Wedding Night Inferno

ARIELLE'S POV 

The Villa was quiet, aside from the sound of some of the servants clearing up the venue. The wedding reception had ended hours ago, polite toasts and forced smiles was all I did afterwards. I watched them from the windows. Soon everyone left including the servants. 

I was alone, with Matteo. I stood in the center

 of the master suite, still clad in my dress, the long train without pooling to my feet. It was a very long dress. 

The room was massive with a luxurious interior. Matteo joined me soon and shut the door behind him with a soft click. 

He had removed his jacket and tie downstairs; the white shirt was open at the throat now, sleeves rolled up now. He looked nothing like the groom but a sexy runway model.

He approached the mini bar in the bedroom and poured two fingers of amber liquid in a glass. I knew it was alcohol. 

“House rules…” he began, his tone calm and conversational. This was one of the things I hated most about him, his ability to remain so calm while riling me up. 

“One. You do not leave the estate without my permission and two of mine. Two. You do not speak to anyone, not my men, or the police, not even the press without my permission. Three. You will appear at my side, quiet and reserved, the perfect trophy wife, you will smile and be very convincing about it.”

I lifted my chin. “And number I'm supposed to spread my legs and let you fuck whenever you want?”

Matteo took a slow sip, eyes remained on mine. “Four. You share this room, this bed, every night.”

I laughed bitterly. “Of course, the full prisoners package.”

Matteo set the glass down with a soft click. “You're not a prisoner, you're my wife. Giselle.”

“Stop calling me that.” I hated that name more than ever. “My name is Arielle.” 

He crossed the room in three steps. He stopped before he could touch me but I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I call you what I choose until you convince me otherwise.”

I held his gaze, my heart pounding against my chest. “I'm not the woman you are looking for. And even if I were, I'd burn the whole world before I let you put your hands on me intimately.”

Something flickered in his eyes, Interest, desire, amusement, I couldn't pin point it. 

“You already let me put a ring in your finger in front of God and an entire city,” he murmured. 

“That was survival, you gave me an ultimatum, to get the ring or be dead. But this isn't survival, it's something else.” I muttered under my breath. 

He reached out, fingered and grazed my shoulders. The touch was light but it burned into my skin. 

“Then let's talk about survival,” he began. “You want children one day. An heir carries power…”

I laughed bitterly. “You think I'd bear  your children? Carry your legacy in my womb?“ I stepped closer, my voice sounded different even to my own ears. “Never, I won't give you satisfaction. Go find a mistress, several ones if one isn't enough. I'm sure they're lining up to service the great Matteo Alessandro Morretti. Leave me untouched.”

The tension in the room was out of the world. 

His hand shot up as fingers tangled in my hair at my name, not gentle, not cruel but right enough to cause discomfort. He yanked my head just enough to expose my throat. My breath caught. 

“You think you can dictate terms,” his voice was rough now. “You stand here in my room, wearing my ring and dare ask me to fuck other women?” 

“I'm telling you,” I hissed. “That if you force me, I will hate you until one of us is dead. 

His eyes darkened, for a moment I thought he would strike me, but his mouth crashed down on mine. 

His large hand grabbed my throat, choking lightly but not hard enough to cut my air supply. It left me burning hot. 

It was not a kiss, it was a punishment. His lips bruised mine, demanding entry but I refused until his teeth grazed my lower lip. The sharp pain made me gasp. He took the opening, tongue claiming every part of my mouth with ruthless precision. One hand tightened in my hair and the other one slid down my spine. Pressing me hard against him so I could feel how little his control was at this point. 

I bit him hard. He groaned into my mouth deepening the kiss instead of pulling away. The groan made me wet, my traitorous body forgot every oath I had taken before now. 

When he finally tore his mouth away from mine, we were both breathing raggedy. A thin line of blood bleed on his pink lips. He licked it slowly, eyes locked on mine. 

“You will beg me, Mark my words. You would cry and ask me to take you in every corner of this room.” He declared. 

“I will not beg you for anything,” I whispered softly. His gaze dropped to my swollen mouth, then my cleavage. He released me abruptly and stepped back. 

“Get undressed,” he said and turned towards the bathroom. “There's a silk slip in the drawer, sleep in it or don't, I don't care.” 

The door closed behind him with a bang. I stood trembling, my hand moved to my lip to touch the bruise. 

I didn't know what scared me more at that point, the fact that I wanted him, or the fact that I had just married the devil.