Page 17 of Hateful Vows

THIRTEEN

IRINA

A fter we came back from Milford, Dante locked himself into the building’s gym and I took the opportunity to swim a few laps in the massive pool on the rooftop. Italian lives should mean nothing to me, yet I couldn’t shake the unease I felt at seeing the young boy’s open and unseeing eyes.

I push my body to its limit as the chlorine burns my eyes, forcing myself to swim further without taking a breath. When I come up for air, I gasp. The space is empty, the sounds of lapping water and my heaving breaths the only things disturbing the calming silence.

After a quick shower in the luxurious bathroom with too many water jets coming from the wall, I take the elevator down to Dante’s flat.

Clicking bowls and the mouth-watering smell of baked cookies welcome me. As well as Tino, in a fucking apron above sweatpants and a too-tight tee-shirt. These men really need to start taking their measurements, and dress appropriately.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“What I do best,” he answers with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Baking?”

“Cheering up my best friend.”

“With cookies?”

“Dante has a sweet tooth.” He shrugs. “And he feels… a lot. He’s very attuned to his emotions in case you haven’t noticed, Irina. And he’s not afraid to feel them. But sometimes, they can be all-consuming.”

“So you baked for him?” I’m still not understanding what’s going on. “How is that going to help?”

He sighs like I’m a child and I click my tongue, ready to shoot him with the gun I’ve hidden in the cutlery drawer I’m standing in front of. “I’m just reminding him of simple pleasures. This life we lead is full of pain and death. It doesn’t mean it can’t be full of life and joy.”

My shoulders drop. It seems so easy. But it’s never been easy for me. I was never allowed the simple joys of life, constantly reminded that if I wasn’t careful, I would die or worse. Tino’s view on life is a luxury for me.

“You want one?” he asks, taking me out of my negative thoughts.

“Want what?”

“A cookie. I promise, they’re not poisoned,” he adds as he takes a bite and inhales sharply at the heat on his tongue, before laughing, child-like and delighted.

Carefully, I sit at the counter and take a sweet treat.

When I bite into it, salt is the first thing I taste before the sugary dough, then the melting hot chocolate chips.

It’s crunchy on the top and soft on the inside.

A perfect recipe. I hum and devour the rest before taking a second.

It would taste even better with a mint leaf on top.

“I’ll try next time,” Tino says. I must have said that last part out loud and I blush, furious with myself.

“Where is he?” I bark, but Tino’s unbothered. He keeps cleaning his station before hanging the apron on the side of the fridge.

“In his study. Don’t eat them all, sorellina .”

I wait until he’s gone to eat a third one, then lounge on the sofa, prepared to relax for the evening. But my mind refuses to let go, fixed on Dante.

I pad towards the office.

“If you’ve come here to gloat, save your breath, vipera .

I’m in no mood to entertain you right now,” Dante says as I walk into the room.

His father’s mansion has served as a base for his operations but here, in the centre of the city, at the top of one of the tallest buildings is where he feels at home.

It’s tempting to crush his sense of safety. But I’ve become accustomed to Dante Ventura’s light-hearted disposition. This gloomy version of him is… I don’t know what it is but I don’t like it. I already have one man in my life who barely smiles, I don’t need another.

Thinking of Aleksei playing house with Lucie makes my heart clench uncomfortably so I refocus on my husband.

“What’s the point of being married to you if I can’t revel in your failures?”

I intend to tease but even to my ears, it falls flat.

Perceval threads through my legs as I strut deeper into the room I’ve never been in before. He jumps on Dante’s lap and I shake my head at the sight of my husband giving him a forehead kiss. I want to hate it but I’m glad he’s getting comfort somewhere. It certainly won’t be from me.

A massive picture of a forest gives the space a serenity I wasn’t expecting. On the other side, the massive windows overlook the bustling streets of London’s financial district. It’s mesmerising.

“What are you doing here, Irina?”

“Tino left. He made cookies.”

Only years of hiding any trace of emotions allow me not to fidget.

Dante turns, giving me a caustic look, his eyes sunken when they’re usually a bright green that sparks with mischief. They trail me as I make my way towards him, heels tapping on the floor the only sound between us.

The air thickens with tension. Dante’s posture shifts as if poised to strike.

I’m the cunning mouse baiting the hungry wolf.

No matter what I do, Aleksei never takes the bait but Dante’s hot-blooded character is predictable.

I like the familiarity of knowing he’ll rise to what I throw at him. Not many can say the same.

My legs brush his knees when I lean against the desk in between us. I haven’t visited his bedroom or touched him since the wedding, and he’s never knocked on my door either. We’ve been locked together, forced to cohabitate. I’ve been so good at avoiding him. Except today, I’ve barely seen him.

He drops my cat on the floor and it disappears behind me.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Irina. What are you doing here?” He enunciates words like he’s one step away from snapping and my heart flutters inside my ribcage.

I remain silent, bending over slightly to drag the fabric of my black skirt up my legs, revealing the garter that holds thin tights underneath. Cold air creates a path of goosebumps on my flesh. I could scream victory when Dante dips his gaze down to my legs and licks his lower lip.

He tilts his head and raises a brow. Moping and sadness isn’t my strong suit. I’m not a talker. A challenge, I can work with.

“I’m your wife, Dante.” The fire in his irises burns bright and he reclines in his chair. “What am I good for if not making you feel better?”

The cocky smile is back on his handsome face and I want to wipe it off again. But only me. No one and nothing else but me.

“Is that what you want, sposa mia ? You want me to use your pretty little cunt? Make myself feel better buried deep inside you?” He glances down where my fingers glide against my underwear. I part my legs, letting him see the wet spot I’m creating with tight little circles against my clit.

“I can leave if you prefer,” I say with a nonchalance I do not feel.

I try to stand but his hands slap on either side of me, caging me in. “If my wife offers herself up to me, who am I to say no? Turn around.”

I swallow. And obey.

My skirt is still bunched over my hips and my cheeks heat at the embarrassment of my attire.

It’s new. It’s delicious. I decided to come here and tease my husband out of his mood.

And it worked. The power that flows through me is heady.

Just as much as the knowledge that if I want everything to stop, I can leave.

I might not know Dante Ventura well but I’ve initiated our trysts. He’s never come to me on his own.

I’m the one in control here.

Dante’s chest plasters against my back, his rigid cock nestling in between my scantily-clad cheeks.

His cologne makes its way into my nose and I stifle a groan.

The primitive part of my brain screams “mine” and my mouth waters, remembering how his cock felt against my tongue.

I might find him a terrible ally, and incompetent at best, but the man is hot as sin.

With deft fingers, Dante opens my blouse. His touch is delicate and I feel exposed, like I’m losing control of the situation fast. I’m almost tempted to back out but his large hands cup my breasts before he pulls on my pebbled nipples and I gasp.

“Bend over for me, vipera ,” he whispers in my ears, anticipation and pure lust in his voice.

The soft wood is cool under my heated skin when I obey. From the corner of my eyes, I see Dante take a seat once more and I frown.

“What are you?—”

I don’t finish my sentence because his hand smacks my ass so strongly I yelp.

“Shut up, and take what I give you, Irina.”

I wiggle, trying to escape but Dante clamps a strong forearm on top of my hips before he yanks my underwear and tears it off me.

“How dare— Fuck .” The next spank on my ass is followed by a long lick from my clit to my entrance, and I buck against his mouth.

Dante kneads the abused cheek, creating extra heat, as he continues his assault on my pussy. His tongue enters me, the prickles of pain delving into pleasure. He doesn’t stop spanking me as he eats me out from behind and I slump against the desk. I’m a mess of sensations.

Then, his tongue moves up to lick at my puckered hole.

“Dante!” I cry out his name in protest but it feels so fucking good.

“If you offer to be my perfect little whore, I’ll take what I want from your body, and you’ll just take it, won’t you, cuore mio ?”

I don’t have time to answer as he inserts two thick fingers in my pussy while he continues to lick my asshole. When he thumbs my clit, my climax overpowers me and I fall into ecstasy, his name on my lips.

When I’m coming down, Dante withdraws from inside me and stands.

His belt clinks as he removes it with haste and lowers his trousers and boxers just enough to free his dick.

He pins me down on the desk, a hand clasped on my neck.

The possessive touch makes me gush even more, despite having just come.

I’m soaked and ready. I never thought he’d take me in his bed anyway.

A man like him isn’t made for soft words and kind love-making. And I want to be fucked anyway.

“Use a condom,” I breathe in between the fog of my lust-addled mind when the head of his cock slides in between my swollen lips.

“I’m taking my wife raw or I’m not fucking you, at all. I know you’ve been tested and I haven’t fucked anyone in months. I’m painting my slutty wife’s pussy with my cum and that’s non-negotiable, nod if you understand.”

I nod, ready to combust at his filthy words. No one has ever dared speak to me like this and if anyone tried, I’d have killed them on the spot. But it sounds like a vow on his tongue, more intimate and raw than the one we exchanged in the church.

“My perfect whore. So ready,” he says as he rubs the head of his cock against my clit. I moan. “Now beg me to fuck you.”

I turn my head enough to look at Dante. His muscles bunch with restraint, and his eyes are riveted to the place where we’re about to connect.

There’s awe in the slack jaw and lowered brow and for the first time, I lie to myself a little harder.

Maybe he cares. I feel more alive than ever as I take in the sight of his strong body still clothed where I’m a mess with ruined panties on the floor and a skirt over my hips like the slut he calls me.

“Dante, please .”

Like a band that snaps, he gets inside me in one powerful thrust.

I lose my breath.

Then he withdraws.

And does it again.

Dante sets a vicious rhythm, fucking me with long, sharp thrusts of his hips. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have a mirror and see his ass work as he pumps me full of his cum.

The hand that isn’t on my neck wanders all over my body, caressing my ass cheek, the back of my thighs and my back. “Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” he says between clenched teeth. “I’m not gonna last. I knew your cunt would be the death of me.”

“Yes, please.”

I’m on the pill, and the perspective of leaking my husband’s cum down my legs as I sleep should terrify me, gross me out even. But my heart preens and revels in the primal need to have him belong to me fully.

“You like that? You want me to pump you full of my cum until there’s no mistaking who you fucking belong to?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

I chant in the rhythm of his thrusts, gripping his cock with my inner walls when my name leaves his lips. My nails scrape the wood of the desk, trying to cling to anything I can.

I slide a finger towards my clit and rub myself as he ruins me for all other men, brutally taking his pleasure from my body. I soar when I come and hear the masculine groan Dante lets out as he follows me over the edge.

His breathing is laboured when he’s done and pride swells inside me. He drops his forehead between my shoulder blades, and I freeze.

He degraded me during sex, took me roughly on his desk but that , that I can’t take. It’s a vulnerability I can’t allow.

“Get off me,” I say, voice wavering.

“Let me clean you up,” Dante offers as he withdraws and grabs tissues from the box on his desk.

“Don’t.” I straighten and fix my skirt back on with frantic movements, the ruined underwear on the floor at our feet.

Decent again, Dante takes hold of my jaw, forcing my gaze to meet his.

He searches for something with that cunning look and I can’t let him know how much that meant to me.

How cherished I felt even being used. How good he made me feel.

Because he could make me believe I deserve to feel good, to feel loved and cherished. I can’t afford hope.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks softly.

“No.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Tell me what’s wrong. Please.” His softness is unbearable.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I will my eyes to harden. “We fucked. I liked it. And now I’m going to eat and go to bed. I’m not one for cuddles, kozyol .”

I push past him, uncomfortable as cum sticks in between my thighs, but even more with my husband’s openness and care.