Bound by Love novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Against the Door

Adriano takes his furious wife to the hotel suite, and she does not apologize; her father's call gives the families seventy-two hours.

He did not say a word the whole drive.

His driver took us to a hotel downtown, to the top-floor suite the Corsinis had rented for the weekend.

Adriano walked me through the lobby with one hand at the small of my back.

I had no shoes on.

I did not care who saw.

The suite door closed behind us, and the lock turned.

"Take your time," I said, and my voice shook.

"Shout, or break something."

"Is that what you think I want?" he said.

He took off his jacket and dropped it on a chair.

Then he crossed the room and put his hand flat on the door beside my head, and the whole room went small.

"Seven weeks," he said.

"I gave your father two years of peace and your family the docks, and I gave you a house, a name and my bed."

"You gave me a cage with good sheets," I said.

His eyes went black.

"And what did you give me tonight?"

"My sister," I said. "She has a broken wrist and a whole life, and you can hate me for it."

"I'd have helped you if you'd asked."

"You'd have said no."

He didn't answer.

He couldn't, and we both knew it, because saying yes would have meant breaking the treaty with his own mouth.

That silence did something to me.

It made me braver, and it made me want him so badly my knees went.

"You're angry," I said.

"Yes."

"Then do something about it."

His hand left the door and closed around my jaw, not hard.

He tilted my face up and looked at me for one long breath.

Then he kissed me, rough and openmouthed, and I made a sound I had never made for anyone.

I grabbed his shirt in both fists and dragged him in.

He lifted me against the door.

My back hit the wood, my legs locked around his hips, and I could feel how hard he was through his slacks.

"This is not forgiveness," he said into my mouth.

"I don't want forgiveness," I said. "I want you."

He ripped the front of my dress open at the seam he had zipped an hour ago.

Cold air hit my skin, and then his mouth did.

He found my breast through my bra and bit down gently, and I arched off the door and cried out.

"Louder," he said, and pulled the cup aside.

His tongue circled my nipple, slow and wet, until I was begging him by name.

"Adriano, please, please."

"What do you want?"

"Your mouth," I said, and I wasn't ashamed. "Lower, now."

He set me down and went to his knees.

I have seen men on their knees to my father, and it looked nothing like this.

He pushed my dress up to my waist, hooked his fingers in my underwear, and pulled it down my legs.

Then he lifted one of my thighs over his shoulder and put his mouth on me.

I hit the back of my head against the door.

His tongue was hot and flat and unhurried, dragging over my clit and then dipping inside me.

He groaned against me.

"You taste like trouble," he said.

I slid my fingers into his hair and held him there.

"Don't stop."

"I'm not going to stop," he said. "You're going to come on my mouth."

"Then I'm going to fuck you against this door, and you'll remember who you belong to."

He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it with his tongue, and two thick fingers pushed inside me.

I came apart with a shout, shaking and clenching around his fingers, and my knees gave out.

He caught me and stood, and his mouth was wet and shining.

He kissed me so I could taste myself.

I was already reaching for his belt.

"I want you inside me," I said. "Right now."

He freed his cock, thick and hard, and the head was slick at the tip.

I wrapped my hand around him, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Tell me to stop," he said, a dare, his forehead against mine.

"Fuck me, Adriano."

He lifted me again, and I guided him to my entrance.

He pushed in one long slow stroke, stretching me, filling me, until he was all the way inside.

We both stopped breathing.

"God," I whispered.

"You feel like that every time," he said, his voice wrecked.

Then he began to move.

He fucked me against the door with hard, deep strokes, and every one slammed me up the wood.

I held his shoulders and bit his neck and cried out for more.

"Harder," I said. "I'm not going to break."

"No," he said. "You're not."

He gripped my ass with both hands and drove into me so hard the door shook in its frame.

The wet sound of us filled the room.

I felt another climax building low in my belly, tight and fast.

"Look at me," he said.

I opened my eyes, and he was right there, green eyes burning, sweat running down his temple.

"Mine," he said. "Say it."

"Yours," I said. "Only yours."

He pushed deeper, and his thumb found my clit between our bodies.

I came with his name in my mouth, clamping around his cock, and the pleasure went through me in long hot waves.

He swore and followed me, burying his face in my neck.

I felt him pulse inside me, again and again, filling me with heat.

He held me up until we stopped shaking.

Neither of us said anything.

He carried me to the bed and laid me down, and he took off my ruined dress.

Then he lay down behind me, wrapped his arm around my stomach, and pulled me against his chest.

His heart was still racing against my back.

"I can't give you children," he said into my hair.

It came out of nowhere, flat and quiet.

"I told you on our wedding night, but I wanted you to hear me say it again, tonight."

"Why now?" I asked.

"Because you'll never be a mother, married to me," he said.

"Your father gave me a wife who can't have my sons, and I still can't make myself let you go."

I turned in his arms.

"I never asked you for sons."

"Everyone else will."

I kissed his scarred forearm, and he closed his eyes.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Then it buzzed again, and kept buzzing.

Adriano reached for it, read the screen, and sat up very slowly.

"Your father," he said.

He put the call on speaker.

"You have seventy-two hours," Benedetto Draghi said in his soft voice.

"Return Cinzia to Fabiano, or my men will cross into Cleveland and take what is owed."

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