Meeting His Family

Chapter Five

Rain

The moment he rolled off me, not just my heart, but my entire body screamed in frustration, the weight of him gone too soon.

My thighs trembled, wet with the evidence of everything he’d done to me—everything he’d started but hadn’t finished.

My chest heaved, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I tried to make sense of it. Two orgasms. Two. He did that to me with so much precision and calculation that I almost forgot he was blind. And just when I thought I’d finally feel all of him inside me, and get that third orgasm, the intercom had rung, breaking the intensity of the moment.

“Take a bath and get dressed,” he said, his voice calm, as if he hadn’t just been about to ruin me completely, as if he hadn’t chase away every resentment and doubt I had about this union away with his magical fingers.

I blinked up at him, my lips parting in disbelief. He can’t just leave me like this? Spent… needy, and wanting more of him. But he just want me to take a bath? Dress up? Who the hell was even on the other end of that call for him to just cut this off just like that?

My hands curled into the sheets as I watched him, his pale eyes focused, his jaw tight with control. It irritated me, the way he could shut it all off so easily, like he hadn’t been seconds away from claiming me in every way I needed to be claimed. My body was still trembling, still needy, and it infuriated me that he could ignore it so effortlessly.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. “No.” The word left my lips breathlessly, a demand, a plea. I pulled him back down, and the movement brought his cock against my thigh. My breath hitched sharply. Fuck, I needed that inside of me so bad.

That cock. When he pulled down his shorts. I’d never forget it, not in this lifetime. The way it looked—thick shaft, impossibly huge, the pink tip glistening with precum that made me wetter just thinking about it. My thighs clenched at the memory, and a soft whimper escaped me. My body arched slightly, pressing against him, begging without words, hoping he’d understand my silent pleas.

He looked at me then, those pale eyes like a storm I couldn’t predict, holding secrets I couldn’t unravel. His lips curved into the faintest, most infuriating smile, and I swore it was mocking me.

But needy me shook it off and whispered. “I…I don’t want to stop yet ,” I could hear my voice trembling with desperation I didn’t even try to hide. My hands slid over his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, trying to anchor him to me. I needed him, damn it. The ache between my legs was unbearable, the kind of ache only he could soothe.

But instead of giving in, he reached for my wrist and gently pulled my hand off him. I watched, stunned, as he set it aside like I wasn’t burning up for him.

“Go take a bath,” he said again, his tone so casual, like I hadn’t just begged him with my body.

I stared at him, disbelief flooding me. My heart pounded in protest as he stood, bending down to pick up his shorts from the floor. His back muscles flexed with the movement, and my eyes followed the trail of his lean strength as he slid into the shorts effortlessly.

He turned toward the door, not even sparing me another glance as he walked out.

“You’ve got a few minutes,” he said without looking back, the sound of the door closing behind him slicing through me like a cruel reminder of what I’d just lost.

I lay there for some minute, my body still pulsing from the aftermath of the intense pleasure, and still desperate for more. My heart pounded with frustration and an ache I couldn’t explain. The nerve of him—to pull away like that, to leave me on the edge after everything we’d done.

And yet, as infuriated as I was, I hated myself even more for wanting him back.

I finally made my way into the bathroom, hoping the warm water would wash away the chaos in my head, but it did nothing of the sort. Instead, every drop felt like a reminder, igniting memories I wanted to suppress. The way his touch and smell still swirled around me, his lips, his teeth—how he grazed against me in ways that made me burn with need.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him.

I took a quick bath and wrapped a towel around myself, forcing the thoughts away. I dried my hair, and stepped into the room. I found the closet which stood wide open, reminding me of his instructions. He said he left a dress for me. My fingers brushed against the fabric before I even saw it, and the moment I pulled it into view, my stomach churned.

This wasn’t a dress—it was some contraption designed to expose, to suffocate. Holding it up, I could barely understand how it was meant to be worn. I slipped it on, and the realization hit me. The neckline dropped too low, leaving half my chest exposed. The tightness around my waist and hips left no room for breath. I looked in the mirror, feeling raw and exposed in every possible way.

How did he expect me to wear a dress like this? There was no way I could wear this.

I ripped it off my body, my hands trembling as I rummaged through my own bags. They were already in the closet, though I had no idea how they got there. The last time I saw them was hours ago, taken by Becky before the wedding chaos began. My fingers finally found the crimson dress I’d packed for Christmas which was in few days. It wasn’t anything special—just a simple, modest piece—but right now, it felt like a savior.

I slipped it on, paired it with black heels, and pulled my hair back into a bun. My hands shook as I opened the door and froze. Enzo stood there, waiting, dressed sharply in a royal blue shirt and black pants. The sunglasses obscured his eyes, but there was no missing the confidence in his stance. He looked just so perfect, straight out of my fantasies, but there were lot of differences, from his eyes down to his cold demeanor.

“Let’s go,” he said calmly, extending a hand toward me. “They’re waiting.”

They? My stomach sank. Who was “they”? Who could he be talking about? He looked like he was all alone aside from the workers with him at the party and the maids I saw after I came to the house, who could we be meeting?

“Take my hand,” he said again, more firmly this time, jolting me out of my thoughts.

Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his. His grip was so sure, guiding me down the stairs like I was the one who couldn’t see. Each step made my pulse race even faster, my thoughts spiraling, almost out of control. I took a quick glance at him, confusion gnawing at me. How could someone who was blind exude so much control? Confidence? Power? And Dominance? The power and authority in his voice when he speaks always leaves no room for arguments.

At the bottom of the stairs, a sharp voice sliced through the air.

“How could you get married without telling us, Enzo?”

A woman stormed toward us, her face furrowed. From her scattered gray hairs and face, I could tell she was middle aged, even with the way she dressed like a teenage girl. A man followed behind her, his arm draped possessively around a young lady’s waist. The grip on my hand tightened, and I glanced at Enzo. His jaw was rigid, his face a mask of tension. Right there, I knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant, Enzo didn’t look like he wanted to be there, and he was taking it out on me. My fingers were hurting from his forceful grip.

The woman reached us, ignoring me entirely as she grabbed Enzo’s other hand, pulling him away. “You planned an entire wedding, excluded your family, and invited us for a dinner after the fact? Do we look like we’re after your food?”

Family. The word rattled in my brain. So, these were his people? His family? I had assumed he had none—no one was at the wedding, no one was by his side except for those men. But now, I understood.

His family weren’t even aware that he was getting married.

“What kind of man are you?” the woman demanded, her voice rising.

“A man who knows exactly what he’s doing,” Enzo replied coldly. His head tilted toward her. “Mom, this isn’t a big deal. I wanted it quiet.”

Mom. My breath hitched. He hadn’t even told his own mother? What kind of a man is he?

Her gaze finally shifted to me, and I wished it hadn’t. Disdain dripped from every word as she looked me at me with disgust visible in her eyes. “And this is who you chose? This… girl?” She gazed at me from head to toe, her gaze pinning me in place. “This?” She asked again, shaking her head.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her scorn wash over me. My knees felt weak, but I stood still, letting the humiliation settle like a heavy fog around me. I’d been through worse with my stepmother and stepsister, but this felt more painful. My mother-in-law think I wasn’t good enough for his son, and his son sees me as a woman who was just in his life temporarily, just to bear his child.

“Rose the maid would’ve been a better option,” the other woman chimed in.

Enzo’s voice cut through the room like a whip and I froze. “You will not speak about my wife like that. Ever.”

The air raised with tension, Enzo’s breath became really loud that my body shook every time he exhaled. Even his mother hesitated, her fingers trembling as she gestured for him to calm. “Relax, Enzo. But look at her. She doesn’t look like someone you’d choose. Not dressed like that. We all know your type of woman and how you love them to be dressed, but she…she is the exact opposite.”

Enzo’s head snapped toward me, his lips curling slightly. I shuddered, it was as though he could see me. “How is she dressed? Isn’t she wearing a black lace Channel dress?”

“No Enzo,” his mother sneered. “She’s in some cheap, no-brand red dress.”

“Rain!” His voice boomed through the room, and I flinched.

The next moment, he was in front of me. His hand tightly wrapped around my wrist, pulling me with a force that made me stumble. My protests died in my throat as he dragged me up the stairs, his steps quick and determined.

He didn’t stop until we were inside the bedroom, slamming the door behind us with a sound that echoed in my chest.

His grip never faltered as he spun me to face him, his hands pressing into my shoulders, the door rattled as he pinned me against it. His face was like a storm, anger radiating off him in waves that made me tremble.

“How dare you,” he hissed sharply . “How dare you, Rain?”

I knew I was in trouble. I should’ve just listened to him, should’ve forced myself to wear the dress, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was way too revealing for me.

Tears stung my eyes as I clawed at his hands, trying to loosen his grip. It was useless. He was way too strong, and he didn’t look like he’d let me go anytime soon. The way his jaw clenched, his nails digging into my shoulder made my heart throb.

“I told you to wear that dress, and you disobeyed me. How dare you defy me, Rain?”

“I—I…” My voice faltered, my throat too tight to form coherent words.

He leaned closer, the sheer force of his presence making the air around me feel heavy, as thought it’d suffocate me.

“What did I say about you not doing what I ask?” He demanded.

My throat felt tight, words caught somewhere between fear and desperation. “That… you’d punish me,” I whispered.

His lips twisted into something cold and dangerous, making my skin prickle with fear. “That’s right. Until you learn to accept that I now own you, and have every right over you, you will keep getting punished. And now, you’re going to learn.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“Sorry isn’t enough, wifey.” He stepped back slightly, his eyes—or what felt like them—boring into me. “I want you to take every single piece of clothing off your body right now!”

I froze, my mind screaming for escape. “W-what?”

“Take off your clothes,” he demanded and my trembling hands shot up to the zipper of my dress.

Tears blurred my vision as I pulled it down