Page 11 of One Savage Union (Crimson Bonds #1)

ROCCO

I strip her clothing away until she's left in her lace panties.

Stepping away, my body holds a hunger it won't contain. Lucia's delicate hands cover her breasts, but I snatch them away.

"Don't hide from your husband. Your body is my reward, Lucia. Do you understand?"

Her fists ball up at her sides, but she nods. She's upset and embarrassed, but her pointy nipples reveal she's also horny. I relish the vision as I step closer and run my hand down the side of one breast and the other. She shudders, and I smirk.

"Besides piccola ragazza, you are beautiful, and your body is irresistible. These are weapons that, when used properly, are as lethal as an AR-15."

She huffs. "I won't lease my body out to win favors or fights. Did you marry me to be your whore? I won't allow you to reduce my life to a bargaining chip you pass out to win wars."

The crack in her voice reveals her true feelings. She really must learn to hide her emotions. She's scared and timid as a dove. My dove.

I wrap my hands around her neck and hiss.

"You're not my whore; you're my wife, la mia piccola palla di fuoco.

But that doesn't change that men are stupid beasts rendered senseless and numb when their dicks get hard.

That, my love, is a biological fact. Be proud of what these sweet tits and that pussy of yours can do to a fool. Walk boldly in your power."

I reach down and yank her lace panties against her pussy until they tear. Her moans awaken the beast in me, and I place a kiss behind her ear.

"Until I tell you otherwise, you are to remain naked. Am I clear?"

She gulps and nods. I release her neck and lead her by the hand to the bathroom.

"Come," I growl.

My fingers tighten around hers. I can't trust Lucia to stay without the shackles of my grip. She'll run because she doesn't trust me not to kill her in cold blood, or worse, take something from her she doesn't freely give. She'll learn that I take care of my possessions.

I will never harm her. I won't enjoy this sweet body of hers until she gives it to me. I don't rape women, and I don't tolerate men that do. Their lives end by castration before I feed their balls to them. They choke to death on their filthy blood.

However, that doesn't mean I won't push her comfort limits.

Or that I won't punish that beautiful ass of hers if needed.

Her safety is paramount, and security requires her obedience.

I may demand she stay naked and talk dirty until I make her blush.

But that's only to prepare Lucia for her new reality as a mafia princess.

One day soon, she may have to stare down the end of a gun barrel or be kidnapped by our enemies.

She can't allow her nakedness and some misplaced sense of modesty to break her before the fight begins.

My mother died with dignity and defiance.

Lucia must own and love every inch of herself with reckless abandon.

It's clear she doesn't know how, but I will teach her.

I also won't lie to her. Whether she allows me to fuck her tonight or next week without the proverbial bloody sheets, our union is vulnerable. She may or may not be a virgin. Either way, I can tell her experience is limited.

A woman who's accomplished as much as she has in the classical music world has little time for passionate affairs, and the barriers around her heart are as tall as the fucking Berlin wall was in the eighties. My fireball isn't a fan of vulnerability; that much is clear.

I step into the white-marbled Roman shower and turn on all four jets. The water comes like a waterfall, and steam rises immediately. My clothes are soaked, but I don't care, especially when I see my new wife eyeing my chest through the wet fabric.

I take care of myself and never miss a day of training at the gym. Between weightlifting and Krav Maga sessions, my body is well-defined, muscular, and lean.

"Do you like what you see, Lucia?"

Her eyes immediately switch from fire to ice. I smirk. "You should close that mouth of yours before I think it's an open invitation to place something in it."

I allow her to snatch her hand from my grasp so I can strip. Unbuttoning my shirt, I eye-fuck her the entire time. She's probably wet right now.

"You're such an asshole, Fieri. I was staring because I wondered how a monster like you could have such a pretty shell to hide beneath. What unsuspecting youth's blood do you drink to pull it off?" She tilts her head to the side. "I mean, how old are you anyway, fifty?"

I laugh, but continue to undress. My wife is feisty.

Her tone is full of vinegar, but her eyes still beg me to make her come.

If she thinks her defiance will stop me from pulling my dick out, she's wrong.

We are getting in this shower together so I can tend to her properly.

She's had a rough twenty-four hours, and I haven't shown her anything but dominance and death.

It is time to adjust her opinion of me, and it starts by bathing my fascinating new wife. Lucia needs to relax.

Stepping under the spray, I hold my hand out for her to join me. She crosses her arms over her chest and scoffs, but I stand erect and wait. She will come, and I won't force her. After a moment, I speak.

"Lucia. Join me. I know you must want a shower by this point."

After I wipe away the water running down my face, I catch her scowl. "I do want to get clean, but not with you. I'd rather shower alone."

“That’s too bad, la piccola ragazza. You haven't eaten in over a day, and you're already a little wobbly on your feet. I'm not trusting you in this shower alone. It will be my pleasure to bathe you and take care of that beautiful body of yours."

"I'm not a child." She tuts. "I can wash myself."

I step from under the spray, praying God grants me the patience he knows I've never had. I've never worked so hard for a person's obedience. At first, it was cute; now, I find it exasperating.

"Yes, Lucia, I know how old you are, even if you aren't familiar with my age.

" I'm thirty-seven. Thank you very much.

"You can wash yourself, but why do that when I am here to do it for you?

You've had a horrible time with me, and it's time for some pampering.

Come, you've already married me, so you may as well enjoy the perks. "

After a beat, she releases a heavy sigh and walks into the shower directly under the spray. I smile to myself over the minor victory.

Stopping behind her, I watch as she runs her hands through her hair while letting the water cascade down her face.

She's exquisite. My dick is hard and long as a battering ram, but I keep my control.

Leaning down, I squirt some Dior Homme body wash into my hands and run them over her neck and shoulders.

She will smell like me until we can get her some things of her own, but I don't mind. I rather like it.

Taking my time, I massage the soap into her tense muscles.

I rub hard until I feel her relax under my touch, and when I hear a faint moan, I know I've hit pay dirt.

She needs this. Now, I only want to listen to her make that sound again.

I want to make her whimper and moan until she's nothing but a pile of needy goo in my capable hands.

I continue my ministrations down her body and allow the spray to rinse off the soap I've applied.

She freezes and shrieks when I grab my shampoo and squeeze a dollop into her hair.

"What is that?”

Confused, I shrug. "It's only shampoo, Lucia. What's the matter?"

She turns to face me and sighs wearily.

"Fieri," she bites.

I hate when she calls me by my last name. Every syllable places a distance between us, but I will fix that soon.

"I know you think you planned this forced marriage down to every minute detail, but did you stop and think about the heritage of your wife? Supposedly, I’m half-Italian, but I’m Ghanaian.

You can't just put any old shampoo into my hair unless you want me to end up with a dried-out, brittle bird's nest on my head.

I need a co-wash and lots of leave-in conditioner to tame this mane. "

She points at the wavy dark curls spilling down her back and takes a deep breath. I regret not anticipating her needs, but this will be the last time that happens.

"You think I didn't notice you're an African Goddess?” I step closer, pulling her back from underneath the spray and into my arms. "I'm mesmerized by your warm-toned skin. It resembles mine but has a sweet toasted almond undertone instead of olive.”

Nuzzling her hair, I breathe her in. "Your hair is thick and wavy like my mother’s.” When I run my hands through the curly strands, they lengthen down her back. "Only with tighter curls and definition."

I press my thumb against her lips, and my eyes beg them to open for me. She does, and I slip my thumb inside. To my delight, she swirls her tongue around it and sucks me as I slide it out. A groan escapes the back of my throat, but I keep my composure.

"These lips are thick and plump, like the Yoruba art I've obsessed over in galleries for years. So yes, beautiful, I notice and admire your African roots. Ijust didn't know that meant you needed a different shampoo."

Against her wishes, she smiles at me, and I feel like I've won the fucking lottery. That smile needs to come to the surface more often.

"It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't know." Leaning behind me, she picks up my conditioner and reads the label. "I guess we can use this until I get some of my things."