my camisole; I’m naked from the waist down. Armani is still behind me, no doubt taking perverse pleasure in both my obedience and the view. I can’t relax. I feel completely vulnerable, completely on edge. Suddenly he grabs the base of my neck and pushes me forward.
We go out of the bedroom, into the lounge area, the heavy curtains pulled over the windows leaving the room dim and cool. As I’m marched across the space, I notice that one of the modern, steel-and-leather armchairs has been moved in front of the large floor mirror.
