Page 15 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Nikos

“Good night, my wicked one .” I lick my lips, relishing the lingering taste of her juices. She tastes of pure innocence that I cannot wait to corrupt. I rise from the bed, looking down to savor the sight of her body sprawled beneath me.

Her eyes wander between mine, startled, like a lost deer. “Are you leaving?”

I know she expected me to ravage her like the desperate savage she thinks I am.

I won’t. Not yet. Despite every fiber in me screaming to fuck her, I restrain myself.

She’s a virgin, and her first time has to be more than just forced sex she wouldn’t enjoy.

The first time will shape how she perceives sex later, and I want her to enjoy it, crave it, beg for it.

Beg me for it. I want to push her to the brink of madness until fucking me is the only thing she craves.

“Yes,” I murmur. “I’m leaving. For now, we won’t share a bedroom. Tonight, I’ll take the guest room, and you can enjoy mine. Tomorrow, the staff will have yours ready, with all your things prepared.”

“Why?” She looks at me as if unable to believe I’d do this out of kindness, and she’s right. I’m doing this more for my own sake than for hers.

“So you have time to adjust, wicked one , because once I own you, I’ll carve myself so deep into you that you won’t even remember what it felt like to be without me.”

“Does that mean…” she clears her throat as if my words have caught in it or as if she’s scared I might change my mind if she says the wrong words.

“I won’t fuck you. Not tonight,” I grumble darkly. “But when I do, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget how to breathe. I’ll have you in every position and fill every hole for both of our pleasure.”

Her pupils widen, darkening her eyes to near black. Her hard swallow echoes through the deafening silence that follows my words.

I slowly lean down and hook my gloved hand beneath her face. “And you will beg me for it.”

It takes a second before her fear gives way to challenge. Her lips quirk in a playful smile, the first time since she crossed the threshold of this house. Perhaps the first time since our encounter in her father’s bathroom.

“When hell freezes over.” She raises her chin daringly so that our lips are almost touching. Almost.

A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Then hell will freeze over soon.” I brush my lips against hers, her breath heavier than before. “Should I remind you that you just came on my face, calling me God? Oh, and you still have your cum and my saliva dripping between your thighs.”

“I didn’t call you G—”

I scoff, my lips claiming hers, silencing her frustrated, embarrassed protests. My teeth grit against her bottom lip, causing a grunt to rumble in her throat as I pull away.

“You will come to me, crawling on all fours, sooner than you think. That’s a promise, wicked one .”

I sit in my office, my fingers drumming on the leather armrest, my ankle resting on my opposite knee.

The black walls seem to absorb the faint light from a lamp beside the rich oak desk.

My gaze is fixed on a decanter of whiskey and the cold steel of my gun on the wooden top of my desk, but my mind is consumed by her.

The taste of her arousal lingering on my lips drives me to the verge of insanity.

I could have any whore choking on my cock right now, but I only want her.

It’s an obsession. Maddening, sickening, haunting obsession.

She was supposed to be my possession, an innocent to corrupt, to dominate, and yet she’s the one to possess me.

She has me losing my damn head. I can’t stop thinking of her.

I want to hear her moan my name in both pleasure and pain, to see both fear and desire mingling in her eyes.

A low growl of frustration rumbles down my throat, my hands clench into fists. I am a fucking Romano, a king in his own right, ruling over an empire built on blood and death. And yet, this slip of a girl has managed to turn me into a miserable creature of maddening obsession and sickening desire.

I pour myself a glass of whiskey and take a long, burning sip. I will have her, and it will be on my terms. I will drag her down into my world, corrupt her until she is molded into the perfect reflection of my own desires. I vowed all of this to her at the altar, and I shall keep my word.

The night is pretty restless, and my mind is haunted by thoughts of her. The following morning, an array of various breakfast dishes stretches out before me as I wait for her in the dining room. I had no idea what the wicked one preferred, so I instructed the maid to prepare it all.

My eyes instinctively cast upward as she enters; unwittingly, like Hades, I’m captivated by the purity I’m destined to taint.

She approaches the table, glancing at the spot at the other end opposite me.

I knew she would want to sit across the table, the farthest away from me possible, and that’s why I told the maids to leave only one chair next to mine.

“Sit,” I say, and she instantly sinks into the seat.

My gaze is still stuck on her—her attire, to be precise.

A pink dress reaching her ankles that would fit an eighty-year-old lady, and not an attractive young woman sixty years younger.

It’s so bad that it stands out against the black dominating the room—the black décor, my black suit, the black attire my servants are instructed to wear—and looks hideous.

I can’t tear my gaze away from it. It’s like a buzzing mosquito in my ear, impossible to ignore.

That’s something we must fix. My wife can’t dress like Cinderella, hiding her beauty underneath such…

clothes, while she’s my Queen of desire and darkness.

“How did you sleep?” I try to focus on something other than her dress.

“Not well,” she draws a deep breath. “It’s hard to sleep surrounded by so much darkness. Everything is so... black . I feel like in the pit of Hell.”

I can’t fight an amused scoff. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Do I have any other choice?” She locks her gaze with mine.

“Actually, no.”

Her eyes roll involuntarily. Her coy kind of annoyance causes a smirk to tug at the corner of my mouth.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I had my maid prepare everything.”

“Oh,” her chin lowers, brows twitching. “So instead of simply asking, you had your maid cook all this, wasting food that could feed a small tribe.”

“I knew it the moment I saw you,” I growl, my tone teasing.

“Knew what?” She frowns.

My teeth graze over my lip. “You’re a good person with a pure heart.”

“You don’t know me.” She’s so rattled that her entire body tenses in protest as if I had accused her of a crime instead of stating the obvious, complimenting her. Don’t ordinary people like being told they’re good? “You don’t know me at all.”

“Then tell me about yourself,” I lean back on the chair, and now she’s baffled. I know, surprising, a beast like me, a monster, the God of the Dead, can act human and ask a simple question.

She pauses momentarily. Her sweet mocha eyes flicker between mine as though she’s browsing through a library of books, pondering which one to pick.

“I love art. I was about to start my senior year studying sculpture at the Academy of Fine Arts of Palermo. But I don’t know if you’ll let me attend.

” Her tone is much softer now. She has dropped the defensive attitude she had before, probably to shield herself from me.

I don’t blame her for being scared of me. Sometimes, even I am scared of the darkness within my own mind, of the mayhem that runs rampant inside my head.

My head cocks, my gaze never leaving hers. “I won’t keep you locked up like a bird in a cage. You’re free to continue your studies.”

“Are you serious?” she beams, her face lights up with such pure happiness that this house hasn’t seen in decades. I’m staggered by how something so trivial can bring her true joy.

“Now eat,” I order. Jesus, her dress won’t stop burning my eyes. “We’re leaving soon.”

She gazes at me, alert. “We? Where are we going?”

“We have to buy you new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my old clothes?” Oh, spare me.

I lean forward, shooting her a sidelong glance, my brow arching at her obliviousness. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Unbelievable,” she mumbles, reaching for the fork and stabbing it into a slice of bacon with so much force.

That’s interesting. I pegged her as someone who sticks to healthy food choices. I rest my chin on my fingers, watching her put the food in her mouth as all kinds of the darkest, most X-rated images continue to pop into my mind.

“Is the food poisoned?” she glances at me as she swallows a bite she’s just taken. “Is that why you’re staring at me like that? Waiting for the poison to start working, so I choke to death?”

A dark, twisted amusement curls my lips. “You will choke,” I murmur, “but not on poison.”

Her cheeks flush to an intense scarlet. She doesn’t respond, just swallows hard, and I can’t prevent the image of my cock thrusting in her throat.

She looks away, focusing on her plate. I enjoy this game.

The way she tries to defy me with her sassy retorts.

But deep down, I know she’s scared, and that fear is intoxicating.

After breakfast, we drive to an exclusive boutique, the kind that caters to the wealthy and powerful. The salesperson greets us courteously. She knows who I am and what I’m capable of, and she knows I’ll leave a fortune here.

“What can I help you with today, Mr. Romano?” she smiles.

“Her entire wardrobe needs an upgrade,” I state.

Serena’s eyes widen as she glances at the price tags. She looks at me, and I see the shock in her gaze. The cheapest piece of fabric in this store probably costs more than a small car. She nods and assures me she’ll take care of everything.

For the next few hours, Serena tries on outfit after outfit. I sit back in a plush velvet armchair near the entrance where Remo stands by, making sure no one comes in.

Finally, the sales lady tallies, “€296000.”

“That’s a nice start,” I tap the card near the payment terminal.

“Wh… Start?” she stutters.

The salesperson passes the credit authorization across the counter for me to sign.

“I thought women liked shopping.” I sign the paper.

“Yeah,” she says, her shyness giving way to her sarcastic side, hidden beneath her reserved exterior. “We do. When we can choose what we like ourselves.”

“You don’t like the clothes we picked out together?”

Her eyes roll, and she huffs as we head out of the boutique. Remo carries the bags a few steps behind us.

“ You chose them. They’re all black, Nikos.”

Something in me ignites at the way my name rolls off her tongue. It’s as if it was made to be spoken by her. Now, I can’t bear the thought of her saying any other man’s name out loud. I don’t want them to hear their names from her lips, to feel the way I do now.

“Black is the only color I accept,” I reply, my tone firm with a hint of mockery.

She raises an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth twitches, and for a split second, I think I see a genuine smile. “No way.”

I chuckle, a low, throaty sound.

We exit the store. The car is already waiting by the entrance.

“Where are we going now?” she glances at me as I open the door for her. Remo loads the bags into the trunk. The grimace on his face tells me it’s not one of his favorite tasks.

“Now we’re going to pick out a dress for you for the evening. We have an important meeting to attend.”

Her dress slides up as she slips into the back seat, her right leg still lingering outside. The curve of her calf is impossible to ignore.

“Let me guess, the dress must be black?”

A faint grin tugs at my lips as my gaze rises to meet her. “Black suits you, baby .”

Her lips purse in a subtle display of skepticism, but her cheeks flush at the nickname. I close the door, circle to the other side, and settle into the seat beside her.

“So, what is this meeting you’ve mentioned about?” The engine roar drowns out her coy yet curious tone as we drive off.

“I belong to an exclusive, secret society of Mafia Dons from across the globe. We’ve gathered members from every continent,” I speak lazily.

She sinks in her seat. “Every… continent?” she reiterates.

I nod. “This allows our influence to have no borders.”

“Are they all a part of the Mafia?”

“We’re not just your usual Mafia,” I flash a languid, yet complacent, smile. “We’re businessmen. It’s all interconnected.”

Her eyes search between mine in confusion. “Why…” she clears her throat, “Why would I go with you to such a meeting?”

“It’s tradition,” I explain. “Every Don who takes a wife must introduce her to the society. You’re now my queen, Serena. And the role of a queen is to stand by her king. And you will stand by me wearing the most beautiful gown I had custom-made for you.”