Page 33 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

I’d like to believe that I carry myself with strength, and in my world, I’ve already done the extraordinary.

I’ve built a successful business and proven that I can survive on my own.

So it hasn’t escaped me that this is an archaic, patriarchal ritual.

But if I’m honest, there’s also something to be said for wearing his mark on my skin.

It appeals to my baser desires. The ones that want him to boss me around, fuck me like I’m his property, and tell the whole world that I’m his .

There’s also a comfort, as temporary as it may be, to know that I’m safe now. My father can no longer make decisions on my behalf. I can’t be forced to wed another man I didn’t choose. And most importantly, I get a taste of the fantasy I always wanted…at least for a little while.

A mechanical hum fills the air as Angelo turns on the machine, and the needle makes contact with my skin. It stings, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s efficient, inking each line as if he’s been doing this his whole life. But then, it doesn’t surprise me. Angelo has always been good at everything he does.

My thoughts drift as the edges of the world soften around me.

I feel like I’m floating, suspended on a slow tide in a vast blue sea.

I’m weightless, pulled deeper into a state of bliss with every vibration against my skin.

I could live right here beneath the stars, his warmth pressing against my back, his scent wrapping around me like a cocoon.

Unfortunately, it ends far too quickly when he switches off the machine. As he applies ointment and wraps the area, I feel a strange longing to return to that place where nothing else exists outside of this moment. Because I know what happens when this bubble bursts.

I wonder if he thinks that, too. We may have found a temporary shelter, but we haven’t outrun the storm.

I pivot and turn to face him. He doesn’t speak, but I can hear him sit back against the throne, and his gaze seems to burn through me, even with the blindfold.

“Can I take this off now?” I brush my fingers over the material covering my eyes.

“No.” His warm palm traces the curve of my face.

I close my eyes and lean into that touch, starved by years of neglect without it. I want to please him. I want him to burn with the same ache he’s branded into me.

I turn my face and kiss his palm, breathing his name as I do. The rough exhalation I receive in return is all the encouragement I need to push the boundaries.

I shift, legs bumping against his shoes as I scoot closer, reaching out to touch him. My palms settle on his calves, gliding over the curves of muscle as they wander upward to his hard thighs. They’re solid and warm, cloaked in the finest Italian wool.

It isn’t enough to touch him. I want to unwrap him and explore every inch of his body with my mouth.

My nails scrape over his trousers, all the way up to the rigid length of his erection.

A current of tension runs through him as I stroke him through the material, marveling at the sheer size of him. It’s… staggering .

Inhibitions unleashed, I do something I’ve thought about doing for a long time. I dip my head and press my lips against that hardness, kissing him all the way up to his zipper.

He draws in a ragged breath, fingers threading through my hair with a dominance that fans the flames of my desire. This isn’t Angelo the gentleman. This is Il Diavolo. A man who takes. A man who uses.

I want him to do both of those things to me.

He grips a fistful of my hair and holds me still, just enough that I know he must be at war with himself.

This isn’t the way things are done in the Cosa Nostra .

There are unspoken rules about the wedding night.

In our world, that means being demure and lying on your back missionary style while your husband takes your virginity.

But I’m tired of being demure, and I have a long list of things I want to do to him.

His thumb drags across my lips, softly plying them apart before he presses it inside. I close my eyes and suck, nipples tightening as he bites back a low groan. He cradles the back of my skull beneath his large palm, pressing my head down like I’ve imagined him doing with his cock.

“Is this what you want, bella ?” His voice is velvet laced with sin.

I try to nod, but he angles my head back, his thumb sliding free of my mouth. It goes without saying that he requires a verbal response.

“Yes.” I wipe my chin with the back of my hand. “I want to taste you.”

“Then do it.”

Those gravel-edged words feel like a match strike against my skin.

I reach for him with trembling fingers, working without sight to slip the button on his trousers free. When I peel down his zipper and the fabric gives way, anticipation thrums through my veins. I feel my way around his briefs and then press my lips to his arousal.

Another rough exhalation falls from his lips, and I bathe in the glow of it. I want to collect every one of those sounds and keep them in a box for later.

When I grasp the band of his briefs, he shifts his hips and allows me to drag the material down. That’s when my exploration begins. I trail my fingers up his shaft, soaking in every detail. The pulsing throb. The weight of him as I take him into my palm. The soft velvet skin that makes me shudder.

I stroke him a few times, and every muscle in his body tenses as he cradles the back of my head.

He isn’t directing me, but rather, gliding his fingers through my hair.

It sends goosebumps scattering over my arms like a million tiny sparks.

It feels incredible, and I’m captivated by how the smallest touch from him can make my body come alive.

In return, I dart my tongue out and lick him from base to tip. His hand tightens reflexively in my hair, and I know I must be doing something right.

I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock and lap up the small bit of liquid that’s gathered there. He’s so hard it must be painful. I want to relieve him of that ache.

I slide him further into my mouth, and a low, guttural sound catches in his throat. It rushes through my veins like liquid heroin, and suddenly, my only goal in life is making him do that again.

My jaw stretches to full capacity as I push him further into my mouth.

He twitches as I gag a little bit. I can only liken it to deepthroating a baseball bat because that’s what it feels like.

It takes me a bit of experimenting to figure out how much of him I can actually handle.

But I’m no quitter, so I keep at it, falling into a natural rhythm once I find the sweet spot.

Slowly, I feel the tension melting from his body as I suck him. In my mind, I can only imagine how we must look right now. Me kneeling before his throne, head bobbing up and down as I worship at his altar of masculinity.

His fingers press into my skull as I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard. A tremor pulses through his body, and he lets out a low curse. That’s when he halts me.

“Soon, cara … I’m going to fuck your mouth full of my cum and watch you swallow it. But not tonight.”

I feel the loss of him as he pulls himself free from my mouth, and my head lolls against his thigh. His palm settles on my head with a quiet dominance, and we linger there as he pets my hair. It feels almost…reverent. But without seeing his face, I can’t know for sure.

After a few moments, he drags his thumb across my bottom lip and brushes away the wetness left behind.

“Stand up and take off the rest of your clothes,” he commands. “I want every inch of you bare when I’m inside you.”

That primal declaration sends a bolt of white-hot pleasure right between my thighs, even as my chest constricts. It isn’t an empty promise. The treaty requires as much from us.

I rise from the cushion on shaky legs and do as he asked. Shimmying out of my thong first, I set it aside and then unclip my bustier. I hold it against my chest for one last fortifying breath before I drop that too.

Time seems to suspend itself as I stand before him naked, counting down the seconds until he says something.

“Come here,” he rasps.

I edge closer and let out a yelp as he bands one arm around the back of my thighs and lifts me up. In one smooth motion, he drapes me across his lap.

The throne is large enough to accommodate us both, accounting for the fact that my knees are propped up on one of the arms. I’m angled downward, my entire backside on full display. Beneath me, his erection presses against my belly.

His palm slides over the curve of my ass, squeezing and stroking it like he has all the time in the world. There’s a familiarity in his touch—the same kind of leisurely appreciation I felt from the man in the mask. It was the shadowed version of him. The one who hunted and hungered.

Now, he’s ready to sink his teeth into me.

His fingers carve a path over my hip, tracing across my pelvic bone before dipping down to the space between my thighs. He spreads me apart, and I shiver as the air cools the wetness gathered there.

A deep sound of approval reverberates through him as he slides his thumb through my arousal and circles my clit. I arch into him reflexively, shuddering out a broken sound. He’s barely touched me, and already, I’m unraveling for him again.

What’s it going to be like when he’s finally inside me?

As if he can read my thoughts, he dips his thumb into me, just enough to make me feel it.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs. “I’ll have to remember not to break you.”

My body clenches around him, feeling the loss as he slides his thumb out. He returns his attention to my clit, setting a torturous pace with his fingers. It’s designed to slowly untether my sanity, and it does.

My throat ejects a broken sound as I close my eyes and collapse my head against him. There’s so much sensory overload, I feel him everywhere. The warmth of his body, the brush of his clothes, the drugging scent I breathe into my lungs.