009

Don Vincenzo Marazona

She stood there like a sacrificial lamb who had willingly walked into the wolf’s den, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and something far more dangerous — hope.

“You are exhausting,” I repeated, my voice low and rough.

Serafina’s lips parted, but no sound came out. That soft cream nightdress clung to her newly polished body in all the wrong ways — or perhaps all the right ones. The staff had done their job too well. The frightened little mouse I married had been transformed into something delicate, fragrant, and far too tempting for a dying man who had sworn he didn’t care.

I shouldn’t have noticed the way her nipples pressed against the thin fabric when she breathed. I shouldn’t have imagined wrapping my hand around that slender throat just to feel how fast her pulse would race under my fingers.

But I did.

And that irritated me more than her constant apologizing ever could.

I took one slow step toward her. She instinctively took one back, spine hitting the edge of the sofa. Perfect.

“You want to sleep in my room,” I said flatly, stalking closer until I could smell the expensive rose oil on her skin. “You want to play the role of devoted little wife.”

Her breathing turned shallow. “I… I just thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

I stopped barely a foot away from her. Close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. Close enough that if I wanted to, I could push her down onto that couch and find out exactly how innocent my substitute bride really was.

My cock twitched at the thought.

*Down, you bastard. She’d probably faint again.*

“I don’t do gentle, Serafina,” I told her coldly, tilting her chin up with two fingers so she was forced to meet my eyes. “I don’t do sweet. And I sure as hell don’t do *proper*. If you stay in this room, you stay as mine. My property. My wife. My toy if I decide I want one.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t pull away.

Brave little fool.

“Understand this,” I continued, voice dropping lower. “The moment you bore me, I’ll send you back to whatever hole the De Lucas crawled out of. But until then…” My thumb brushed slowly across her bottom lip, “you will learn exactly what it means to belong to Vincenzo Marazona.”

Her pupils dilated.

Fear.

Desire.

Confusion.

All of it mixed together so beautifully it made my blood run hotter than it had in months.

I released her chin and stepped back before I did something reckless.

“Go to bed,” I ordered, nodding toward the massive king-sized bed visible through the open bedroom doors. “My bed. Tonight.”

Serafina blinked rapidly, clearly fighting the urge to apologize again.

“And Serafina?”

“Yes?” she whispered.

Her whispered “Yes?” barely reached me, soft and trembling like a prayer.

I stared down at her for another beat, thumb still ghosting her lower lip. “Don’t make me regret not throwing you out with the rest of your worthless family.”

Serafina’s breath hitched. She gave one shaky nod, eyes glassy with fear and something else I refused to name. Then she turned and walked toward the bed like a woman walking to her execution — back straight, steps small and hesitant, the thin cream nightdress swaying against the curve of her ass with every movement.

*Fuck.*

I watched her climb onto the massive bed, the silk sheets pooling around her like liquid moonlight. She lay on her back, rigid as a corpse, hands clenched at her sides, eyes squeezed shut so tightly I could see the strain in her lashes.

I didn’t say another word.

Instead, I turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open on purpose. Let her hear everything. Let her imagination run wild.

The sound of the shower filled the suite — hot water pounding against black marble. I stripped slowly, shirt dropping to the floor, then the joggers. My cock was already half-hard, thick and heavy between my thighs, reacting to the frightened little virgin currently lying in my bed like she belonged there.

I stepped under the scalding spray, jaw clenched. The heat did nothing to calm the dark hunger clawing through my veins. I wanted to ruin her. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until that constant trembling turned into desperate, sobbing need.

I took my time drying off, then pulled on a pair of black silk sleep pants that hung low on my hips. No shirt. Let her see exactly what she’d been forced to marry.

When I returned to the bedroom, the only light came from the dying fire and the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Serafina hadn’t moved. She still lay there stiffly, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes shut like that would somehow protect her.

I circled the bed slowly, predatory, drinking in the sight of her. The nightdress had ridden up her thighs, exposing smooth, newly-oiled skin. Her nipples were tight little peaks pressing against the thin fabric, betraying her even if she tried to hide it.

My cock throbbed.

I climbed onto the bed from the other side, the mattress dipping under my weight. She flinched at the movement but kept her eyes closed, swallowing hard enough that I saw her throat work.

I stretched out beside her, close — too close. The heat of my body bled into hers. I could smell the rose oil on her skin, the faint sweetness of fear-sweat, and underneath it all… something warmer. Feminine. Arousal she was probably too ashamed to acknowledge.

For a long moment I simply watched her.

Then I reached over and dragged one finger slowly down the center of her chest, from the hollow of her throat to the valley between her breasts. She gasped, body jerking.

“Open your eyes, Serafina.”

She obeyed instantly, pupils blown wide, breathing ragged.

“Good girl,” I murmured, voice low and rough. My finger continued its lazy path downward, stopping just above her navel. “You’re lying in my bed. Wearing almost nothing. Shaking like a leaf. Yet your nipples are so fucking hard I can see them begging.”

Her lips parted on a silent, mortified breath.

I leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I can smell how wet you’re getting,” I whispered darkly. “Even while you’re terrified. Your body already knows who it belongs to.”

A tiny, broken sound escaped her throat.

I slid my hand lower, palm resting possessively over her lower stomach, fingers splayed. Not touching where she was aching, but close enough that she trembled violently beneath me.

“Sleep,” I ordered, voice like gravel. “If you’re very good… maybe tomorrow night I’ll show you exactly how a Marazona fucks his wife.”

I left my hand there — heavy, claiming — and closed my eyes.

Serafina lay frozen beside me, breathing fast and shallow, thighs pressed together like she was trying to hide how much my words affected her.